RODERIK. [With firmness.] It must be so, my Gandalf; you are king, And you have sacred duties to discharge.
[He puts their hands together.]
RODERIK. You are the children of the coming dawn,— Go yonder where the royal throne awaits you; I am the last one of the by-gone age, My throne—it is the barrow—grant me that!
[GANDALF and BLANKA throw themselves silently into his arms. RODERIK ascends the burial mound.—HEMMING with his harp seats himself at his feet.]
GANDALF. [With resolution.] And now to Norway!
HROLLOUG. Home!
ALL. To Norway! Home!
BLANKA. [Fired as she seizes the banner from JOSTEJN's hand.] Yes, now away! Our course shall northward run O'er ocean billow on through storm and sun. Soon fades the daylight o'er the glacier's peak, Soon is the viking life a memory bleak! Already sits the hero on his mound; The time is past when he could sail around With sword and battle cry from strand to strand. Thor's hammer will no longer rule the land, The North will be itself a giant grave. But bear in mind the pledge All-Fader gave: When moss and flowers shall the barrow hide, To Idavold the hero's ghost shall ride,— Then Norway too shall from the grave be brought To chastened deeds within the realm of thought!