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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Frithiof Goes into Banishment

By Esaias Tegnér (1782–1846)

  • From ‘Frithiof’s Saga’
  • [Frithiof, persistently refused Ingeborg’s hand, wishes her to fly with him, but she refuses. He goes to the Orkney Islands to fetch tribute to her brothers in order to win their favor; but on returning finds that she has been forced into marriage with another suitor, King Ring, and has gone with him to his country. Quarreling with the brothers again, he is forced to go into exile.]


  • HIS ship’s deck slight,

    I’ th’ summer night,

    Bore th’ hero grieving.

    Like waves high heaving,

    Now rage now woe

    Thro’ his bosom flow;

    Smoke still ascended,

    The fire not ended.

    “Thou free broad Sea!

    Unknown to thee

    Are despot’s glances

    And tyrant’s fancies.

    Where freemen swing

    Is he thy king

    Who never shivers,

    Howe’er high quivers,

    With rage oppressed,

    Thy froth-white breast!

    Thy plains, blue-spreading,

    Glad chiefs are treading;

    Like ploughs thereon

    Their keels drive on;

    And blood-rain patters

    In shade th’ oak scatters,

    But steel-bright there

    The corn-seeds glare!

    Those plains so hoary

    Bear crops of glory,

    Rich crops of gold:

    Thou billow bold

    Befriend me! Never

    I’ll from thee sever!

    My father’s mound

    Dull stands, fast-bound,

    And selfsame surges

    Chant changeless dirges;

    But blue shall mine

    Through foam-flowers shine,

    ’Mid tempests swimming,

    And storms thick dimming,

    And draw yet mo

    Down, down, below.—

    My life-home given,

    Thou shalt, far-driven!

    My barrow be,

    Thou free broad Sea!”

    Day’s orb now shined

    Hill-tops behind;

    Fresh breezes bounded

    From shore, and sounded

    Each wave to dance

    In morning’s glance.

    Where th’ high surge leapeth

    Ellida sweepeth,

    Glad stretched her wings.

    But Frithiof sings:—

    “Heimskringla’s forehead,

    Thou lofty North!

    Away I’m hurried

    From this thine earth.

    My race from thee goes,

    I boasting tell;

    Now, nurse of heroes—

    Farewell! Farewell!

    “Farewell, high-gleaming

    Valhalla’s throne,

    Night’s eye, bright-beaming

    Midsummer’s sun!

    Sky! where, as in hero’s

    Soul, pure depths dwell,

    And thronging star-rows,—

    Farewell! Farewell!

    “Farewell, ye mountains,

    Seats glory for;

    Ye tablet fountains

    For mighty Thor!

    Ye lakes and highlands

    I left so sel’,

    Ye rocks and islands,

    Farewell! Farewell!

    “Farewell, cairns dreaming

    By wave of blue,

    Where, snow-white gleaming,

    Limes flower-dust strew!

    But Saga spieth

    And doometh well

    I’ the earth what lieth;—

    Farewell! Farewell!

    “Farewell, ye bowers,

    Fresh houses green,

    Where youth plucked flowers

    By murm’ring stream;

    Ye friends of childhood

    Who meant me well,

    Ye’re yet remembered;—

    Farewell! Farewell!

    “My love insulted,

    My palace brent,

    My honor tarnished,

    In exile sent,—

    From land in sadness

    To th’ sea we appeal;

    But Life’s young gladness,

    Farewell! Farewell!”