  Thus Frithiof became a viking, the sea his only home; and these are the laws he made for his followers:
Thus ran the code of Frithiof, and no laws of Odin were more strictly obeyed. Many a battle did these heroes fight and win, for there was not their like on all the seas; and soon their fame spread far and wide. But naught of this had power to gladden Frithiof’s heart; he would sit, helm in hand, for hours with clouded brow, gazing out over the rolling waters. Only in battle did the shadow vanish, as with flashing eyes and fiercely swelling breast he led his men to victory. For three years they sailed the seas northward and westward; then turning south, his dragon anchored one day off the coast of Greek-land (Greece). With wonder Frithiof gazed upon that beauteous land, with its noble ruined temples rising amid fragrant groves. The tales his father had been wont to tell of those fair isles still lingered in his memory like some lovely vision—a dream that now was realized. Hither had he once thought to flee with Ingeborg from the haughty Helge, here with her to found an abode of bliss, but the noble maiden had denied his prayers and shrunk from such a breach of duty and of custom. Amid these fair scenes memories of his native land awoke afresh within him, and he longed to see it once again. But most of all he yearned for a sight of Ingeborg and to visit his father’s grave-mound. “Why do I linger here in strange seas and stain my hands with blood?” he asked himself. “Enough of glory have I won, and I care not for gold. North points the flag on the masthead. To the Northland the home of my youth! Up, ‘Ellida’! no longer we’ll tarry, but follow that token from Heaven!” |
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