  “To the Ting! To the Ting!” The message flies o’er hill and vale; the people are summoned to elect their King. Champions try their swords, vassals polish their lord’s helm and buckler till they shine like the sun. Thus with clang of arms the warriors assembled on the open plain. In their midst on the wide Ting-stone stood Frithiof, and at his side King Ring’s son, a fair child with golden hair. “Too young is Ring’s heir,” was murmured through the multitude; “no chief is he to lead us into battle, or sit in judgment on the Ting-stone.” But Frithiof placed the child upon his shield and held him high aloft, saying: “Northmen, behold your King, a vigorous offshoot of the fallen oak! Doth he not bear him well upon the shield? Hear now my vow: I swear to guard for him his Kingdom, till with his father’s circlet he shall one day here be crowned.” Then raising his eyes to heaven, he added: “Forsete, son of Balder, be my witness! O thou who judgest justly, strike me dead if e’er I break my word!” Meanwhile the King’s son sat on Frithiof’s gleaming shield, gazing about him proudly; but at length he began to weary of it, and with one bound sprang lightly to the ground. A shout went up from all the Ting: “Ha, that was indeed a royal leap! Aye, shield-borne, thee we choose to be our King! And thou, O Frithiof, who shalt guard his crown and kingdom, take Ingeborg, our Queen, to be thy wife!” At these words Frithiof’s brow darkened. “To choose a King are you come,” he answered; “my bride I woo of my own choice. In anger still doth Balder look upon me. ’Twas he that took my Ingeborg from me, and he alone can give her back to me.” |
|
