Part 25 (1/2)

The one growed up with the strongth of the oak; and the stem was as the handle of the spear, but the crown shaked in the wind like the top on the helmet.

But the other one growed like a rose,--like a rose when the winter just is going away; but the spring what stands in its buds still in dreams childly is smiling.

The storm shall go round the world. In fight with the storm the oak will stand: the sun in the spring will glow on the heaven.

Then the rose opens its ripe lips.

So they growed in joy and play; and Frithiof was the young oak, but the rose in the green walley was named Ingeborg the Beauty.

If you seen dem two in the daylight, you would think of Freya's dwelling, where many a little pair is swinging with yellow hair, and vings like roses.

But if you saw dem in the moonlight, dancing easy around, you would tink to see an erl-king pair dancing among the wreaths of the walley. How he was glad--

”Dem's the nicest vairses, I tink.”

--how he was glad, how it was dear to him, when he got to write the first letter of her name, and afterwards to learn his Ingeborg, that was to Frithiof more than the king's honor.

How nicely when with the little sail, ven they vent over the surface of the water, how happy with her little white hands she is clapping ven he turns the rudder.

How far up it was hanging in the top of the tree, to the bird's-nest, he found up; sure was not either the eagle's nest, when she stand pointing down below.

You couldn't find a river, no matter how hard it was, without he could carry her over. It is so beautiful when the waves are roaring to be keeped fast in little white arms.

The first flower brought up in the spring, the first strawberry that gets red, the first stem that golden bended down, he happy brought his Ingeborg.

But the days of childhood goes quickly away. There stands a youth; and in a while the hope, the brave, and the fire is standing in his face. There stands a maiden, with the bosom swelling.

Very often Frithiof went out a-hunting. Such a hunting would frighten many; without spear and sword the brave would fetch the bear: they were fighting breast to breast; and after the glory, in an awful state, the hunter went home with what he got.

What girl wouldn't like to take that?

”Ven he had been fighting that way, you see, without any sword or anyting.”

Then dear to the women is the fierce of a man. The strongth is wort the beauty, and they will fit well for another, as well as the helm fits the brain of an hero.

But if he in the winter evening, with his soul fierce, by the fire's beam was reading of bright Walhalla, a song, a song of the G.o.ds--

”Veil, dat's the mans; vat's the vomens?”

”G.o.ddesses?”

”Vell, dat's it.”

--a song of the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses' joy, he was tinking, Yellow is the hair of Freya. My Ingeborg--

”Vat's a big field called when it is all over ripe?”

”Yellow?”

”No,”--a shake of the head.