Fridthjof.

And stand not there
As well the blood-red runes, which speak of shame,
And scorn and banishment?

   Ingeborg.

Oh, Fridthjof; think!  Relate what passed, for I have long foreseen
The worst, and am prepared for all.

   Fridthjof.

I found the council at our fathers’ graves. 
Around the grassy mounds, shield meeting shield,
Stood many Northland sons with swords in hand,
One circle standing close within another
Unto the top.  Upon the judgment seat,
A thunder cloud, thy brother Helge sat,—­
A pallid headsman with a dusky look. 
And next to him, a seeming grown up child,
Sat Halfdan,—–­thoughtless, playing with his sword. 
Then I arose, and, said:  “War waiting stands
Within thy borders, beating on the shield,—­
Thy kingdom now, king Helge, is in peril;
Give me my sister, and I’ll give to thee
Mine arm, it may be usefu] in this strife. 
Between us let ill will forgotten be,—­
I would not cherish it ’gainst Ing’borg’s brother. 
To reason listen, king, and save at once
Thy golden crown, thy purest sister’s heart. 
Here is my hand.  By Asa-Thor, I swear,
I’ll never offer it again to thee.” 
An uproar shook the thing.  A thousand swords
Approval hammered on a thousand shields. 
The clang of weapons flew to heaven, which heard
With joy the assent of freemen to the right. 
“To him give Ingeborg, the slender lily,
Most beautiful our dales have ever grown;
No better sword our favored land can boast,—­
To him give Ingeborg.”  Our foster-father,
The reverend Hilding, with his silver-beard,
Stood forth and spoke in words of wisdom full,
Short apothegms, as keen as sharpened swords. 
And Halfdan, too, from off of royal seat
Arose, with pleading words and pleading looks,—­
But it was all in vain; each prayer was wasted,—­
Like sunshine lavished on a barren rock,
No growth alluring from his stony heart. 
King Helge’s sullen countenance was like
His heart,—­a pale-faced “No” to human prayers. 
“A peasant’s son,” said he, contemptuously,
“Could Ing’borg gain, but who profanes the temple
Ill-suited seems to holy Valhal’s daughter. 
Hast thou not, Fridthjof, broken Balder’s peace? 
Hast thou not seen my sister in his temple
When day had hid itself from your communion? 
Say yes, or no!” A deafening shout resounded
From all those rings of men:  “Say no, say no,
We take thee at thy word, we sue for thee,—­
Thou son of Thorstein, equal to a king;
Say no, say no, and Ingeborg is thine!”
“My life’s delight hangs on a feeble word,”
Said I, “but fear it not, king Helge! 
I would not lie myself to Valhal’s joy,
Much less to earth’s.  Thy sister I have seen,
Have talked with her beneath the temple’s night,
But Balder’s peace I have not therefore broken.” 
They let me say no more.  Abhorrent cries