On painful foray 'mong the heathen Fins,

Scaling each mountain wall. In Finland's borders,
Raised on a barren time-worn peak, there stood
An ancient temple consecrate to Jumala:
Abandoned and fast-shut, for many ages
This desolate fane had been, its every rite
Long since forgotten; but above the portal
An old and monstrous idol of the god
Stood, frail-supported, trembling to its fall.
This temple none dared enter, scarce approach;
For down from sire to son an eld tradition
Went dimly warning, that whoever first

The temple visited should Jumala view!

This Helge heard, and in his blind fierce rage,

The pathless wilds trod 'gainst this deity

So hated from of old, all bent on razing

The temple's heathen walls. But when he'd marched
Up where the ruin threatened, lo! all fast
The massy moss-grown door was closed; and, covered
With thick brown rust, the key still sat within it.

Grim Helge then, the door-posts griping hard,

With rude uncivil strain the moldering pillars

Fierce shook, and straightway — with tremendous crash
The sculptured image fell, burying beneath it
Valhalla's impious son; and so dread Jumala

His eyes behold. A messenger in haste

These tidings brought ere yet last night was ended.

"Now, only Halfdan sits on Bele's chair.

Thy hand, brave Frithiof, offer him! Revenge
And passion sacrifice to heaven's high gods:

This Balder's shrine demandeth; -I demand, too,

As Balder's highest priest, in token meet
That peace's gentle chief thou hast not mocked
With vain professions and an empty homage.—
Decide, my son! — shall Balder's peace be broken?
If so, in vain thou'st built this fane, the token
Of mild forgiveness, and in vain aged priest hath spoken!"

Over the copper threshold Halfdan now,
With pallid brow

And fearful fitful glance, advanceth slow
Tow'rds yonder tow'ring ever-dreaded foe,
And, silent, at a distance stands.

Then Frithiof, with quick hands,

The corslet-hater, Angurvadel, from his thigh
Unbuckleth, and his bright shield's golden round
Leaning 'gainst the altar, thus draws nigh;
While his cowed enemy

He thus accosts, with pleasant dignity:-
"Most noble in this strife will he be found
Who first his right hand good

Offers in pledge of peaceful brotherhood!"

Then Halfdan, deeply blushing, doffs with haste His iron gauntlet, and with hearty grasp embraced — Each long, long severed hand

Its friend-foe hails, steadfast as mountain-bases stand!

That aged and awful priest then glad removeth
The curse that rested on the varg I veum,
Frithiof the outlaw; and as the last deep accents
Of reconcilement and of blessing sounded—
Lo! Ing'borg sudden enters, rich adorned
With bridal ornaments, and all enrobed
In gorgeous ermine, and by bright-eyed maidens
Slow followed, as on heaven's broad canopy
Attending star-trains guard the regent moon!
But the young bride's fair eyes,
Those two blue skies,

Fill quick with tears,

And to her brother's heart she trembling sinketh;

He, with his sister's fears

Deep-moved, her hand all tenderly in Frithiof's linketh,
His burden soft transferring to that hero's breast,

Its long-tried faith fit place for Ing'borg's rest.

Then, to her heart's first, best beloved, her childhood's friend, In nuptial band

She gives her lily hand,

As before pardoning Balder's altar both low bend!