'O woman, woman!' cried Fridthjof, madly, 'When thought with Loke first sheltered gladly, A lie it was! and he sent it then In woman's shape to the world of men! Yes! a blue-eyed lie, who with false tears ruleth, Enchanteth always, and always fooleth; A rose-cheek'd lie, with rich swelling breast, And in spring-ice virtue and wind-faith drest. With guileful heart she, deceitful, glances, And perjury still on her fresh lips dances! And yet how dear to my soul was she-- How dear was then, ah! yet is, to me! * * * * * * * * * "'In human bosom all faith is spent, Since Ing'borg's voice has to guile been lent; * * * * * * * * * "'Where sword-blades scatter the barrows' seed, O'er hill, o'er dale shall my footsteps speed; All crown'd, perchance, I may meet a stranger, I'd know if then I shall spare from danger! Some youth, perchance, I may meet, all calm, And full of love 'mid the shields' alarm,-- Some fool on honor and truth depending, From pity I'll hew!--his poor life quick ending; I'll save from shame; he shall glorious die; Not guil'd, betray'd, nor despis'd--as I!'"[23] We detect here in Fridthjofs inner being the same spiritual process we have just observed in the character of Tegnér. Not content with condemning the one woman for her faithlessness to himself, he extends his condemnation to the entire sex. "Woman is a lie," says Fridthjof, as well as the author of the "Ode to Melancholy." He who builds on "fidelity and honor" is a fool, are Tegnér's words in one instance as well as in the other. One single bitter experience increases in proportions with Fridthjof, as well as with his author, until it becomes contempt for the human race, and weariness of life. No wonder, since they are more nearly akin than are father and son.