Haste thee, Frithiof, slay the dotard, with one sword-stroke grant him rest! Take the Queen; she’s thine; her sacred kiss of plighted troth she gave. Here no human eye can see thee—silent is the deep, dark grave! Scarce had the sound ceased when from a bough on the right, a snow-white bird began: Though no human eye should see thee, Odin would the death-stroke view. Wouldst thou murder him in slumber? Cowardly thy bright sword stain? Know, whate’er besides thou winnest, hero-fame thou ne’er shalt gain! Thus sang the two birds, while contending thoughts struggled within the listener. Suddenly he seized his sword by the handle and flung it far from him into the shadow of the forest. Whereupon the black bird, with heavy flapping of its wings, flew back to the dark halls of Night, the abode of perjurers and assassins; while, blithely warbling, upward the white bird took its flight and vanished at last in the blue of heaven. At that moment the King awoke and rising to his feet, said: “Sweet indeed hath been my slumber. Well they rest whom valor’s sword doth guard. But where is thy war blade, stranger? Methought the Brother of Lightning never left thy side. Say, who hath parted you?” “Little boots it,” answered the other; “swords are plenty in the Northland. The sword is not always a good companion. Its tongue is sharp and it speaketh few words of peace. In steel there dwells an evil spirit, sprung from Loke’s dark abode, to whom not even sleep is sacred, nor the silver locks of age.” “Hearken, youth!” began the King. “I slept not. ’Twas but to try thee I did feign to slumber—a fool is he who trusts a man or a blade untried. Thou art Frithiof! I knew thee even when thou didst cross my threshold. But wherefore didst thou creep nameless and in such disguise into my palace? Wherefore, if not to rob me of my wife? Honor comes not nameless to the banquet, Frithiof! Ever open-faced she meets men’s glances, clear as sunlight is her shield. The fame of Frithiof’s deeds has reached us,—a terror both of gods and men; careless alike of cloven shield or burning temple; the mightiest warrior known in all the land. And this bold hero, this fierce viking, creeps, a beggar, to our hall! Nay, cast not down thy eyes before me. I, too, have once been young and felt as thou. Youth, well I know, hath fiery passions. Much have I thought on thee, O Frithiof. I have pitied and have pardoned thee. Hearken now! I am growing old and feeble, and soon for me the grave shall open. Then take unto thyself my kingdom and my wife. Until that time, be thou a son to me and guard my house as thou hast done before. And now, my son, let there be no more feud between us!”