The New King
King Ring sits in his barrow, buckler on arm and battle-sword by his side. His war-horse stands at the cairn pawing the earth and chafing as though impatient to start on the long journey.
Thus sang the harper of the departed hero: “Great King Ring has gone on his last journey. He rides over Bifrost, the rainbow bridge that leads to Valhal. The bridge bends with his weight. Wide open the doors of Valhal to welcome him, and hands reach out to lead him within the doors.
“‘Odin himself, king of the gods, calls for the beaker to be brought. Frey wreathes the king’s head with garlands of grain ears, and Frigg places therein the bluest of her blossoms. Broge, the singer of the gods, tunes his golden harp and sings a song of welcome. Silent is Valhal as he sings:—
“‘Dear to us is this hero king, for he held his shield as a shelter for peace. Always did Forseti, goddess of justice and peace, have an honoured place in his kingdom. Generous, too, was the king, always strewing beauty and blessing far and near. To heroes he gave gifts without measure; sadness he comforted and suffering he relieved.
“‘Welcome, thou wise winner of Valhal! Long will you be loved and honoured in the Northland. You are loved by the gods, a friend from the earth.’”
So sang the harper in the palace of the king whom he loved.
When the news spread over the country that King Ring was dead, the peasants and warriors from hill and dale, from meadow and farm, cried: “We must choose a king to fill his place.”
The peasant took from the wall his steel sword and tried its edge with his practised finger to prove its sharpness. His boys admired their father’s blade and tried to lift it, but it was too heavy for one, and two struggled to lift it from the floor.
The peasant’s daughter scoured the helmet to make it clean and bright, and laughed to see her face shining from the silvery sheen of its polished surface.
When the peasant had bound his good sword to his side and put on his shining helmet, he took his round shield and started with his friends to the gathering-place.
Hail! iron man, so strong and sound,
Thou peasant good!
Renown and powers which nations wield
From thee they draw.
In war thou art thy country’s shield,
In peace its law.
With sounding of arms and shields the peasants met under heaven’s blue sky in the fair, pleasant fields. Upon the great stone in the centre of the assembly stood the noble Frithiof. With him was the little prince, son of King Ring, a slender, noble lad with long golden hair. When the men saw the two, there rose the cry on every hand, “Too small is the king’s son to rule our land and to lead our wars. Frithiof shall be our king!”
But Frithiof raised up the little boy on his shield and cried: “Ye Northmen, behold your hope, your king, your joy! From Odin is he descended, and he is brave at heart, as much at home ’mid shield and spear as fish are in the sea.
“I swear my lance and sword to set
Round land and throne,
And with the father’s coronet
To crown the son.”
While Frithiof was urging the Northmen to choose the son of Ring for their King, the boy sat on the high shield as if it were a throne. No fear had he, but he faced them all as the eaglet faces the sun. At last he grew impatient and leaped to the ground; fearless and proud he stood, like the royal prince he was.
Then all rejoiced at his courage: “We of the north, we choose thee, thou shield-borne youth, to be our king. Be like thy father, brave and good. For Frithiof, thy loyal friend, he shall be thy guardian and guide thy youth. You, Frithiof, shall marry the queen. We give her to you for your bride.”
But Frithiof frowned and said: “To-day you are here to make choice of your king,—not of my bride. To the temple of Balder I must go to repair the wrong I have done, if perchance I can do this.
“Against me Balder’s anger sore
Doth still abide;
He took, he only can restore
My cherished bride.”
Then Frithiof kissed the youthful monarch on the brow in farewell, and, turning from the assembly, he silently and slowly passed from view.