with equal anxiety called to him: "Open the doors, Bjorn, and
let the people go. The temple is burning; bring water, yea throw on an
oceanful!"

The warriors quickly formed a chain from the burning grove to the sea
and the water was passed with speed from hand to hand. Frithiof sat
like the god of rain and gave his orders in a calm, clear voice. Long
they strove, but in vain. The flames borne on the wings of the wind
mounted to the sky. The grove was dry with summer heat and the hungry
fire-king revelled midst the quick-burning branches.

Fiercely leaping from height to height,
Aiming yet still higher;
Oh, what wild and terrific light!
Strong is Balder's pyre!

Soon in smouldering ashes lay
Grove and temple's adorning;
Sadly then Frithiof turned away--
Wept in the light of morning.

On the Sea

After the burning of Balder's temple and grove Frithiof was very sad at
heart. He felt that the sun-god would never forgive him, although he
had not intended any wrong. His home, the lovely Framness, had been
destroyed by the king. Ingeborg was kept from him, and the people of
his own country shunned him because of his crime against Balder. He
felt that he had no home, no country, no friends.

One refuge he had--the swift-flying ship _Ellide_. From her deck he
saw the fires still burning in Balder's grove. Grief filled his heart.
"Gone is the temple of the white god. In ashes are the groves once
never neglected! And I am to blame; anger and haste made me forget
time and place, the reverence due in that holy temple!"

Over the blue sea where wild waves sing, _Ellide_ flew. Frithiof felt
at home in the tempest on the rocking ship--this was his Northland,
these on board were his only friends. The sea knows no king, and
Helge's wrath could not reach him on its waves.

But lo! from a hiding-place in the high rocks King Helge sends out ten
dragon ships. The warriors with Frithiof rejoice and laugh at the
king, for Bjorn had, unknown to all, leaped into the sea and bored
holes in the boat-keels. Down sank the ships and many men were
drowned, but Helge escaped.

In wrath the king drew his bow, but it broke. Then Frithiof aimed his
lance. "A death bird have I here, false king! but my lance refuses to
drink thy coward blood. It is too good for food so craven!"

So speaking Frithiof seized his oars--huge blades of fir, and swiftly
moved away.

Where foam-crest swimmeth