red wild shrieks that echoed on the hills. At last the queen
appeared, like a star in the spring's clear sky, and the hunting troop
was ready.

Hark! through hills and valleys sounds the horn! The falcon, loosened,
flies straight up into the heaven's blue, and the wild animals of the
forest fly in terror to their cavern homes. Off rush the hunters on
their eager steeds. The aged king rides no more on the wild hunt,
though in years gone by he was one of the best to follow wild game.
Frithiof is with the king, for he, too, does not wish to join the
hunters. Sad thoughts trouble him, and he wishes he had never left his
beloved boat. On the sea he had no time for brooding over his sad
fate, but here, with the king and Ingeborg, he is always remembering
happier days.

As the two entered the forest they came upon a lonely place, dark and
restful. Here the king halted and said: "See how lovely, fresh, and
deep is this forest. Here will I rest me, for I desire to sleep." But
Frithiof urged him not to sleep in the dark, damp forest. "Hard and
chilly is the ground, O King! Let me take you back to the palace."

"Like the other gods, Sleep cometh unexpected," said the king; "and
here will I sleep."

When Frithiof saw that the king was determined, he took off his mantle
and spread it beneath a tree. The king in trusting friendship leaned
his head against the stranger's knee. Soon he slept as the hero sleeps
after the battle, or as the infant sleeps cradled in its mother's arms.

As he slumbered, hark! from the branch of a tree a coal-black bird
sings: "Frithiof, now thou mayest slay thine enemy, the old king.
Human eyes do not behold thee!" But a snow-white bird sings: "Though
no human eye behold thee, Odin sees and hears each word. Wouldst thou
be a coward and slay an old man now defenceless and sleeping! The
hero-crown is not won by such a deed."

So sang the birds. Frithiof, snatching up his battle-blade, flung it
far from him into the gloomy glade. The black bird flew away into the
dark underworld. The snow-white bird, singing sweetly as a harp tone,
mounted towards the sun.

Suddenly the old man awoke: "Sleep is sweet beneath a tree, guarded by
a brave man's weapon. But where is your sword? What has parted you
who have never before been parted?"

"It is not hard to find a sword," replied Frithiof. "Sharp is its
tongue, O King, and it never speaks for peace. I think it is haunted
by an evil spiri