The Story Of Frithiof. John Henderson

" the evening of our lives is fast drawing on; the mead is no longer pleasant to the taste, and the iron helmet grows too heavy for the weary head. The events of my past life, and the occurrences of every day, are fading from my memory, while the bright joys of Valhalla entice me away from earth. I have therefore summoned our sons hither, to impress upon them the necessity of living together in unity and friendship after our departure, before the power of speech fails me, and the words die upon my tongue."

      In obedience to the call, the three youths soon arrived, and entered the royal chamber, headed by Helge, Beli's eldest son. His face was. pale and troubled, and he looked as if he had just witnessed the horrors of the kingdom of death. His hands were stained with blood fresh from the altar of sacrifice, to which he often resorted, in company with seers and diviners, that he might, if possible, search out the hidden secrets of the future. He was followed by Halfdan, the king's second son, whose appearance was a striking contrast to his brother's, the dark-browed Helge. His face was noble in form, and shaded with curling locks of hair, but its expression was weak and irresolute, and he seemed to carry the sword, which hung by his side, merely as a toy. He was like a beautiful and merry-hearted girl who had, in a moment of fun. put on the dress and weapons of a young warrior. The last was Frithiof. A blue cloak hung from his broad shoulders, and he was a head taller than either of the king's sons, differing as much from them in appearance as they did from each other. As he stood between Helge and Halfdan, he resembled the bright noon-day between the rosy morning and the dark gray night.