him there

Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

INTERLUDE.

A Saga of the days of old.
AND then the blue-eyed Norseman told
"There is," said he, "a wondrous book
Of Legends in the old Norse tongue,
Of the dead kings of Norroway,
Legends that once were told or sung
Of Iceland, in the ancient day,
In many a smoky fireside nook
Heimskringla is the volume called;
By wandering Saga-man or Scald ;
The story that I now begin."
And he who looks may find therein

Upon his violin he played,
And in each pause the story made
Fragments of old Norwegian tunes
As an appropriate interlude,
That bound in one the separate runes,
And held the mind in perfect mood,
Entwining and encircling all
The strange and antiquated rhymes
With melodies of olden times;
As over some half-ruined wall,
Disjointed and about to fall,
Fresh woodbines climb and interlace,
And keep the loosened stones in place.

THE MUSICIAN'S TALE.

THE SAGA OF KING OLAF.

I.

THE CHALLENGE OF THOR.

I AM the God Thor,
I am the War God,

I am the Thunderer!
Here in my Northland,
My fastness and fortress,
Reign I forever!

Here amid icebergs Rule I the nations; This is my hammer, Miölner the mighty; Giants and sorcerers Cannot withstand it !

These are the gauntlets
Wherewith I wield it,
And hurl it afar off;
This is my girdle;
Whenever I brace it,
Strength is redoubled!

The light thou beholdest
Stream through the heavens,
In flashes of crimson,
Is but my red beard
Blown by the night-wind,
Affrighting the nations

Jove is my brother;
Mine eyes are the lightning;
The wheels of my chariot
Roll in the thunder,
The blows of my hammer
Ring in the earthquake!

Force rules the world still,
Has ruled it, shall rule it;
Meekness is weakness,
Strength is triumphant,
Over the whole earth
Still is it Thor's-Day!

Listening to the wild wind's wailing,
And the dashing of the foam.

To his thoughts the sacred name
Of his mother Astrid came,

And the tale she oft had told
Of her flight by secret passes
Through the mountains and morasses,
To the home of Hakon old.

Then strange memories crowded back
Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack,
And a hurried flight by sea;
Of grim Vikings, and the rapture
Of the sea-fight, and the capture,
And the life of slavery.

How a stranger watched his face
In the Esthonian market-place,

Scanned his features one by one, Saying, "We should know each other; I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother,

Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son !"

Then as Queen Allogia's page,
Old in honors, young in age,

Chief of all her men-at-arms;
Till vague whispers, and mysterious,
Reached King Valdemar, the imperious,
Filling him with strange alarms.

Then his cruisings o'er the seas,
Westward to the Hebrides,

And to Scilly's rocky shore;
And the hermit's cavern dismal,
Christ's great name and rites baptismai
In the ocean's rush and roar.

All these thoughts of love and strife
Glimmered through his lurid life,
As the stars' intenser light
Through the red flames o'er him trailing.
As his ships went sailing, sailing,
Northward in the summer night.

Trained for either camp or court,
Skilful in each manly sport,

Young and beautiful and tall; Art of warfare, craft of chases, Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races Excellent alike in all.

When at sea, with all his rowers, He along the bending oars

Outside of his ship could run. He the Smalsor Horn ascended, And his shining shield suspended On its summit, like a sun.

Said Karker, the crafty, "I will not slay thee !

For all the king's gold I will never betray thee !

"Then why dost thou turn so pale, O churl,

And then again black as the earth?" said the Earl.

More pale and more faithful

Was Thora, the fairest of women.

From a dream in the night the thrall started, saying,

"Round my neck a gold ring King Olaf was laying!

And Hakon answered, "Beware of the king!

He will lay round thy neck a blood-red ring."

At the ring on her finger

Gazed Thora, the fairest of women.