AND then the blue-eyed Norseman told And in each pause the story made The strange and antiquated rhymes Fresh woodbines climb and interlace, THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. Blown by the night-wind, And thus single-handed II.-KING OLAF'S RETURN. Laid his hand upon his sword, As he leaned upon the railing, And his ships went sailing, sailing Came the youthful Olaf home, Through the midnight sailing, sailing, Listening to the wild wind's wailing, And the dashing of the foam. To his thoughts the sacred name And the tale she oft had told Then strange memories crowded back How a stranger watched his face 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 honours, 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; All these thoughts of love and strife As the stars' intenser light Northward in the summer night. Trained for either camp or court, Skilful in each manly sport, Young and beautiful and tall; When at sea, with all his rowers, Outside of his ship could run. On the ship-rails he could stand, And at once two javelins throw; One so royal in attire, When in arms completely furnished, Passed that cry along the shore; And he answered, while the rifted Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, "I accept thy challenge, Thor!" III. THORA OF RIMOL. "THORA of Rimol! hide me! hide me! Danger and shame and death betide me! For Olaf the King is hunting me down Through field and forest, through thorp and town!" Thus cried Jarl Hakon To Thora, the fairest of women. "Hakon Jarl! for the love I bear thee Neither shall shame nor death come near thee! But the hiding-place wherein thou must lie Is the cave underneath the swine in the sty." Thus to Jarl Hakon Said Thora, the fairest of women. So, Hakon Jarl and his base thrall Karker, Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon darker, Y Smiling at this, the King replied, Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel sang. The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep! Night wanes, O King! 'tis time for sleep!" Then slept the King, and when he woke The guest was gone, the morning broke. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel sang. They found the doors securely barred, They found the watch-dog in the yard, There was no footprint in the grass, And none had seen the stranger pass. Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel sang. King Olaf crossed himself and said: sang. VII. IRON-BEARD. OLAF the King, one summer morn, Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim. And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere Gathered the farmers far and near, With their war weapons ready to confront him. Ploughing under the morning star, Old Iron-Beard in Yriar Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh. He wiped the sweat-drops from his brow, Unharnessed his horses from the plough, And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. He was the churliest of the churls; Little he cared for king or earls; Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming passions. Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, And by the Hammer of Thor he swore; He hated the narrow town, and all its fashions. But he loved the freedom of his farm, His ale at night, by the fireside warm, Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen tresses. He loved his horses, and his herds, The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, His well-filled barns, his brook with its water-cresses. Huge and cumbersome was his frame; His beard from which he took his name, Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer the Giant. So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, On horseback, with an attitude defiant. And to King Olaf he cried aloud, Out of the middle of the crowd, That tossed about him like a stormy ocean: "Such sacrifices shalt thou bring, To Odin and to Thor, O King, As other kings have done in their devotion!" King Olaf answered: "I command This land to be a Christian land; Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes! "But if you ask me to restore Your sacrifices, stained with gore, Then will I offer human sacrifices! "Not slaves and peasants shall they be, But men of note and high degree, Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting!" Then to their Temple strode he in, And loud behind him heard the din Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting. There in the Temple, carved in wood, King Olaf smote them with the blade And downward shattered to the pavement flung them. At the same moment rose without, From the contending crowd, a shout, A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing. And there upon the trampled plain The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain, Midway between the assailed and the assailing. King Olaf from the doorway spoke: "Choose ye between two things, my folk, To be baptized or given up to slaughter!" And seeing their leader stark and dead, The people with a murmur said, "O King, baptize us with thy holy water!" So all the Drontheim land became A Christian land in name and fame, In the old gods no more believing and trusting. And as a blood-atonement, soon King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun ; And thus in peace ended the Drontheim Hus-Ting! Like the drifting snow she sweeps His eyes meet hers. "What is that," King Olaf said, "Gleams so bright above thy head? Wherefore standest thou so white In pale moonlight?" "Tis the bodkin that I wear When at night I bind my hair; It woke me falling on the floor; "Tis nothing more." "Forests have ears, and fields have eyes; Often treachery lurking lies Ere the earliest peep of morn Bridegroom and bride! IX. THANGBRAND THE PRIEST. SHORT of stature, large of limb, All the prayers he knew by rote, A man of mark, Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. Would drink and swear, Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. In his house this malcontent To convert the heathen there, One summer day Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. |