Εικόνες σελίδας
PDF
Ηλεκτρ. έκδοση
[blocks in formation]

AND then the blue-eyed Norseman told
A Saga of the days of old.
"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
In many a smoky fireside nook
Of Iceland, in the ancient day,
By wandering Saga-man or Scald;
Heimskringla is the volume called;
And he who looks may find therein
The story that I now begin."

And in each pause the story made
Upon his violin he played,
As an appropriate interlude,
Fragments of old Norwegian tunes,
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 CF 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 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 bows 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!
Thou art a God, too,
O Galilean!

And thus single-handed
Unto the combat,
Gauntlet or Gospel,
Here I defy thee!

II.-KING OLAF'S RETURN.
AND King Olaf heard the cry,
Saw the red light in the sky,

Laid his hand upon his sword, As he leaned upon the railing,

And his ships went sailing, sailing
Northward into Drontheim fiord.
There he stood as one who dreamed;
And the red light glanced and gleamed
On the armour that he wore;
And he shouted, as the rifted
Streamers o'er him shook and shifted,
"I accept thy challenge, Thor!"
To avenge his father slain,
And reconquer realm and reign,

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
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 their rapture
In 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 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;
And the hermit's cavern dismal,
Christ's great name and rites baptismal,
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.

On the ship-rails he could stand,
Wield his sword with either hand,

And at once two javelins throw;
At all feasts where ale was strongest
Sat the merry monarch longest,
First to come and last to go.
Norway never yet had seen
One so beautiful of mien,

One so royal in attire,

When in arms completely furnished,
Harness gold-inlaid and burnished,
Mantle like a flame of fire.
Thus came Olaf to his own,
When upon the night-wind blown

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

[blocks in formation]

Smiling at this, the King replied,
"Thy lore is by thy tongue belied;
For never was I so enthralled
Either by Saga-man or Scald."

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:
"I know that Odin the Great is dead;
Sure is the triumph of our Faith,
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith."
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel-

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,
The image of great Odin stood,
And other gods, with Thor supreme
among them.

King Olaf smote them with the blade
Of his huge war-axe, gold-inlaid,

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!

[blocks in formation]

Like the drifting snow she sweeps
To the couch where Olaf sleeps;
Suddenly he wakes and stirs,

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
Underneath the fairest hair!
Gudrun beware!"

Ere the earliest peep of morn
Blew King Olaf's bugle-horn;
And forever sundered ride

Bridegroom and bride!

IX. THANGBRAND THE PRIEST.

SHORT of stature, large of limb,
Burly face and russet beard,
All the women stared at him,
When in Iceland he appeared.
"Look!" they said,
With nodding head,
"There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's
Priest."

All the prayers he knew by rote,
He could preach like Chrysostome,
From the Fathers he could quote,
He had even been at Rome.
A learned clerk,

A man of mark,

Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
He was quarrelsome and loud,
And impatient of control,
Boisterous in the market crowd,
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl,
Everywhere

Would drink and swear, Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

In his house this malcontent
Could the King no longer bear,
So to Iceland he was sent

To convert the heathen there,
And away

One summer day

Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »