Laden with the chill of death

Is its breath.

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?"

"T is the bodkin that I wear When at night I bind my hair ; It woke me falling on the floor; 'T is 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,

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.

There in Iceland, o'er their books
Pored the people day and night,
But he did not like their looks,
Nor the songs they used to write.
"All this rhyme

Is waste of time!"
Grumbled Thang brand, Olaf's Priest.

To the alehouse, where he sat,
Came the Scalds and Saga-men;
Is it to be wondered at,

That they quarrelled now and then,
When o'er his beer
Began to leer

Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest?

All the folk in Altafiord

Boasted of their island grand;
Saying in a single word,
"Iceland is the finest land
That the sun

Doth shine upon !

Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

And he answered: "What's the use Of this bragging up and down, When three women and one goose Make a market in your town!" Every Scald

Satires scrawled

On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

And what vexed him most of all
Was a figure in shovel hat,

Drawn in charcoal on the wall;
With words that go
Sprawling below,

"This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

Hardly knowing what he did,

Then he smote them might and main Thorvald Veile and Veterlid

Lay there in the alehouse slain.

"O, King Olaf! little hope

Is there of these Iceland men!"
Meekly said,

With bending head,

Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Then King Olaf cried aloud :
"I will talk with this mighty Raud,
And along the Salten Fiord
Preach the Gospel with my sword,
Or be brought back in my shroud!"
So northward from Drontheim
Sailed King Olaf !

X.

RAUD THE STRONG.

"ALL the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;

But the White Christ lives and reigns,
And throughout my wide domains
His Gospel shall be spread!"
On the Evangelists

Thus swore King Olaf.

But still in dreams of the night
Beheld he the crimson light,
And heard the voice that defied
Him who was crucified,
And challenged him to the fight.
To Sigurd the Bishop
King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said,
"The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes
The old witchcraft still is spread."
Thus to King Olaf

Said Sigurd the Bishop.

"Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword,

Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;
All the Godoe Isles belong

To him and his heathen horde."
Thus went on speaking
Sigurd the Bishop.

"A warlock, a wizard is he,

And lord of the wind and the sea;
And whichever way he sails,
He has ever favoring gales,
By his craft in sorcery."

Here the sign of the cross
Made devoutly King Olaf.
"With rites that we both abhor,
He worships Odin and Thor;
So it cannot yet be said,
That all the old gods are dead,
And the warlocks are no more,"
Flushing with anger
Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Near him lay the Dragon stranded,

Built of old by Raud the Strong,
And King Olaf had commanded
He should build another Dragon,
Twice as large and long.

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting,
As he sat with half-closed eyes,
And his head turned sideways, drafting
That new vessel for King Olaf

Twice the Dragon's size.

Round him busily hewed and hammered
Mallet huge and heavy axe;
Workmen laughed and sang and clam-
Whirred the wheels, that into rigging
ored;
Spun the shining flax!

All this tumult heard the master,
It was music to his ear;
Fancy whispered all the faster,
"Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting
For a hundred year!"

Workmen sweating at the forges

Fashioned iron bolt and bar, Like a warlock's midnight orgies Smoked and bubbled the black caldron With the boiling tar.

Did the warlocks mingle in it,

Thorberg Skafting, any curse? Could you not be gone a minute But some mischief must be doing, Turning bad to worse?

'T was an ill wind that came wafting,
From his homestead words of woe,
To his farm went Thorberg Skafting,
Oft repeating to his workmen,
Build ye thus and so.

After long delays returning

Came the master back by night.
To his ship-yard longing, yearning,
Hurried he, and did not leave it
Till the morning's light.

"Come and see my ship, my darling'
On the morrow said the King;
"Finished now from keel to carling;
Never yet was seen in Norway

Such a wondrous thing!

In the ship-yard, idly talking,

At the ship the workmen stared:

Boisterous as the gale! How they laughed and stamped and pounded,

Till the tavern roof resounded,
And the host looked on astounded
As they drank the ale!