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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/25153-0.txt b/25153-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..356665f --- /dev/null +++ b/25153-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6003 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tales of a Wayside Inn, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Tales of a Wayside Inn + +Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +Release Date: April 24, 2008 [eBook #25153] +[Most recently updated: January 19, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Sigal Alon, Lisa Reigel, Michael Zeug, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN *** + + + + + [Illustration] + + + + + TALES + + OF A + + WAYSIDE INN + + + BY + + HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. + + + [Illustration] + + + BOSTON: + TICKNOR AND FIELDS. + 1863. + + + + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by + HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, + in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of + Massachusetts. + + + UNIVERSITY PRESS: + WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY, + CAMBRIDGE. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. + + PAGE + PRELUDE. + + THE WAYSIDE INN 1 + + THE LANDLORD'S TALE. + + PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 18 + + INTERLUDE 26 + + THE STUDENT'S TALE. + + THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO 30 + + INTERLUDE 46 + + THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. + + THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI 49 + + INTERLUDE 53 + + THE SICILIAN'S TALE. + + KING ROBERT OF SICILY 55 + + INTERLUDE 69 + + THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. + + THE SAGA OF KING OLAF 71 + + I. The Challenge of Thor 71 + II. King Olaf's Return 74 + III. Thora of Rimol 79 + IV. Queen Sigrid the Haughty 83 + V. The Skerry of Shrieks 88 + VI. The Wraith of Odin 94 + VII. Iron-Beard 98 + VIII. Gudrun 103 + IX. Thangbrand the Priest 106 + X. Raud the Strong 111 + XI. Bishop Sigurd at Salten Fiord 114 + XII. King Olaf's Christmas 120 + XIII. The Building of the Long Serpent 125 + XIV. The Crew of the Long Serpent 130 + XV. A Little Bird in the Air 134 + XVI. Queen Thyri and the Angelica Stalks 137 + XVII. King Svend of the Forked Beard 144 + XVIII. King Olaf and Earl Sigvald 149 + XIX. King Olaf's War-Horns 152 + XX. Einar Tamberskelver 156 + XXI. King Olaf's Death-drink 160 + XXII. The Nun of Nidaros 165 + + INTERLUDE 169 + + THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. + + TORQUEMADA 173 + + INTERLUDE 187 + + THE POET'S TALE. + + THE BIRDS OR KILLINGWORTH 189 + + FINALE 205 + + +BIRDS OF PASSAGE. + +FLIGHT THE SECOND. + + THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 209 + + ENCELADUS 212 + + THE CUMBERLAND 215 + + SNOW-FLAKES 218 + + A DAY OF SUNSHINE 220 + + SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE 222 + + WEARINESS 224 + + + + +TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. + + + + +PRELUDE. + + +THE WAYSIDE INN. + + One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, + Across the meadows bare and brown, + The windows of the wayside inn + Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves + Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves + Their crimson curtains rent and thin. + + As ancient is this hostelry + As any in the land may be, + Built in the old Colonial day, + When men lived in a grander way, + With ampler hospitality; + A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, + Now somewhat fallen to decay, + With weather-stains upon the wall, + And stairways worn, and crazy doors, + And creaking and uneven floors, + And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall. + + A region of repose it seems, + A place of slumber and of dreams, + Remote among the wooded hills! + For there no noisy railway speeds, + Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds; + But noon and night, the panting teams + Stop under the great oaks, that throw + Tangles of light and shade below, + On roofs and doors and window-sills. + Across the road the barns display + Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay, + Through the wide doors the breezes blow, + The wattled cocks strut to and fro, + And, half effaced by rain and shine, + The Red Horse prances on the sign. + + Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode + Deep silence reigned, save when a gust + Went rushing down the county road, + And skeletons of leaves, and dust, + A moment quickened by its breath, + Shuddered and danced their dance of death, + And through the ancient oaks o'erhead + Mysterious voices moaned and fled. + + But from the parlor of the inn + A pleasant murmur smote the ear, + Like water rushing through a weir; + Oft interrupted by the din + Of laughter and of loud applause, + And, in each intervening pause, + The music of a violin. + The fire-light, shedding over all + The splendor of its ruddy glow, + Filled the whole parlor large and low; + It gleamed on wainscot and on wall, + It touched with more than wonted grace + Fair Princess Mary's pictured face; + It bronzed the rafters overhead, + On the old spinet's ivory keys + It played inaudible melodies, + It crowned the sombre clock with flame, + The hands, the hours, the maker's name, + And painted with a livelier red + The Landlord's coat-of-arms again; + And, flashing on the window-pane, + Emblazoned with its light and shade + The jovial rhymes, that still remain, + Writ near a century ago, + By the great Major Molineaux, + Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. + + Before the blazing fire of wood + Erect the rapt musician stood; + And ever and anon he bent + His head upon his instrument, + And seemed to listen, till he caught + Confessions of its secret thought,-- + The joy, the triumph, the lament, + The exultation and the pain; + Then, by the magic of his art, + He soothed the throbbings of its heart, + And lulled it into peace again. + + Around the fireside at their ease + There sat a group of friends, entranced + With the delicious melodies; + Who from the far-off noisy town + Had to the wayside inn come down, + To rest beneath its old oak-trees. + The fire-light on their faces glanced, + Their shadows on the wainscot danced, + And, though of different lands and speech, + Each had his tale to tell, and each + Was anxious to be pleased and please. + And while the sweet musician plays, + Let me in outline sketch them all, + Perchance uncouthly as the blaze + With its uncertain touch portrays + Their shadowy semblance on the wall. + + But first the Landlord will I trace; + Grave in his aspect and attire; + A man of ancient pedigree, + A Justice of the Peace was he, + Known in all Sudbury as "The Squire." + Proud was he of his name and race, + Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, + And in the parlor, full in view, + His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed, + Upon the wall in colors blazed; + He beareth gules upon his shield, + A chevron argent in the field, + With three wolf's heads, and for the crest + A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed + Upon a helmet barred; below + The scroll reads, "By the name of Howe." + And over this, no longer bright, + Though glimmering with a latent light, + Was hung the sword his grandsire bore, + In the rebellious days of yore, + Down there at Concord in the fight. + + A youth was there, of quiet ways, + A Student of old books and days, + To whom all tongues and lands were known, + And yet a lover of his own; + With many a social virtue graced, + And yet a friend of solitude; + A man of such a genial mood + The heart of all things he embraced, + And yet of such fastidious taste, + He never found the best too good. + Books were his passion and delight, + And in his upper room at home + Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome, + In vellum bound, with gold bedight, + Great volumes garmented in white, + Recalling Florence, Pisa, Rome. + He loved the twilight that surrounds + The border-land of old romance; + Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, + And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, + And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, + And mighty warriors sweep along, + Magnified by the purple mist, + The dusk of centuries and of song. + The chronicles of Charlemagne, + Of Merlin and the Mort d'Arthure, + Mingled together in his brain + With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur, + Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour, + Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour, + Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. + + A young Sicilian, too, was there;-- + In sight of Etna born and bred, + Some breath of its volcanic air + Was glowing in his heart and brain, + And, being rebellious to his liege, + After Palermo's fatal siege, + Across the western seas he fled, + In good King Bomba's happy reign. + His face was like a summer night, + All flooded with a dusky light; + His hands were small; his teeth shone white + As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke; + His sinews supple and strong as oak; + Clean shaven was he as a priest, + Who at the mass on Sunday sings, + Save that upon his upper lip + His beard, a good palm's length at least, + Level and pointed at the tip, + Shot sideways, like a swallow's wings. + The poets read he o'er and o'er, + And most of all the Immortal Four + Of Italy; and next to those, + The story-telling bard of prose, + Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales + Of the Decameron, that make + Fiesole's green hills and vales + Remembered for Boccaccio's sake. + Much too of music was his thought; + The melodies and measures fraught + With sunshine and the open air, + Of vineyards and the singing sea + Of his beloved Sicily; + And much it pleased him to peruse + The songs of the Sicilian muse,-- + Bucolic songs by Meli sung + In the familiar peasant tongue, + That made men say, "Behold! once more + The pitying gods to earth restore + Theocritus of Syracuse!" + + A Spanish Jew from Alicant + With aspect grand and grave was there; + Vender of silks and fabrics rare, + And attar of rose from the Levant. + Like an old Patriarch he appeared, + Abraham or Isaac, or at least + Some later Prophet or High-Priest; + With lustrous eyes, and olive skin, + And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin, + The tumbling cataract of his beard. + His garments breathed a spicy scent + Of cinnamon and sandal blent, + Like the soft aromatic gales + That meet the mariner, who sails + Through the Moluccas, and the seas + That wash the shores of Celebes. + All stories that recorded are + By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart, + And it was rumored he could say + The Parables of Sandabar, + And all the Fables of Pilpay, + Or if not all, the greater part! + Well versed was he in Hebrew books, + Talmud and Targum, and the lore + Of Kabala; and evermore + There was a mystery in his looks; + His eyes seemed gazing far away, + As if in vision or in trance + He heard the solemn sackbut play, + And saw the Jewish maidens dance. + + A Theologian, from the school + Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there; + Skilful alike with tongue and pen, + He preached to all men everywhere + The Gospel of the Golden Rule, + The New Commandment given to men, + Thinking the deed, and not the creed, + Would help us in our utmost need. + With reverent feet the earth he trod, + Nor banished nature from his plan, + But studied still with deep research + To build the Universal Church, + Lofty as is the love of God, + And ample as the wants of man. + + A Poet, too, was there, whose verse + Was tender, musical, and terse; + The inspiration, the delight, + The gleam, the glory, the swift flight, + Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem + The revelations of a dream, + All these were his; but with them came + No envy of another's fame; + He did not find his sleep less sweet + For music in some neighboring street, + Nor rustling hear in every breeze + The laurels of Miltiades. + Honor and blessings on his head + While living, good report when dead, + Who, not too eager for renown, + Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown! + + Last the Musician, as he stood + Illumined by that fire of wood; + Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe, + His figure tall and straight and lithe, + And every feature of his face + Revealing his Norwegian race; + A radiance, streaming from within, + Around his eyes and forehead beamed, + The Angel with the violin, + Painted by Raphael, he seemed. + He lived in that ideal world + Whose language is not speech, but song; + Around him evermore the throng + Of elves and sprites their dances whirled; + The Strˆmkarl sang, the cataract hurled + Its headlong waters from the height; + And mingled in the wild delight + The scream of sea-birds in their flight, + The rumor of the forest trees, + The plunge of the implacable seas, + The tumult of the wind at night, + Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing, + Old ballads, and wild melodies + Through mist and darkness pouring forth, + Like Elivagar's river flowing + Out of the glaciers of the North. + + The instrument on which he played + Was in Cremona's workshops made, + By a great master of the past, + Ere yet was lost the art divine; + Fashioned of maple and of pine, + That in Tyrolian forests vast + Had rocked and wrestled with the blast: + Exquisite was it in design, + Perfect in each minutest part, + A marvel of the lutist's art; + And in its hollow chamber, thus, + The maker from whose hands it came + Had written his unrivalled name,-- + "Antonius Stradivarius." + + And when he played, the atmosphere + Was filled with magic, and the ear + Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold, + Whose music had so weird a sound, + The hunted stag forgot to bound, + The leaping rivulet backward rolled, + The birds came down from bush and tree, + The dead came from beneath the sea, + The maiden to the harper's knee! + + The music ceased; the applause was loud, + The pleased musician smiled and bowed; + The wood-fire clapped its hands of flame, + The shadows on the wainscot stirred, + And from the harpsichord there came + A ghostly murmur of acclaim, + A sound like that sent down at night + By birds of passage in their flight, + From the remotest distance heard. + + Then silence followed; then began + A clamor for the Landlord's tale,-- + The story promised them of old, + They said, but always left untold; + And he, although a bashful man, + And all his courage seemed to fail, + Finding excuse of no avail, + Yielded; and thus the story ran. + + + + +THE LANDLORD'S TALE. + + +PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. + + Listen, my children, and you shall hear + Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, + On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; + Hardly a man is now alive + Who remembers that famous day and year. + + He said to his friend, "If the British march + By land or sea from the town to-night, + Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch + Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-- + One, if by land, and two, if by sea; + And I on the opposite shore will be, + Ready to ride and spread the alarm + Through every Middlesex village and farm, + For the country-folk to be up and to arm." + + Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar + Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, + Just as the moon rose over the bay, + Where swinging wide at her moorings lay + The Somerset, British man-of-war; + A phantom ship, with each mast and spar + Across the moon like a prison bar, + And a huge black hulk, that was magnified + By its own reflection in the tide. + + Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, + Wanders and watches with eager ears, + Till in the silence around him he hears + The muster of men at the barrack door, + The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, + And the measured tread of the grenadiers, + Marching down to their boats on the shore. + + Then he climbed to the tower of the church, + Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, + To the belfry-chamber overhead, + And startled the pigeons from their perch + On the sombre rafters, that round him made + Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- + Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, + To the highest window in the wall, + Where he paused to listen and look down + A moment on the roofs of the town, + And the moonlight flowing over all. + + Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, + In their night-encampment on the hill, + Wrapped in silence so deep and still + That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, + The watchful night-wind, as it went + Creeping along from tent to tent, + And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" + A moment only he feels the spell + Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread + Of the lonely belfry and the dead; + For suddenly all his thoughts are bent + On a shadowy something far away, + Where the river widens to meet the bay,-- + A line of black that bends and floats + On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. + + Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, + Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride + On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. + Now he patted his horse's side, + Now gazed at the landscape far and near, + Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, + And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; + But mostly he watched with eager search + The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, + As it rose above the graves on the hill, + Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. + And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height + A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! + He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, + But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight + A second lamp in the belfry burns! + + A hurry of hoofs in a village street, + A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, + And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark + Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; + That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, + The fate of a nation was riding that night; + And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, + Kindled the land into flame with its heat. + + He has left the village and mounted the steep, + And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, + Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; + And under the alders, that skirt its edge, + Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, + Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. + + It was twelve by the village clock + When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. + He heard the crowing of the cock, + And the barking of the farmer's dog, + And felt the damp of the river fog, + That rises after the sun goes down. + + It was one by the village clock, + When he galloped into Lexington. + He saw the gilded weathercock + Swim in the moonlight as he passed, + And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, + Gaze at him with a spectral glare, + As if they already stood aghast + At the bloody work they would look upon. + + It was two by the village clock, + When he came to the bridge in Concord town. + He heard the bleating of the flock, + And the twitter of birds among the trees, + And felt the breath of the morning breeze + Blowing over the meadows brown. + And one was safe and asleep in his bed + Who at the bridge would be first to fall, + Who that day would be lying dead, + Pierced by a British musket-ball. + + You know the rest. In the books you have read, + How the British Regulars fired and fled,-- + How the farmers gave them ball for ball, + From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, + Chasing the red-coats down the lane, + Then crossing the fields to emerge again + Under the trees at the turn of the road, + And only pausing to fire and load. + + So through the night rode Paul Revere; + And so through the night went his cry of alarm + To every Middlesex village and farm,-- + A cry of defiance and not of fear, + A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, + And a word that shall echo forevermore! + For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, + Through all our history, to the last, + In the hour of darkness and peril and need, + The people will waken and listen to hear + The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, + And the midnight message of Paul Revere. + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + The Landlord ended thus his tale, + Then rising took down from its nail + The sword that hung there, dim with dust, + And cleaving to its sheath with rust, + And said, "This sword was in the fight." + The Poet seized it, and exclaimed, + "It is the sword of a good knight, + Though homespun was his coat-of-mail; + What matter if it be not named + Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale, + Excalibar, or Aroundight, + Or other name the books record? + Your ancestor, who bore this sword + As Colonel of the Volunteers, + Mounted upon his old gray mare, + Seen here and there and everywhere, + To me a grander shape appears + Than old Sir William, or what not, + Clinking about in foreign lands + With iron gauntlets on his hands, + And on his head an iron pot!" + + All laughed; the Landlord's face grew red + As his escutcheon on the wall; + He could not comprehend at all + The drift of what the Poet said; + For those who had been longest dead + Were always greatest in his eyes; + And he was speechless with surprise + To see Sir William's plumed head + Brought to a level with the rest, + And made the subject of a jest. + + And this perceiving, to appease + The Landlord's wrath, the others' fears, + The Student said, with careless ease, + "The ladies and the cavaliers, + The arms, the loves, the courtesies, + The deeds of high emprise, I sing! + Thus Ariosto says, in words + That have the stately stride and ring + Of armed knights and clashing swords. + Now listen to the tale I bring; + Listen! though not to me belong + The flowing draperies of his song, + The words that rouse, the voice that charms. + The Landlord's tale was one of arms, + Only a tale of love is mine, + Blending the human and divine, + A tale of the Decameron, told + In Palmieri's garden old, + By Fiametta, laurel-crowned, + While her companions lay around, + And heard the intermingled sound + Of airs that on their errands sped, + And wild birds gossiping overhead, + And lisp of leaves, and fountain's fall, + And her own voice more sweet than all, + Telling the tale, which, wanting these, + Perchance may lose its power to please." + + + + +THE STUDENT'S TALE. + + +THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. + + One summer morning, when the sun was hot, + Weary with labor in his garden-plot, + On a rude bench beneath his cottage eaves, + Ser Federigo sat among the leaves + Of a huge vine, that, with its arms outspread, + Hung its delicious clusters overhead. + Below him, through the lovely valley, flowed + The river Arno, like a winding road, + And from its banks were lifted high in air + The spires and roofs of Florence called the Fair: + To him a marble tomb, that rose above + His wasted fortunes and his buried love. + For there, in banquet and in tournament, + His wealth had lavished been, his substance spent, + To woo and lose, since ill his wooing sped, + Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed, + Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme, + The ideal woman of a young man's dream. + + Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain, + To this small farm, the last of his domain, + His only comfort and his only care + To prune his vines, and plant the fig and pear; + His only forester and only guest + His falcon, faithful to him, when the rest, + Whose willing hands had found so light of yore + The brazen knocker of his palace door. + Had now no strength to lift the wooden latch, + That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch. + Companion of his solitary ways, + Purveyor of his feasts on holidays, + On him this melancholy man bestowed + The love with which his nature overflowed. + And so the empty-handed years went round, + Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound, + And so, that summer morn, he sat and mused + With folded, patient hands, as he was used, + And dreamily before his half-closed sight + Floated the vision of his lost delight. + Beside him, motionless, the drowsy bird + Dreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heard + The sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, that dare + The headlong plunge thro' eddying gulfs of air, + Then, starting broad awake upon his perch, + Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church, + And, looking at his master, seemed to say, + "Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to-day?" + + Ser Federigo thought not of the chase; + The tender vision of her lovely face, + I will not say he seems to see, he sees + In the leaf-shadows of the trellises, + Herself, yet not herself; a lovely child + With flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild, + Coming undaunted up the garden walk, + And looking not at him, but at the hawk. + "Beautiful falcon!" said he, "would that I + Might hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly!" + The voice was hers, and made strange echoes start + Through all the haunted chambers of his heart, + As an Êolian harp through gusty doors + Of some old ruin its wild music pours. + + "Who is thy mother, my fair boy?" he said, + His hand laid softly on that shining head. + "Monna Giovanna.--Will you let me stay + A little while, and with your falcon play? + We live there, just beyond your garden wall, + In the great house behind the poplars tall." + + So he spake on; and Federigo heard + As from afar each softly uttered word, + And drifted onward through the golden gleams + And shadows of the misty sea of dreams, + As mariners becalmed through vapors drift, + And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift, + And hear far off the mournful breakers roar, + And voices calling faintly from the shore! + Then, waking from his pleasant reveries, + He took the little boy upon his knees, + And told him stories of his gallant bird, + Till in their friendship he became a third. + + Monna Giovanna, widowed in her prime, + Had come with friends to pass the summer time + In her grand villa, half-way up the hill, + O'erlooking Florence, but retired and still; + With iron gates, that opened through long lines + Of sacred ilex and centennial pines, + And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone, + And sylvan deities, with moss o'ergrown, + And fountains palpitating in the heat, + And all Val d'Arno stretched beneath its feet. + Here in seclusion, as a widow may, + The lovely lady whiled the hours away, + Pacing in sable robes the statued hall, + Herself the stateliest statue among all, + And seeing more and more, with secret joy, + Her husband risen and living in her boy, + Till the lost sense of life returned again, + Not as delight, but as relief from pain. + Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his strength, + Stormed down the terraces from length to length; + The screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit, + And climbed the garden trellises for fruit. + But his chief pastime was to watch the flight + Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight, + Beyond the trees that fringed the garden wall, + Then downward stooping at some distant call; + And as he gazed full often wondered he + Who might the master of the falcon be, + Until that happy morning, when he found + Master and falcon in the cottage ground. + + And now a shadow and a terror fell + On the great house, as if a passing-bell + Tolled from the tower, and filled each spacious room + With secret awe, and preternatural gloom; + The petted boy grew ill, and day by day + Pined with mysterious malady away. + The mother's heart would not be comforted; + Her darling seemed to her already dead, + And often, sitting by the sufferer's side, + "What can I do to comfort thee?" she cried. + At first the silent lips made no reply, + But, moved at length by her importunate cry, + "Give me," he answered, with imploring tone, + "Ser Federigo's falcon for my own!" + + No answer could the astonished mother make; + How could she ask, e'en for her darling's sake, + Such favor at a luckless lover's hand, + Well knowing that to ask was to command? + Well knowing, what all falconers confessed, + In all the land that falcon was the best, + The master's pride and passion and delight, + And the sole pursuivant of this poor knight. + But yet, for her child's sake, she could no less + Than give assent, to soothe his restlessness, + So promised, and then promising to keep + Her promise sacred, saw him fall asleep. + + The morrow was a bright September morn; + The earth was beautiful as if new-born; + There was that nameless splendor everywhere, + That wild exhilaration in the air, + Which makes the passers in the city street + Congratulate each other as they meet. + Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood, + Passed through the garden gate into the wood, + Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheen + Of dewy sunshine showering down between. + + The one, close-hooded, had the attractive grace + Which sorrow sometimes lends a woman's face; + Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that roll + From the gulf-stream of passion in the soul; + The other with her hood thrown back, her hair + Making a golden glory in the air, + Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush, + Her young heart singing louder than the thrush. + So walked, that morn, through mingled light and shade, + Each by the other's presence lovelier made, + Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend, + Intent upon their errand and its end. + + They found Ser Federigo at his toil, + Like banished Adam, delving in the soil; + And when he looked and these fair women spied, + The garden suddenly was glorified; + His long-lost Eden was restored again, + And the strange river winding through the plain + No longer was the Arno to his eyes, + But the Euphrates watering Paradise! + + Monna Giovanna raised her stately head, + And with fair words of salutation said: + "Ser Federigo, we come here as friends, + Hoping in this to make some poor amends + For past unkindness. I who ne'er before + Would even cross the threshold of your door, + I who in happier days such pride maintained, + Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained, + This morning come, a self-invited guest, + To put your generous nature to the test, + And breakfast with you under your own vine." + To which he answered: "Poor desert of mine, + Not your unkindness call it, for if aught + Is good in me of feeling or of thought, + From you it comes, and this last grace outweighs + All sorrows, all regrets of other days." + + And after further compliment and talk, + Among the dahlias in the garden walk + He left his guests; and to his cottage turned, + And as he entered for a moment yearned + For the lost splendors of the days of old, + The ruby glass, the silver and the gold, + And felt how piercing is the sting of pride, + By want embittered and intensified. + He looked about him for some means or way + To keep this unexpected holiday; + Searched every cupboard, and then searched again, + Summoned the maid, who came, but came in vain; + "The Signor did not hunt to-day," she said, + "There's nothing in the house but wine and bread." + + Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shook + His little bells, with that sagacious look, + Which said, as plain as language to the ear, + "If anything is wanting, I am here!" + Yes, everything is wanting, gallant bird! + The master seized thee without further word, + Like thine own lure, he whirled thee round; ah me! + The pomp and flutter of brave falconry, + The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet hood, + The flight and the pursuit o'er field and wood, + All these forevermore are ended now; + No longer victor, but the victim thou! + + Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread, + Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread, + Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot, + The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot; + Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed, + And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced. + Ser Federigo, would not these suffice + Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice? + + When all was ready, and the courtly dame + With her companion to the cottage came, + Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fell + The wild enchantment of a magic spell; + The room they entered, mean and low and small, + Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall, + With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown; + The rustic chair she sat on was a throne; + He ate celestial food, and a divine + Flavor was given to his country wine, + And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice, + A peacock was, or bird of paradise! + + When the repast was ended, they arose + And passed again into the garden-close. + Then said the lady, "Far too well I know, + Remembering still the days of long ago, + Though you betray it not, with what surprise + You see me here in this familiar wise. + You have no children, and you cannot guess + What anguish, what unspeakable distress + A mother feels, whose child is lying ill, + Nor how her heart anticipates his will. + And yet for this, you see me lay aside + All womanly reserve and check of pride, + And ask the thing most precious in your sight, + Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight, + Which if you find it in your heart to give, + My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live." + + Ser Federigo listens, and replies, + With tears of love and pity in his eyes: + "Alas, dear lady! there can be no task + So sweet to me, as giving when you ask. + One little hour ago, if I had known + This wish of yours, it would have been my own. + But thinking in what manner I could best + Do honor to the presence of my guest, + I deemed that nothing worthier could be + Than what most dear and precious was to me, + And so my gallant falcon breathed his last + To furnish forth this morning our repast." + + In mute contrition, mingled with dismay, + The gentle lady turned her eyes away, + Grieving that he such sacrifice should make, + And kill his falcon for a woman's sake, + Yet feeling in her heart a woman's pride, + That nothing she could ask for was denied; + Then took her leave, and passed out at the gate + With footstep slow and soul disconsolate. + + Three days went by, and lo! a passing-bell + Tolled from the little chapel in the dell; + Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said, + Breathing a prayer, "Alas! her child is dead!" + Three months went by; and lo! a merrier chime + Rang from the chapel bells at Christmas time; + The cottage was deserted, and no more + Ser Federigo sat beside its door, + But now, with servitors to do his will, + In the grand villa, half-way up the hill, + Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his side + Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, + Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair, + Enthroned once more in the old rustic chair, + High-perched upon the back of which there stood + The image of a falcon carved in wood, + And underneath the inscription, with a date, + "All things come round to him who will but wait." + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + Soon as the story reached its end, + One, over eager to commend, + Crowned it with injudicious praise; + And then the voice of blame found vent, + And fanned the embers of dissent + Into a somewhat lively blaze. + + The Theologian shook his head; + "These old Italian tales," he said, + "From the much-praised Decameron down + Through all the rabble of the rest, + Are either trifling, dull, or lewd; + The gossip of a neighborhood + In some remote provincial town, + A scandalous chronicle at best! + They seem to me a stagnant fen, + Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, + Where a white lily, now and then, + Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds + And deadly nightshade on its banks." + + To this the Student straight replied, + "For the white lily, many thanks! + One should not say, with too much pride, + Fountain, I will not drink of thee! + Nor were it grateful to forget, + That from these reservoirs and tanks + Even imperial Shakspeare drew + His Moor of Venice and the Jew, + And Romeo and Juliet, + And many a famous comedy." + + Then a long pause; till some one said, + "An Angel is flying overhead!" + At these words spake the Spanish Jew, + And murmured with an inward breath: + "God grant, if what you say is true + It may not be the Angel of Death!" + + And then another pause; and then, + Stroking his beard, he said again: + "This brings back to my memory + A story in the Talmud told, + That book of gems, that book of gold, + Of wonders many and manifold, + A tale that often comes to me, + And fills my heart, and haunts my brain, + And never wearies nor grows old." + + + + +THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. + + +THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. + + Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read + A volume of the Law, in which it said, + "No man shall look upon my face and live." + And as he read, he prayed that God would give + His faithful servant grace with mortal eye + To look upon His face and yet not die. + + Then fell a sudden shadow on the page + And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age, + He saw the Angel of Death before him stand, + Holding a naked sword in his right hand. + Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, + Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran. + + With trembling voice he said, "What wilt thou here?" + The angel answered, "Lo! the time draws near + When thou must die; yet first, by God's decree, + Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee." + Replied the Rabbi, "Let these living eyes + First look upon my place in Paradise." + + Then said the Angel, "Come with me and look." + Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, + And rising, and uplifting his gray head, + "Give me thy sword," he to the Angel said, + "Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way." + The Angel smiled and hastened to obey, + Then led him forth to the Celestial Town, + And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down, + Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes, + Might look upon his place in Paradise. + + Then straight into the city of the Lord + The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel's sword, + And through the streets there swept a sudden breath + Of something there unknown, which men call death. + Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, and cried, + "Come back!" To which the Rabbi's voice replied, + "No! in the name of God, whom I adore, + I swear that hence I will depart no more!" + + Then all the Angels cried, "O Holy One, + See what the son of Levi here has done! + The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence, + And in Thy name refuses to go hence!" + The Lord replied, "My Angels, be not wroth; + Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath? + Let him remain; for he with mortal eye + Shall look upon my face and yet not die." + + Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death + Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath, + "Give back the sword, and let me go my way." + Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, "Nay! + Anguish enough already has it caused + Among the sons of men." And while he paused + He heard the awful mandate of the Lord + Resounding through the air, "Give back the sword!" + + The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer; + Then said he to the dreadful Angel, "Swear, + No human eye shall look on it again; + But when thou takest away the souls of men, + Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword, + Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord." + + The Angel took the sword again, and swore, + And walks on earth unseen forevermore. + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + He ended: and a kind of spell + Upon the silent listeners fell. + His solemn manner and his words + Had touched the deep, mysterious chords, + That vibrate in each human breast + Alike, but not alike confessed. + The spiritual world seemed near; + And close above them, full of fear, + Its awful adumbration passed, + A luminous shadow, vague and vast. + They almost feared to look, lest there, + Embodied from the impalpable air, + They might behold the Angel stand, + Holding the sword in his right hand. + + At last, but in a voice subdued, + Not to disturb their dreamy mood, + Said the Sicilian: "While you spoke, + Telling your legend marvellous, + Suddenly in my memory woke + The thought of one, now gone from us,-- + An old Abate, meek and mild, + My friend and teacher, when a child, + Who sometimes in those days of old + The legend of an Angel told, + Which ran, if I remember, thus." + + + + +THE SICILIAN'S TALE. + + +KING ROBERT OF SICILY. + + Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane + And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat + And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. + And as he listened, o'er and o'er again + Repeated, like a burden or refrain, + He caught the words, "_Deposuit potentes + De sede, et exaltavit humiles_"; + And slowly lifting up his kingly head + He to a learned clerk beside him said, + "What mean these words?" The clerk made answer meet, + "He has put down the mighty from their seat, + And has exalted them of low degree." + Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, + "'Tis well that such seditious words are sung + Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; + For unto priests and people be it known, + There is no power can push me from my throne!" + And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, + Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. + + When he awoke, it was already night; + The church was empty, and there was no light, + Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, + Lighted a little space before some saint. + He started from his seat and gazed around, + But saw no living thing and heard no sound. + He groped towards the door, but it was locked; + He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, + And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, + And imprecations upon men and saints. + The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls + As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls! + + At length the sexton, hearing from without + The tumult of the knocking and the shout, + And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, + Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?" + Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, + "Open: 'tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?" + The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, + "This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!" + Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; + A man rushed by him at a single stride, + Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, + Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, + But leaped into the blackness of the night, + And vanished like a spectre from his sight. + + Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane + And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, + Despoiled of his magnificent attire, + Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, + With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, + Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; + Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage + To right and left each seneschal and page, + And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, + His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. + From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed; + Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, + Until at last he reached the banquet-room, + Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. + + There on the dais sat another king, + Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring, + King Robert's self in features, form, and height, + But all transfigured with angelic light! + It was an Angel; and his presence there + With a divine effulgence filled the air, + An exaltation, piercing the disguise, + Though none the hidden Angel recognize. + + A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, + The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, + Who met his looks of anger and surprise + With the divine compassion of his eyes; + Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?" + To which King Robert answered, with a sneer, + "I am the King, and come to claim my own + From an impostor, who usurps my throne!" + And suddenly, at these audacious words, + Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords; + The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, + "Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou + Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, + And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape; + Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, + And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!" + + Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, + They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; + A group of tittering pages ran before, + And as they opened wide the folding-door, + His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, + The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, + And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring + With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!" + + Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, + He said within himself, "It was a dream!" + But the straw rustled as he turned his head, + There were the cap and bells beside his bed, + Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, + Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, + And in the corner, a revolting shape, + Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. + It was no dream; the world he loved so much + Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch! + + Days came and went; and now returned again + To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; + Under the Angel's governance benign + The happy island danced with corn and wine, + And deep within the mountain's burning breast + Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. + + Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, + Sullen and silent and disconsolate. + Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, + With looks bewildered and a vacant stare, + Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, + By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, + His only friend the ape, his only food + What others left,--he still was unsubdued. + And when the Angel met him on his way, + And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, + Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel + The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, + "Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe + Burst from him in resistless overflow, + And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling + The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!" + + Almost three years were ended; when there came + Ambassadors of great repute and name + From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, + Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane + By letter summoned them forthwith to come + On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. + The Angel with great joy received his guests, + And gave them presents of embroidered vests, + And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, + And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. + Then he departed with them o'er the sea + Into the lovely land of Italy, + Whose loveliness was more resplendent made + By the mere passing of that cavalcade, + With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir + Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. + + And lo! among the menials, in mock state, + Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, + His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, + The solemn ape demurely perched behind, + King Robert rode, making huge merriment + In all the country towns through which they went. + + The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare + Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square, + Giving his benediction and embrace, + Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. + While with congratulations and with prayers + He entertained the Angel unawares, + Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, + Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, + "I am the King! Look, and behold in me + Robert, your brother, King of Sicily! + This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, + Is an impostor in a king's disguise. + Do you not know me? does no voice within + Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" + The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, + Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene; + The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport + To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!" + And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace + Was hustled back among the populace. + + In solemn state the Holy Week went by, + And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; + The presence of the Angel, with its light, + Before the sun rose, made the city bright, + And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, + Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. + Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, + With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, + He felt within a power unfelt before, + And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, + He heard the rushing garments of the Lord + Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. + + And now the visit ending, and once more + Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, + Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again + The land was made resplendent with his train, + Flashing along the towns of Italy + Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. + And when once more within Palermo's wall, + And, seated on the throne in his great hall, + He heard the Angelus from convent towers, + As if the better world conversed with ours, + He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, + And with a gesture bade the rest retire; + And when they were alone, the Angel said, + "Art thou the King?" Then bowing down his head, + King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, + And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best! + My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, + And in some cloister's school of penitence, + Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, + Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven!" + The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face + A holy light illumined all the place, + And through the open window, loud and clear, + They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, + Above the stir and tumult of the street: + "He has put down the mighty from their seat, + And has exalted them of low degree!" + And through the chant a second melody + Rose like the throbbing of a single string: + "I am an Angel, and thou art the King!" + + King Robert, who was standing near the throne, + Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! + But all apparelled as in days of old, + With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; + And when his courtiers came, they found him there + Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + 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 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, + Miˆlner 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! + + 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 armor 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 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 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, + As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, + Through the forest roads into Orkadale, + Demanding Jarl Hakon + Of Thora, the fairest of women. + + "Rich and honored shall be whoever + The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever!" + Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, + Through the breathing-holes of the darksome cave. + Alone in her chamber + Wept Thora, the fairest of women. + + 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. + + At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered, + But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered; + The thrall in the darkness plunged with his knife, + And the Earl awakened no more in this life. + But wakeful and weeping + Sat Thora, the fairest of women. + + At Nidarholm the priests are all singing, + Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging; + One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his thrall's, + And the people are shouting from windows and walls; + While alone in her chamber + Swoons Thora, the fairest of women. + + +IV. + +QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY. + + Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud and aloft + In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft. + Heart's dearest, + Why dost thou sorrow so? + + The floor with tassels of fir was besprent, + Filling the room with their fragrant scent. + + She heard the birds sing, she saw the sun shine, + The air of summer was sweeter than wine. + + Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay + Between her own kingdom and Norroway. + + But Olaf the King had sued for her hand, + The sword would be sheathed, the river be spanned. + + Her maidens were seated around her knee, + Working bright figures in tapestry. + + And one was singing the ancient rune + Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of Gudrun. + + And through it, and round it, and over it all + Sounded incessant the waterfall. + + The Queen in her hand held a ring of gold, + From the door of LadÈ's Temple old. + + King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift, + But her thoughts as arrows were keen and swift. + + She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain, + Who smiled, as they handed it back again. + + And Sigrid the Queen, in her haughty way, + Said, "Why do you smile, my goldsmiths, say?" + + And they answered: "O Queen! if the truth must be told, + The ring is of copper, and not of gold!" + + The lightning flashed o'er her forehead and cheek, + She only murmured, she did not speak: + + "If in his gifts he can faithless be, + There will be no gold in his love to me." + + A footstep was heard on the outer stair, + And in strode King Olaf with royal air. + + He kissed the Queen's hand, and he whispered of love, + And swore to be true as the stars are above. + + But she smiled with contempt as she answered: "O King, + Will you swear it, as Odin once swore, on the ring?" + + And the King: "O speak not of Odin to me, + The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be." + + Looking straight at the King, with her level brows, + She said, "I keep true to my faith and my vows." + + Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom, + He rose in his anger and strode through the room. + + "Why, then, should I care to have thee?" he said,-- + "A faded old woman, a heathenish jade!" + + His zeal was stronger than fear or love, + And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove. + + Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled, + And the wooden stairway shook with his tread. + + Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, + "This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death!" + Heart's dearest, + Why dost thou sorrow so? + + +V. + +THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS. + + Now from all King Olaf's farms + His men-at-arms + Gathered on the Eve of Easter; + To his house at Angvalds-ness + Fast they press, + Drinking with the royal feaster. + + Loudly through the wide-flung door + Came the roar + Of the sea upon the Skerry; + And its thunder loud and near + Reached the ear, + Mingling with their voices merry. + + "Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald, + Halfred the Bald, + "Listen to that song, and learn it! + Half my kingdom would I give, + As I live, + If by such songs you would earn it! + + "For of all the runes and rhymes + Of all times, + Best I like the ocean's dirges, + When the old harper heaves and rocks, + His hoary locks + Flowing and flashing in the surges!" + + Halfred answered: "I am called + The Unappalled! + Nothing hinders me or daunts me. + Hearken to me, then, O King, + While I sing + The great Ocean Song that haunts me." + + "I will hear your song sublime + Some other time," + Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, + And retires; each laughing guest + Applauds the jest; + Then they sleep till day is dawning. + + Pacing up and down the yard, + King Olaf's guard + Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping + O'er the sands, and up the hill, + Gathering still + Round the house where they were sleeping. + + It was not the fog he saw, + Nor misty flaw, + That above the landscape brooded; + It was Eyvind Kallda's crew + Of warlocks blue, + With their caps of darkness hooded! + + Round and round the house they go, + Weaving slow + Magic circles to encumber + And imprison in their ring + Olaf the King, + As he helpless lies in slumber. + + Then athwart the vapors dun + The Easter sun + Streamed with one broad track of splendor! + In their real forms appeared + The warlocks weird, + Awful as the Witch of Endor. + + Blinded by the light that glared, + They groped and stared + Round about with steps unsteady; + From his window Olaf gazed, + And, amazed, + "Who are these strange people?" said he. + + "Eyvind Kellda and his men!" + Answered then + From the yard a sturdy farmer; + While the men-at-arms apace + Filled the place, + Busily buckling on their armor. + + From the gates they sallied forth, + South and north, + Scoured the island coast around them, + Seizing all the warlock band, + Foot and hand + On the Skerry's rocks they bound them. + + And at eve the king again + Called his train, + And, with all the candles burning, + Silent sat and heard once more + The sullen roar + Of the ocean tides returning. + + Shrieks and cries of wild despair + Filled the air, + Growing fainter as they listened; + Then the bursting surge alone + Sounded on;-- + Thus the sorcerers were christened! + + "Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, + Your ocean-rhyme," + Cried King Olaf: "it will cheer me!" + Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, + "The Skerry of Shrieks + Sings too loud for you to hear me!" + + +VI. + +THE WRAITH OF ODIN. + + The guests were loud, the ale was strong, + King Olaf feasted late and long; + The hoary Scalds together sang; + O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + The door swung wide, with creak and din; + A blast of cold night-air came in, + And on the threshold shivering stood + A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + The King exclaimed, "O graybeard pale! + Come warm thee with this cup of ale." + The foaming draught the old man quaffed, + The noisy guests looked on and laughed. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + Then spake the King: "Be not afraid; + Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, + And, seated at the table, told + Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + And ever, when the tale was o'er, + The King demanded yet one more; + Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, + "'Tis late, O King, and time for bed." + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + The King retired; the stranger guest + Followed and entered with the rest; + The lights were out, the pages gone, + But still the garrulous guest spake on. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + As one who from a volume reads, + He spake of heroes and their deeds, + Of lands and cities he had seen, + And stormy gulfs that tossed between. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + Then from his lips in music rolled + The Havamal of Odin old, + With sounds mysterious as the roar + Of billows on a distant shore. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + "Do we not learn from runes and rhymes + Made by the gods in elder times, + And do not still the great Scalds teach + That silence better is than speech?" + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + +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 watercresses. + + 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! + + +VIII. + +GUDRUN. + + On King Olaf's bridal night + Shines the moon with tender light, + And across the chamber streams + Its tide of dreams. + + At the fatal midnight hour, + When all evil things have power, + In the glimmer of the moon + Stands Gudrun. + + Close against her heaving breast, + Something in her hand is pressed; + Like an icicle, its sheen + Is cold and keen. + + On the cairn are fixed her eyes + Where her murdered father lies, + And a voice remote and drear + She seems to hear. + + What a bridal night is this! + Cold will be the dagger's kiss; + 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?" + + "'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 malecontent + 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 Thangbrand, 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. + + Something worse they did than that; + 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. + "To-day we are gold, + To-morrow mould!" + Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. + + Much in fear of axe and rope, + Back to Norway sailed he then. + "O, King Olaf! little hope + Is there of these Iceland men!" + Meekly said, + With bending head, + Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. + + +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. + + 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! + + +XI. + +BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD. + + Loud the angry wind was wailing + As King Olaf's ships came sailing + Northward out of Drontheim haven + To the mouth of Salten Fiord. + + Though the flying sea-spray drenches + Fore and aft the rowers' benches, + Not a single heart is craven + Of the champions there on board. + + All without the Fiord was quiet, + But within it storm and riot, + Such as on his Viking cruises + Raud the Strong was wont to ride. + + And the sea through all its tide-ways + Swept the reeling vessels sideways, + As the leaves are swept through sluices, + When the flood-gates open wide. + + "'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demon + Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen; + "But the Lord is not affrighted + By the witchcraft of his foes." + + To the ship's bow he ascended, + By his choristers attended, + Round him were the tapers lighted, + And the sacred incense rose. + + On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, + In his robes, as one transfigured, + And the Crucifix he planted + High amid the rain and mist. + + Then with holy water sprinkled + All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled; + Loud the monks around him chanted, + Loud he read the Evangelist. + + As into the Fiord they darted, + On each side the water parted; + Down a path like silver molten + Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships; + + Steadily burned all night the tapers, + And the White Christ through the vapors + Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, + As through John's Apocalypse,-- + + Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling + On the little isle of Gelling; + Not a guard was at the doorway, + Not a glimmer of light was seen. + + But at anchor, carved and gilded, + Lay the dragon-ship he builded; + 'Twas the grandest ship in Norway, + With its crest and scales of green. + + Up the stairway, softly creeping, + To the loft where Raud was sleeping, + With their fists they burst asunder + Bolt and bar that held the door. + + Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, + Dragged him from his bed and bound him, + While he stared with stupid wonder, + At the look and garb they wore. + + Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King! + Little time have we for speaking, + Choose between the good and evil; + Be baptized, or thou shalt die!" + + But in scorn the heathen scoffer + Answered: "I disdain thine offer; + Neither fear I God nor Devil; + Thee and thy Gospel I defy!" + + Then between his jaws distended, + When his frantic struggles ended, + Through King Olaf's horn an adder, + Touched by fire, they forced to glide. + + Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, + As he gnawed through bone and marrow; + But without a groan or shudder, + Raud the Strong blaspheming died. + + Then baptized they all that region, + Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, + Far as swims the salmon, leaping, + Up the streams of Salten Fiord. + + In their temples Thor and Odin + Lay in dust and ashes trodden, + As King Olaf, onward sweeping, + Preached the Gospel with his sword. + + Then he took the carved and gilded + Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, + And the tiller single-handed, + Grasping, steered into the main. + + Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him, + Southward sailed the ship that bore him, + Till at Drontheim haven landed + Olaf and his crew again. + + +XII. + +KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS. + + At Drontheim, Olaf the King + Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, + As he sat in his banquet-hall, + Drinking the nut-brown ale, + With his bearded Berserks hale + And tall. + + Three days his Yule-tide feasts + He held with Bishops and Priests, + And his horn filled up to the brim; + But the ale was never too strong, + Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, + For him. + + O'er his drinking-horn, the sign + He made of the cross divine, + As he drank, and muttered his prayers; + But the Berserks evermore + Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor + Over theirs. + + The gleams of the fire-light dance + Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, + And laugh in the eyes of the King; + And he cries to Halfred the Scald, + Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, + "Sing!" + + "Sing me a song divine, + With a sword in every line, + And this shall be thy reward." + And he loosened the belt at his waist, + And in front of the singer placed + His sword. + + "Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, + Wherewith at a stroke he hewed + The millstone through and through, + And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, + Were neither so broad nor so long, + Nor so true." + + Then the Scald took his harp and sang, + And loud through the music rang + The sound of that shining word; + And the harp-strings a clangor made, + As if they were struck with the blade + Of a sword. + + And the Berserks round about + Broke forth into a shout + That made the rafters ring: + They smote with their fists on the board, + And shouted, "Long live the Sword, + And the King!" + + But the King said, "O my son, + I miss the bright word in one + Of thy measures and thy rhymes." + And Halfred the Scald replied, + "In another 'twas multiplied + Three times." + + Then King Olaf raised the hilt + Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, + And said, "Do not refuse; + Count well the gain and the loss, + Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: + Choose!" + + And Halfred the Scald said, "This + In the name of the Lord I kiss, + Who on it was crucified!" + And a shout went round the board, + "In the name of Christ the Lord, + Who died!" + + Then over the waste of snows + The noonday sun uprose, + Through the driving mists revealed, + Like the lifting of the Host, + By incense-clouds almost + Concealed. + + On the shining wall a vast + And shadowy cross was cast + From the hilt of the lifted sword, + And in foaming cups of ale + The Berserks drank "Was-hael! + To the Lord!" + + +XIII. + +THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT. + + Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, + In his ship-yard by the sea, + Whistled, saying, "'Twould bewilder + Any man but Thorberg Skafting, + Any man but me!" + + 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 clamored; + Whirred the wheels, that into rigging + 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? + + 'Twas 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: + Some one, all their labor balking, + Down her sides had cut deep gashes, + Not a plank was spared! + + "Death be to the evil-doer!" + With an oath King Olaf spoke; + "But rewards to his pursuer!" + And with wrath his face grew redder + Than his scarlet cloak. + + Straight the master-builder, smiling, + Answered thus the angry King: + "Cease blaspheming and reviling, + Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting + Who has done this thing!" + + Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, + Till the King, delighted, swore, + With much lauding and much thanking, + "Handsomer is now my Dragon + Than she was before!" + + Seventy ells and four extended + On the grass the vessel's keel; + High above it, gilt and splendid, + Rose the figure-head ferocious + With its crest of steel. + + Then they launched her from the tressels, + In the ship-yard by the sea; + She was the grandest of all vessels, + Never ship was built in Norway + Half so fine as she! + + The Long Serpent was she christened, + 'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer! + They who to the Saga listened + Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting + For a hundred year! + + +XIV. + +THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT. + + Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay + King Olaf's fleet assembled lay, + And, striped with white and blue, + Downward fluttered sail and banner, + As alights the screaming lanner; + Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, + The Long Serpent's crew. + + Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red; + Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, + His teeth as large and white; + His beard, of gray and russet blended, + Round as a swallow's nest descended; + As standard-bearer he defended + Olaf's flag in the fight. + + Near him Kolbiorn had his place, + Like the King in garb and face, + So gallant and so hale; + Every cabin-boy and varlet + Wondered at his cloak of scarlet; + Like a river, frozen and star-lit, + Gleamed his coat of mail. + + By the bulkhead, tall and dark, + Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, + A figure gaunt and grand; + On his hairy arm imprinted + Was an anchor, azure-tinted; + Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted + Was his brawny hand. + + Einar Tamberskelver, bare + To the winds his golden hair, + By the mainmast stood; + Graceful was his form, and slender, + And his eyes were deep and tender + As a woman's, in the splendor + Of her maidenhood. + + In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork + Watched the sailors at their work: + Heavens! how they swore! + Thirty men they each commanded, + Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, + Shoulders broad, and chests expanded, + Tugging at the oar. + + These, and many more like these, + With King Olaf sailed the seas, + Till the waters vast + Filled them with a vague devotion, + With the freedom and the motion, + With the roll and roar of ocean + And the sounding blast. + + When they landed from the fleet, + How they roared through Drontheim's street, + 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! + + Never saw the wild North Sea + Such a gallant company + Sail its billows blue! + Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, + Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, + Owned a ship so well apparelled, + Boasted such a crew! + + +XV. + +A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR. + + A little bird in the air + Is singing of Thyri the fair, + The sister of Svend the Dane; + And the song of the garrulous bird + In the streets of the town is heard, + And repeated again and again. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + To King Burislaf, it is said, + Was the beautiful Thyri wed, + And a sorrowful bride went she; + And after a week and a day, + She has fled away and away, + From his town by the stormy sea. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + They say, that through heat and through cold, + Through weald, they say, and through wold, + By day and by night, they say, + She has fled; and the gossips report + She has come to King Olaf's court, + And the town is all in dismay. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + It is whispered King Olaf has seen, + Has talked with the beautiful Queen; + And they wonder how it will end; + For surely, if here she remain, + It is war with King Svend the Dane, + And King Burislaf the Vend! + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + O, greatest wonder of all! + It is published in hamlet and hall, + It roars like a flame that is fanned! + The King--yes, Olaf the King-- + Has wedded her with his ring, + And Thyri is Queen in the land! + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + +XVI. + +QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS. + + Northward over Drontheim, + Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, + Sang the lark and linnet + From the meadows green; + + Weeping in her chamber, + Lonely and unhappy, + Sat the Drottning Thyri, + Sat King Olaf's Queen. + + In at all the windows + Streamed the pleasant sunshine, + On the roof above her + Softly cooed the dove; + + But the sound she heard not, + Nor the sunshine heeded, + For the thoughts of Thyri + Were not thoughts of love. + + Then King Olaf entered, + Beautiful as morning, + Like the sun at Easter + Shone his happy face; + + In his hand he carried + Angelicas uprooted, + With delicious fragrance + Filling all the place. + + Like a rainy midnight + Sat the Drottning Thyri, + Even the smile of Olaf + Could not cheer her gloom; + + Nor the stalks he gave her + With a gracious gesture, + And with words as pleasant + As their own perfume. + + In her hands he placed them, + And her jewelled fingers + Through the green leaves glistened + Like the dews of morn; + + But she cast them from her, + Haughty and indignant, + On the floor she threw them + With a look of scorn. + + "Richer presents," said she, + "Gave King Harald Gormson + To the Queen, my mother, + Than such worthless weeds; + + "When he ravaged Norway, + Laying waste the kingdom, + Seizing scatt and treasure + For her royal needs. + + "But thou darest not venture + Through the Sound to Vendland, + My domains to rescue + From King Burislaf; + + "Lest King Svend of Denmark, + Forked Beard, my brother, + Scatter all thy vessels + As the wind the chaff." + + Then up sprang King Olaf, + Like a reindeer bounding, + With an oath he answered + Thus the luckless Queen: + + "Never yet did Olaf + Fear King Svend of Denmark; + This right hand shall hale him + By his forked chin!" + + Then he left the chamber, + Thundering through the doorway, + Loud his steps resounded + Down the outer stair. + + Smarting with the insult, + Through the streets of Drontheim + Strode he red and wrathful, + With his stately air. + + All his ships he gathered, + Summoned all his forces, + Making his war levy + In the region round; + + Down the coast of Norway, + Like a flock of sea-gulls, + Sailed the fleet of Olaf + Through the Danish Sound. + + With his own hand fearless, + Steered he the Long Serpent, + Strained the creaking cordage, + Bent each boom and gaff; + + Till in Vendland landing, + The domains of Thyri + He redeemed and rescued + From King Burislaf. + + Then said Olaf, laughing, + "Not ten yoke of oxen + Have the power to draw us + Like a woman's hair! + + "Now will I confess it, + Better things are jewels + Than angelica stalks are + For a Queen to wear." + + +XVII. + +KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD. + + Loudly the sailors cheered + Svend of the Forked Beard, + As with his fleet he steered + Southward to Vendland; + Where with their courses hauled + All were together called, + Under the Isle of Svald + Near to the mainland. + + After Queen Gunhild's death, + So the old Saga saith, + Plighted King Svend his faith + To Sigrid the Haughty; + And to avenge his bride, + Soothing her wounded pride, + Over the waters wide + King Olaf sought he. + + Still on her scornful face, + Blushing with deep disgrace, + Bore she the crimson trace + Of Olaf's gauntlet; + Like a malignant star, + Blazing in heaven afar, + Red shone the angry scar + Under her frontlet. + + Oft to King Svend she spake, + "For thine own honor's sake + Shalt thou swift vengeance take + On the vile coward!" + Until the King at last, + Gusty and overcast, + Like a tempestuous blast + Threatened and lowered. + + Soon as the Spring appeared, + Svend of the Forked Beard + High his red standard reared, + Eager for battle; + While every warlike Dane, + Seizing his arms again, + Left all unsown the grain, + Unhoused the cattle. + + Likewise the Swedish King + Summoned in haste a Thing, + Weapons and men to bring + In aid of Denmark; + Eric the Norseman, too, + As the war-tidings flew, + Sailed with a chosen crew + From Lapland and Finmark. + + So upon Easter day + Sailed the three kings away, + Out of the sheltered bay, + In the bright season; + With them Earl Sigvald came, + Eager for spoil and fame; + Pity that such a name + Stooped to such treason! + + Safe under Svald at last, + Now were their anchors cast, + Safe from the sea and blast, + Plotted the three kings; + While, with a base intent, + Southward Earl Sigvald went, + On a foul errand bent, + Unto the Sea-kings. + + Thence to hold on his course, + Unto King Olaf's force, + Lying within the hoarse + Mouths of Stet-haven; + Him to ensnare and bring, + Unto the Danish king, + Who his dead corse would fling + Forth to the raven! + + +XVIII. + +KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD. + + On the gray sea-sands + King Olaf stands, + Northward and seaward + He points with his hands. + + With eddy and whirl + The sea-tides curl, + Washing the sandals + Of Sigvald the Earl. + + The mariners shout, + The ships swing about, + The yards are all hoisted, + The sails flutter out. + + The war-horns are played, + The anchors are weighed, + Like moths in the distance + The sails flit and fade. + + The sea is like lead, + The harbor lies dead, + As a corse on the sea-shore, + Whose spirit has fled! + + On that fatal day, + The histories say, + Seventy vessels + Sailed out of the bay. + + But soon scattered wide + O'er the billows they ride, + While Sigvald and Olaf + Sail side by side. + + Cried the Earl: "Follow me! + I your pilot will be, + For I know all the channels + Where flows the deep sea!" + + So into the strait + Where his foes lie in wait, + Gallant King Olaf + Sails to his fate! + + Then the sea-fog veils + The ships and their sails; + Queen Sigrid the Haughty, + Thy vengeance prevails! + + +XIX. + +KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS. + + "Strike the sails!" King Olaf said; + "Never shall men of mine take flight; + Never away from battle I fled, + Never away from my foes! + Let God dispose + Of my life in the fight!" + + "Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King; + And suddenly through the drifting brume + The blare of the horns began to ring, + Like the terrible trumpet shock + Of Regnarock, + On the Day of Doom! + + Louder and louder the war-horns sang + Over the level floor of the flood; + All the sails came down with a clang, + And there in the mist overhead + The sun hung red + As a drop of blood. + + Drifting down on the Danish fleet + Three together the ships were lashed, + So that neither should turn and retreat; + In the midst, but in front of the rest + The burnished crest + Of the Serpent flashed. + + King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, + With bow of ash and arrows of oak, + His gilded shield was without a fleck, + His helmet inlaid with gold, + And in many a fold + Hung his crimson cloak. + + On the forecastle Ulf the Red + Watched the lashing of the ships; + "If the Serpent lie so far ahead, + We shall have hard work of it here," + Said he with a sneer + On his bearded lips. + + King Olaf laid an arrow on string, + "Have I a coward on board?" said he. + "Shoot it another way, O King!" + Sullenly answered Ulf, + The old sea-wolf; + "You have need of me!" + + In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, + Sweeping down with his fifty rowers; + To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes; + And on board of the Iron Beard + Earl Eric steered + On the left with his oars. + + "These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, + "At home with their wives had better stay, + Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting: + But where Eric the Norseman leads + Heroic deeds + Will be done to-day!" + + Then as together the vessels crashed, + Eric severed the cables of hide, + With which King Olaf's ships were lashed, + And left them to drive and drift + With the currents swift + Of the outward tide. + + Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, + Sharper the dragons bite and sting! + Eric the son of Hakon Jarl + A death-drink salt as the sea + Pledges to thee, + Olaf the King! + + +XX. + +EINAR TAMBERSKELVER. + + It was Einar Tamberskelver + Stood beside the mast; + From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, + Flew the arrows fast; + Aimed at Eric unavailing, + As he sat concealed, + Half behind the quarter-railing, + Half behind his shield. + + First an arrow struck the tiller, + Just above his head; + "Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller," + Then Earl Eric said. + "Sing the song of Hakon dying, + Sing his funeral wail!" + And another arrow flying + Grazed his coat of mail. + + Turning to a Lapland yeoman, + As the arrow passed, + Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman + Standing by the mast." + Sooner than the word was spoken + Flew the yeoman's shaft; + Einar's bow in twain was broken, + Einar only laughed. + + "What was that?" said Olaf, standing + On the quarter-deck. + "Something heard I like the stranding + Of a shattered wreck." + Einar then, the arrow taking + From the loosened string, + Answered, "That was Norway breaking + From thy hand, O king!" + + "Thou art but a poor diviner," + Straightway Olaf said; + "Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, + Let thy shafts be sped." + Of his bows the fairest choosing, + Reached he from above; + Einar saw the blood-drops oozing + Through his iron glove. + + But the bow was thin and narrow; + At the first assay, + O'er its head he drew the arrow, + Flung the bow away; + Said, with hot and angry temper + Flushing in his cheek, + "Olaf! for so great a K‰mper + Are thy bows too weak!" + + Then, with smile of joy defiant + On his beardless lip, + Scaled he, light and self-reliant, + Eric's dragon-ship. + Loose his golden locks were flowing, + Bright his armor gleamed; + Like Saint Michael overthrowing + Lucifer he seemed. + + +XXI. + +KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK. + + All day has the battle raged, + All day have the ships engaged, + But not yet is assuaged + The vengeance of Eric the Earl. + + The decks with blood are red, + The arrows of death are sped, + The ships are filled with the dead, + And the spears the champions hurl. + + They drift as wrecks on the tide, + The grappling-irons are plied, + The boarders climb up the side, + The shouts are feeble and few. + + Ah! never shall Norway again + See her sailors come back o'er the main; + They all lie wounded or slain, + Or asleep in the billows blue! + + On the deck stands Olaf the King, + Around him whistle and sing + The spears that the foemen fling, + And the stones they hurl with their hands. + + In the midst of the stones and the spears, + Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, + His shield in the air he uprears, + By the side of King Olaf he stands. + + Over the slippery wreck + Of the Long Serpent's deck + Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, + His lips with anger are pale; + + He hews with his axe at the mast, + Till it falls, with the sails overcast, + Like a snow-covered pine in the vast + Dim forests of Orkadale. + + Seeking King Olaf then, + He rushes aft with his men, + As a hunter into the den + Of the bear, when he stands at bay. + + "Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries; + When lo! on his wondering eyes, + Two kingly figures arise, + Two Olafs in warlike array! + + Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear + Of King Olaf a word of cheer, + In a whisper that none may hear, + With a smile on his tremulous lip; + + Two shields raised high in the air, + Two flashes of golden hair, + Two scarlet meteors' glare, + And both have leaped from the ship. + + Earl Eric's men in the boats + Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats, + And cry, from their hairy throats, + "See! it is Olaf the King!" + + While far on the opposite side + Floats another shield on the tide, + Like a jewel set in the wide + Sea-current's eddying ring. + + There is told a wonderful tale, + How the King stripped off his mail, + Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, + As he swam beneath the main; + + But the young grew old and gray, + And never, by night or by day, + In his kingdom of Norroway + Was King Olaf seen again! + + +XXII. + +THE NUN OF NIDAROS. + + In the convent of Drontheim, + Alone in her chamber + Knelt Astrid the Abbess, + At midnight, adoring, + Beseeching, entreating + The Virgin and Mother. + + She heard in the silence + The voice of one speaking, + Without in the darkness, + In gusts of the night-wind + Now louder, now nearer, + Now lost in the distance. + + The voice of a stranger + It seemed as she listened, + Of some one who answered, + Beseeching, imploring, + A cry from afar off + She could not distinguish. + + The voice of Saint John, + The beloved disciple, + Who wandered and waited + The Master's appearance, + Alone in the darkness, + Unsheltered and friendless. + + "It is accepted + The angry defiance, + The challenge of battle! + It is accepted, + But not with the weapons + Of war that thou wieldest! + + "Cross against corslet, + Love against hatred, + Peace-cry for war-cry! + Patience is powerful; + He that o'ercometh + Hath power o'er the nations! + + "As torrents in summer, + Half dried in their channels, + Suddenly rise, though the + Sky is still cloudless, + For rain has been falling + Far off at their fountains; + + "So hearts that are fainting + Grow full to o'erflowing, + And they that behold it + Marvel, and know not + That God at their fountains + Far off has been raining! + + "Stronger than steel + Is the sword of the Spirit; + Swifter than arrows + The light of the truth is, + Greater than anger + Is love, and subdueth! + + "Thou art a phantom, + A shape of the sea-mist, + A shape of the brumal + Rain, and the darkness + Fearful and formless; + Day dawns and thou art not! + + "The dawn is not distant, + Nor is the night starless; + Love is eternal! + God is still God, and + His faith shall not fail us; + Christ is eternal!" + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + A strain of music closed the tale, + A low, monotonous, funeral wail, + That with its cadence, wild and sweet, + Made the long Saga more complete. + + "Thank God," the Theologian said, + "The reign of violence is dead, + Or dying surely from the world; + While Love triumphant reigns instead, + And in a brighter sky o'erhead + His blessed banners are unfurled. + And most of all thank God for this: + The war and waste of clashing creeds + Now end in words, and not in deeds, + And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, + For thoughts that men call heresies. + + "I stand without here in the porch, + I hear the bell's melodious din, + I hear the organ peal within, + I hear the prayer, with words that scorch + Like sparks from an inverted torch, + I hear the sermon upon sin, + With threatenings of the last account. + And all, translated in the air, + Reach me but as our dear Lord's Prayer, + And as the Sermon on the Mount. + + "Must it be Calvin, and not Christ? + Must it be Athanasian creeds, + Or holy water, books, and beads? + Must struggling souls remain content + With councils and decrees of Trent? + And can it be enough for these + The Christian Church the year embalms + With evergreens and boughs of palms, + And fills the air with litanies? + + "I know that yonder Pharisee + Thanks God that he is not like me; + In my humiliation dressed, + I only stand and beat my breast, + And pray for human charity. + + "Not to one church alone, but seven, + The voice prophetic spake from heaven; + And unto each the promise came, + Diversified, but still the same; + For him that overcometh are + The new name written on the stone, + The raiment white, the crown, the throne, + And I will give him the Morning Star! + + "Ah! to how many Faith has been + No evidence of things unseen, + But a dim shadow, that recasts + The creed of the Phantasiasts, + For whom no Man of Sorrows died, + For whom the Tragedy Divine + Was but a symbol and a sign, + And Christ a phantom crucified! + + "For others a diviner creed + Is living in the life they lead. + The passing of their beautiful feet + Blesses the pavement of the street, + And all their looks and words repeat + Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet, + Not as a vulture, but a dove, + The Holy Ghost came from above. + + "And this brings back to me a tale + So sad the hearer well may quail, + And question if such things can be; + Yet in the chronicles of Spain + Down the dark pages runs this stain, + And naught can wash them white again, + So fearful is the tragedy." + + + + +THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. + + +TORQUEMADA. + + In the heroic days when Ferdinand + And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, + And Torquemada, with his subtle brain, + Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor of Spain, + In a great castle near Valladolid, + Moated and high and by fair woodlands hid, + There dwelt, as from the chronicles we learn, + An old Hidalgo proud and taciturn, + Whose name has perished, with his towers of stone, + And all his actions save this one alone; + This one, so terrible, perhaps 'twere best + If it, too, were forgotten with the rest; + Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein + The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin; + A double picture, with its gloom and glow, + The splendor overhead, the death below. + + This sombre man counted each day as lost + On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed; + And when he chanced the passing Host to meet, + He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street; + Oft he confessed; and with each mutinous thought, + As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought. + In deep contrition scourged himself in Lent, + Walked in processions, with his head down bent, + At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen, + And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green. + His only pastime was to hunt the boar + Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar, + Or with his jingling mules to hurry down + To some grand bull-fight in the neighboring town, + Or in the crowd with lighted taper stand, + When Jews were burned, or banished from the land. + Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy; + The demon whose delight is to destroy + Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone, + "Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!" + + And now, in that old castle in the wood, + His daughters, in the dawn of womanhood, + Returning from their convent school, had made + Resplendent with their bloom the forest shade, + Reminding him of their dead mother's face, + When first she came into that gloomy place,-- + A memory in his heart as dim and sweet + As moonlight in a solitary street, + Where the same rays, that lift the sea, are thrown + Lovely but powerless upon walls of stone. + + These two fair daughters of a mother dead + Were all the dream had left him as it fled. + A joy at first, and then a growing care, + As if a voice within him cried, "Beware!" + A vague presentiment of impending doom, + Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant room, + Haunted him day and night; a formless fear + That death to some one of his house was near, + With dark surmises of a hidden crime, + Made life itself a death before its time. + Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of shame, + A spy upon his daughters he became; + With velvet slippers, noiseless on the floors, + He glided softly through half-open doors; + Now in the room, and now upon the stair, + He stood beside them ere they were aware; + He listened in the passage when they talked, + He watched them from the casement when they walked, + He saw the gypsy haunt the river's side, + He saw the monk among the cork-trees glide; + And, tortured by the mystery and the doubt + Of some dark secret, past his finding out, + Baffled he paused; then reassured again + Pursued the flying phantom of his brain. + He watched them even when they knelt in church; + And then, descending lower in his search, + Questioned the servants, and with eager eyes + Listened incredulous to their replies; + The gypsy? none had seen her in the wood! + The monk? a mendicant in search of food! + + At length the awful revelation came, + Crushing at once his pride of birth and name, + The hopes his yearning bosom forward cast, + And the ancestral glories of the past; + All fell together, crumbling in disgrace, + A turret rent from battlement to base. + His daughters talking in the dead of night + In their own chamber, and without a light, + Listening, as he was wont, he overheard, + And learned the dreadful secret, word by word; + And hurrying from his castle, with a cry + He raised his hands to the unpitying sky, + Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree + Caught it, and shuddering answered, "Heresy!" + + Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o'er his face, + Now hurrying forward, now with lingering pace, + He walked all night the alleys of his park, + With one unseen companion in the dark, + The Demon who within him lay in wait, + And by his presence turned his love to hate, + Forever muttering in an undertone, + "Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!" + + Upon the morrow, after early Mass, + While yet the dew was glistening on the grass, + And all the woods were musical with birds, + The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words, + Walked homeward with the Priest, and in his room + Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom. + When questioned, with brief answers they replied, + Nor when accused evaded or denied; + Expostulations, passionate appeals, + All that the human heart most fears or feels, + In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed, + In vain the father threatened, wept, and prayed; + Until at last he said, with haughty mien, + "The Holy Office, then, must intervene!" + + And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, + With all the fifty horsemen of his train, + His awful name resounding, like the blast + Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed, + Came to Valladolid, and there began + To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban. + To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate + Demanded audience on affairs of state, + And in a secret chamber stood before + A venerable graybeard of fourscore, + Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar; + Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, + And in his hand the mystic horn he held, + Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled. + He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, + Then answered in a voice that made him quail: + "Son of the Church! when Abraham of old + To sacrifice his only son was told, + He did not pause to parley nor protest, + But hastened to obey the Lord's behest. + In him it was accounted righteousness; + The Holy Church expects of thee no less!" + + A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain, + And Mercy from that hour implored in vain. + Ah! who will e'er believe the words I say? + His daughters he accused, and the same day + They both were cast into the dungeon's gloom, + That dismal antechamber of the tomb, + Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the flame, + The secret torture and the public shame. + + Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more + The Hidalgo went, more eager than before, + And said: "When Abraham offered up his son, + He clave the wood wherewith it might be done. + By his example taught, let me too bring + Wood from the forest for my offering!" + And the deep voice, without a pause, replied: + "Son of the Church! by faith now justified, + Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou wilt; + The Church absolves thy conscience from all guilt!" + + Then this most wretched father went his way + Into the woods, that round his castle lay, + Where once his daughters in their childhood played + With their young mother in the sun and shade. + Now all the leaves had fallen; the branches bare + Made a perpetual moaning in the air, + And screaming from their eyries overhead + The ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead. + With his own hands he lopped the boughs and bound + Fagots, that crackled with foreboding sound, + And on his mules, caparisoned and gay + With bells and tassels, sent them on their way. + + Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, + Again to the Inquisitor he went, + And said: "Behold, the fagots I have brought, + And now, lest my atonement be as naught, + Grant me one more request, one last desire,-- + With my own hand to light the funeral fire!" + And Torquemada answered from his seat, + "Son of the Church! Thine offering is complete; + Her servants through all ages shall not cease + To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace!" + + Upon the market-place, builded of stone + The scaffold rose, whereon Death claimed his own. + At the four corners, in stern attitude, + Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood, + Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes + Upon this place of human sacrifice, + Round which was gathering fast the eager crowd, + With clamor of voices dissonant and loud, + And every roof and window was alive + With restless gazers, swarming like a hive. + + The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near, + Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear, + A line of torches smoked along the street, + There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet, + And, with its banners floating in the air, + Slowly the long procession crossed the square, + And, to the statues of the Prophets bound, + The victims stood, with fagots piled around. + Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook, + And louder sang the monks with bell and book, + And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud, + Lifted his torch, and, bursting through the crowd, + Lighted in haste the fagots, and then fled, + Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead! + + O pitiless skies! why did your clouds retain + For peasants' fields their floods of hoarded rain? + O pitiless earth! why opened no abyss + To bury in its chasm a crime like this? + + That night, a mingled column of fire and smoke + From the dark thickets of the forest broke, + And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues away, + Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day. + Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed, + And as the villagers in terror gazed, + They saw the figure of that cruel knight + Lean from a window in the turret's height, + His ghastly face illumined with the glare, + His hands upraised above his head in prayer, + Till the floor sank beneath him, and he fell + Down the black hollow of that burning well. + + Three centuries and more above his bones + Have piled the oblivious years like funeral stones; + His name has perished with him, and no trace + Remains on earth of his afflicted race; + But Torquemada's name, with clouds o'ercast, + Looms in the distant landscape of the Past, + Like a burnt tower upon a blackened heath, + Lit by the fires of burning woods beneath! + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + Thus closed the tale of guilt and gloom, + That cast upon each listener's face + Its shadow, and for some brief space + Unbroken silence filled the room. + The Jew was thoughtful and distressed; + Upon his memory thronged and pressed + The persecution of his race, + Their wrongs and sufferings and disgrace; + His head was sunk upon his breast, + And from his eyes alternate came + Flashes of wrath and tears of shame. + + The student first the silence broke, + As one who long has lain in wait, + With purpose to retaliate, + And thus he dealt the avenging stroke. + "In such a company as this, + A tale so tragic seems amiss, + That by its terrible control + O'ermasters and drags down the soul + Into a fathomless abyss. + The Italian Tales that you disdain, + Some merry Night of Straparole, + Or Machiavelli's Belphagor, + Would cheer us and delight us more, + Give greater pleasure and less pain + Than your grim tragedies of Spain!" + + And here the Poet raised his hand, + With such entreaty and command, + It stopped discussion at its birth, + And said: "The story I shall tell + Has meaning in it, if not mirth; + Listen, and hear what once befell + The merry birds of Killingworth!" + + + + +THE POET'S TALE. + + +THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. + + It was the season, when through all the land + The merle and mavis build, and building sing + Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, + Whom Saxon CÊdmon calls the Blithe-heart King; + When on the boughs the purple buds expand, + The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, + And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, + And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. + + The robin and the blue-bird, piping loud, + Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; + The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud + Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; + And hungry crows assembled in a crowd, + Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, + Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said: + "Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!" + + Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, + Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet + Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed + The village with the cheers of all their fleet; + Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed + Like foreign sailors, landed in the street + Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise + Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys. + + Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, + In fabulous days, some hundred years ago; + And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, + Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, + That mingled with the universal mirth, + Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe; + They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words + To swift destruction the whole race of birds. + + And a town-meeting was convened straightway + To set a price upon the guilty heads + Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, + Levied black-mail upon the garden beds + And corn-fields, and beheld without dismay + The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds; + The skeleton that waited at their feast, + Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. + + Then from his house, a temple painted white, + With fluted columns, and a roof of red, + The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight! + Slowly descending, with majestic tread, + Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, + Down the long street he walked, as one who said, + "A town that boasts inhabitants like me + Can have no lack of good society!" + + The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere, + The instinct of whose nature was to kill; + The wrath of God he preached from year to year, + And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will; + His favorite pastime was to slay the deer + In Summer on some Adirondac hill; + E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, + He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. + + From the Academy, whose belfry crowned + The hill of Science with its vane of brass, + Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, + Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, + And all absorbed in reveries profound + Of fair Almira in the upper class, + Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, + As pure as water, and as good as bread. + + And next the Deacon issued from his door, + In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow; + A suit of sable bombazine he wore; + His form was ponderous, and his step was slow; + There never was so wise a man before; + He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told you so!" + And to perpetuate his great renown + There was a street named after him in town. + + These came together in the new town-hall, + With sundry farmers from the region round. + The Squire presided, dignified and tall, + His air impressive and his reasoning sound; + Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small; + Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, + But enemies enough, who every one + Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. + + When they had ended, from his place apart, + Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong, + And, trembling like a steed before the start, + Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng; + Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart + To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, + Alike regardless of their smile or frown, + And quite determined not to be laughed down. + + "Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, + From his Republic banished without pity + The Poets; in this little town of yours, + You put to death, by means of a Committee, + The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, + The street-musicians of the heavenly city, + The birds, who make sweet music for us all + In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. + + "The thrush that carols at the dawn of day + From the green steeples of the piny wood; + The oriole in the elm; the noisy jay, + Jargoning like a foreigner at his food; + The blue-bird balanced on some topmost spray, + Flooding with melody the neighborhood; + Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng + That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. + + "You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain + Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, + Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, + Scratched up at random by industrious feet, + Searching for worm or weevil after rain! + Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet + As are the songs these uninvited guests + Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. + + "Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? + Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught + The dialect they speak, where melodies + Alone are the interpreters of thought? + Whose household words are songs in many keys, + Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! + Whose habitations in the tree-tops even + Are half-way houses on the road to heaven! + + "Think, every morning when the sun peeps through + The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, + How jubilant the happy birds renew + Their old, melodious madrigals of love! + And when you think of this, remember too + 'Tis always morning somewhere, and above + The awakening continents, from shore to shore, + Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. + + "Think of your woods and orchards without birds! + Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams + As in an idiot's brain remembered words + Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! + Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds + Make up for the lost music, when your teams + Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more + The feathered gleaners follow to your door? + + "What! would you rather see the incessant stir + Of insects in the windrows of the hay, + And hear the locust and the grasshopper + Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? + Is this more pleasant to you than the whirr + Of meadow-lark, and its sweet roundelay, + Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take + Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake? + + "You call them thieves and pillagers; but know + They are the winged wardens of your farms, + Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, + And from your harvests keep a hundred harms; + Even the blackest of them all, the crow, + Renders good service as your man-at-arms, + Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, + And crying havoc on the slug and snail. + + "How can I teach your children gentleness, + And mercy to the weak, and reverence + For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, + Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, + Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less + The selfsame light, although averted hence, + When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, + You contradict the very things I teach?" + + With this he closed; and through the audience went + A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves; + The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent + Their yellow heads together like their sheaves; + Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment + Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. + The birds were doomed; and, as the record shows, + A bounty offered for the heads of crows. + + There was another audience out of reach, + Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, + But in the papers read his little speech, + And crowned his modest temples with applause; + They made him conscious, each one more than each, + He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. + Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, + O fair Almira at the Academy! + + And so the dreadful massacre began; + O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests, + The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. + Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, + Or wounded crept away from sight of man, + While the young died of famine in their nests; + A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, + The very St. Bartholomew of Birds! + + The Summer came, and all the birds were dead; + The days were like hot coals; the very ground + Was burned to ashes; in the orchards fed + Myriads of caterpillars, and around + The cultivated fields and garden beds + Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found + No foe to check their march, till they had made + The land a desert without leaf or shade. + + Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, + Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly + Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down + The canker-worms upon the passers-by, + Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, + Who shook them off with just a little cry; + They were the terror of each favorite walk, + The endless theme of all the village talk. + + The farmers grew impatient, but a few + Confessed their error, and would not complain, + For after all, the best thing one can do + When it is raining, is to let it rain. + Then they repealed the law, although they knew + It would not call the dead to life again; + As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, + Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. + + That year in Killingworth the Autumn came + Without the light of his majestic look, + The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, + The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. + A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, + And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, + While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, + Lamenting the dead children of the air! + + But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, + A sight that never yet by bard was sung, + As great a wonder as it would have been + If some dumb animal had found a tongue! + A wagon, overarched with evergreen, + Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, + All full of singing birds, came down the street, + Filling the air with music wild and sweet. + + From all the country round these birds were brought, + By order of the town, with anxious quest, + And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought + In woods and fields the places they loved best, + Singing loud canticles, which many thought + Were satires to the authorities addressed, + While others, listening in green lanes, averred + Such lovely music never had been heard! + + But blither still and louder carolled they + Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know + It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, + And everywhere, around, above, below, + When the Preceptor bore his bride away, + Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, + And a new heaven bent over a new earth + Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. + + + + +FINALE. + + + The hour was late; the fire burned low, + The Landlord's eyes were closed in sleep, + And near the story's end a deep + Sonorous sound at times was heard, + As when the distant bagpipes blow. + At this all laughed; the Landlord stirred, + As one awaking from a swound, + And, gazing anxiously around, + Protested that he had not slept, + But only shut his eyes, and kept + His ears attentive to each word. + + Then all arose, and said "Good Night." + Alone remained the drowsy Squire + To rake the embers of the fire, + And quench the waning parlor light; + While from the windows, here and there, + The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, + And the illumined hostel seemed + The constellation of the Bear, + Downward, athwart the misty air, + Sinking and setting toward the sun. + Far off the village clock struck one. + + + + +BIRDS OF PASSAGE. + +FLIGHT THE SECOND. + + + + +THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. + + + Between the dark and the daylight, + When the night is beginning to lower, + Comes a pause in the day's occupations, + That is known as the Children's Hour. + + I hear in the chamber above me + The patter of little feet, + The sound of a door that is opened, + And voices soft and sweet. + + From my study I see in the lamplight, + Descending the broad hall stair, + Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, + And Edith with golden hair. + + A whisper, and then a silence: + Yet I know by their merry eyes + They are plotting and planning together + To take me by surprise. + + A sudden rush from the stairway, + A sudden raid from the hall! + By three doors left unguarded + They enter my castle wall! + + They climb up into my turret + O'er the arms and back of my chair; + If I try to escape, they surround me; + They seem to be everywhere. + + They almost devour me with kisses, + Their arms about me entwine, + Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen + In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! + + Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, + Because you have scaled the wall, + Such an old moustache as I am + Is not a match for you all! + + I have you fast in my fortress, + And will not let you depart, + But put you down into the dungeon + In the round-tower of my heart. + + And there will I keep you forever, + Yes, forever and a day, + Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, + And moulder in dust away! + + + + +ENCELADUS. + + + Under Mount Etna he lies, + It is slumber, it is not death; + For he struggles at times to arise, + And above him the lurid skies + Are hot with his fiery breath. + + The crags are piled on his breast, + The earth is heaped on his head; + But the groans of his wild unrest, + Though smothered and half suppressed, + Are heard, and he is not dead. + + And the nations far away + Are watching with eager eyes; + They talk together and say, + "To-morrow, perhaps to-day, + Enceladus will arise!" + + And the old gods, the austere + Oppressors in their strength, + Stand aghast and white with fear + At the ominous sounds they hear, + And tremble, and mutter, "At length!" + + Ah me! for the land that is sown + With the harvest of despair! + Where the burning cinders, blown + From the lips of the overthrown + Enceladus, fill the air. + + Where ashes are heaped in drifts + Over vineyard and field and town, + Whenever he starts and lifts + His head through the blackened rifts + Of the crags that keep him down. + + See, see! the red light shines! + 'Tis the glare of his awful eyes! + And the storm-wind shouts through the pines + Of Alps and of Apennines, + "Enceladus, arise!" + + + + +THE CUMBERLAND. + + + At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, + On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war; + And at times from the fortress across the bay + The alarum of drums swept past, + Or a bugle blast + From the camp on the shore. + + Then far away to the south uprose + A little feather of snow-white smoke, + And we knew that the iron ship of our foes + Was steadily steering its course + To try the force + Of our ribs of oak. + + Down upon us heavily runs, + Silent and sullen, the floating fort; + Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, + And leaps the terrible death, + With fiery breath, + From each open port. + + We are not idle, but send her straight + Defiance back in a full broadside! + As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, + Rebounds our heavier hail + From each iron scale + Of the monster's hide. + + "Strike your flag!" the rebel cries, + In his arrogant old plantation strain. + "Never!" our gallant Morris replies; + "It is better to sink than to yield!" + And the whole air pealed + With the cheers of our men. + + Then, like a kraken huge and black, + She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp! + Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, + With a sudden shudder of death, + And the cannon's breath + For her dying gasp. + + Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, + Still floated our flag at the mainmast-head. + Lord, how beautiful was thy day! + Every waft of the air + Was a whisper of prayer, + Or a dirge for the dead. + + Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas! + Ye are at peace in the troubled stream, + Ho! brave land! with hearts like these, + Thy flag, that is rent in twain, + Shall be one again, + And without a seam! + + + + +SNOW-FLAKES. + + + Out of the bosom of the Air, + Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, + Over the woodlands brown and bare + Over the harvest-fields forsaken, + Silent, and soft, and slow + Descends the snow. + + Even as our cloudy fancies take + Suddenly shape in some divine expression, + Even as the troubled heart doth make + In the white countenance confession, + The troubled sky reveals + The grief it feels. + + This is the poem of the air, + Slowly in silent syllables recorded; + This is the secret of despair, + Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, + Now whispered and revealed + To wood and field. + + + + +A DAY OF SUNSHINE. + + + O gift of God! O perfect day: + Whereon shall no man work, but play; + Whereon it is enough for me, + Not to be doing, but to be! + + Through every fibre of my brain, + Through every nerve, through every vein, + I feel the electric thrill, the touch + Of life, that seems almost too much. + + I hear the wind among the trees + Playing celestial symphonies; + I see the branches downward bent, + Like keys of some great instrument. + + And over me unrolls on high + The splendid scenery of the sky, + Where through a sapphire sea the sun + Sails like a golden galleon, + + Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, + Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, + Whose steep sierra far uplifts + Its craggy summits white with drifts. + + Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms + The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms! + Blow, winds! and bend within my reach + The fiery blossoms of the peach! + + O Life and Love! O happy throng + Of thoughts, whose only speech is song! + O heart of man! canst thou not be + Blithe as the air is, and as free? + + 1860. + + + + +SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. + + + Labor with what zeal we will, + Something still remains undone, + Something uncompleted still + Waits the rising of the sun. + + By the bedside, on the stair, + At the threshold, near the gates, + With its menace or its prayer, + Like a mendicant it waits; + + Waits, and will not go away; + Waits, and will not be gainsaid; + By the cares of yesterday + Each to-day is heavier made; + + Till at length the burden seems + Greater than our strength can bear, + Heavy as the weight of dreams, + Pressing on us everywhere. + + And we stand from day to day, + Like the dwarfs of times gone by, + Who, as Northern legends say, + On their shoulders held the sky. + + + + +WEARINESS. + + + O little feet! that such long years + Must wander on through hopes and fears, + Must ache and bleed beneath your load; + I, nearer to the wayside inn + Where toil shall cease and rest begin, + Am weary, thinking of your road! + + O little hands! that, weak or strong, + Have still to serve or rule so long, + Have still so long to give or ask; + I, who so much with book and pen + Have toiled among my fellow-men, + Am weary, thinking of your task. + + O little hearts! that throb and beat + With such impatient, feverish heat, + Such limitless and strong desires; + Mine that so long has glowed and burned, + With passions into ashes turned + Now covers and conceals its fires. + + O little souls! as pure and white + And crystalline as rays of light + Direct from heaven, their source divine; + Refracted through the mist of years, + How red my setting sun appears, + How lurid looks this soul of mine! + + +THE END. + + +Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. + + + + +[Illustration] + +135, Washington St., Boston, +NOVEMBER, 1863. + + +A List of Books + +PUBLISHED BY + +MESSRS. 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Translated from the +German by FREDERICA ROWAN. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25. + + + + +BOOKS PUBLISHED IN BLUE AND GOLD, + +BY + +TICKNOR AND FIELDS. + + + _Longfellow's Poems._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Longfellow's Prose._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Whittier's Poems._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Leigh Hunt's Poems._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Tennyson's Poems._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Gerald Massey's Poems._ $1.00. + _Lowell's Poems._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Percival's Poems._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Motherwell's Poems._ $1.00. + _Owen Meredith's Poems._ 2 vols. $2.00. + _Owen Meredith's Lucile._ $1.00. + _Sydney Dobell's Poems._ $1.00. + _Bowring's Matins and Vespers._ $1.00. + _Allingham's Poems._ $1.00. + _Horace._ Translated by THEODORE MARTIN. $1.00. + _Mrs. Jameson's Characteristics of Women._ $1.00. + _Mrs. Jameson's Loves of the Poets._ $1.00. + _Mrs. Jameson's Diary._ $1.00. + _Mrs. Jameson's Sketches of Art._ $1.00. + _Mrs. Jameson's Legends of the Madonna._ $1.00. + _Mrs. Jameson's Italian Painters._ $1.00. + _Mrs. Jameson's Studies and Stories._ $1.00. + _Saxe's Poems._ $1.00. + _Clough's Poems._ $1.00. + _Holmes's Poems._ $1.00. + _Adelaide Procter's Poems._ $1.00. + _Taylor's Philip Van Artevelde._ $1.00. + _Irving's Sketch-Book._ $1.00. _Nearly Ready._ + + + + +CABINET EDITIONS OF THE POETS. + + +MESSRS. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Tales of a Wayside Inn</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 24, 2008 [eBook #25153]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 19, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Sigal Alon, Lisa Reigel, Michael Zeug, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.png" alt="The Wayside Inn with seated storyteller, standing violin player, and three male listeners" width="47%"/> +</div> + + +<p class="gap"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> +<h1>TALES</h1> + +<h1>OF A</h1> + +<h1>WAYSIDE INN</h1> + +<p class="gap"> </p> +<p class="p3">BY</p> + +<h2>HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.</h2> + + +<p class="gap"> </p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/publish.png" alt="Ticknor and Fields logo" width="20%"/> +</div> + + +<h3>BOSTON:<br /> +TICKNOR AND FIELDS.<br /> +1863.</h3> + + +<div class="gap"> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> +<p class="p4">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by<br /> +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW,<br /> +in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="gap"> +<p class="p4"><span class="smcap">University Press:</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Welch, Bigelow, and Company,<br /> +Cambridge.</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class="centered"> +<table summary="Table of Contents" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="4"> +<tr> + <td class="tdcenter" colspan="3" style="font-weight: bold;">TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright" colspan="3"><span style="font-size:x-small">PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Prelude.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Wayside Inn</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Landlord's Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Paul Revere's Ride</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Interlude</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Student's Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Falcon of Ser Federigo</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Interlude</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Spanish Jew's Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Interlude</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Sicilian's Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">King Robert of Sicily</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Interlude</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Musician's Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Saga of King Olaf</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">i.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">The Challenge of Thor</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">ii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">King Olaf's Return</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span><span class="smcap">iii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Thora of Rimol</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">iv.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Queen Sigrid the Haughty</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">v.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">The Skerry of Shrieks</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">vi.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">The Wraith of Odin</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">vii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Iron-Beard</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">viii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Gudrun</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">ix.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Thangbrand the Priest</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">x.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Raud the Strong</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xi.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Bishop Sigurd at Salten Fiord</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">King Olaf's Christmas</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xiii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">The Building of the Long Serpent</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xiv.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">The Crew of the Long Serpent</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xv.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">A Little Bird in the Air</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xvi.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft" style="padding-right: 4em;">Queen Thyri and the Angelica Stalks</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xvii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">King Svend of the Forked Beard</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright" style="padding-left: 3em;"><span class="smcap">xviii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">King Olaf and Earl Sigvald</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xix.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">King Olaf's War-Horns</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xx.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">Einar Tamberskelver</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xxi.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">King Olaf's Death-drink</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdright"><span class="smcap">xxii.</span></td> + <td class="tdleft">The Nun of Nidaros</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Interlude</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Theologian's Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Torquemada</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span><span class="smcap">Interlude</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Poet's Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl3" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Birds or Killingworth</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Finale</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdcenter" colspan="3" style="font-weight: bold;">BIRDS OF PASSAGE.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdcenter" colspan="3" style="font-weight: bold;">FLIGHT THE SECOND.</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Children's Hour</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Enceladus</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Cumberland</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Snow-flakes</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">A Day of Sunshine</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2" style="padding-right: 5em;"><span class="smcap">Something left Undone</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Weariness</span></td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> +<h2>TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>PRELUDE.</h2> + + +<h3>THE WAYSIDE INN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the meadows bare and brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The windows of the wayside inn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their crimson curtains rent and thin.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As ancient is this hostelry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As any in the land may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Built in the old Colonial day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When men lived in a grander way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ampler hospitality;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now somewhat fallen to decay,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With weather-stains upon the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stairways worn, and crazy doors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And creaking and uneven floors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A region of repose it seems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A place of slumber and of dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remote among the wooded hills!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there no noisy railway speeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But noon and night, the panting teams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stop under the great oaks, that throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tangles of light and shade below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On roofs and doors and window-sills.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the road the barns display<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the wide doors the breezes blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wattled cocks strut to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, half effaced by rain and shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Red Horse prances on the sign.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep silence reigned, save when a gust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went rushing down the county road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And skeletons of leaves, and dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment quickened by its breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shuddered and danced their dance of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the ancient oaks o'erhead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mysterious voices moaned and fled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But from the parlor of the inn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pleasant murmur smote the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like water rushing through a weir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft interrupted by the din<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of laughter and of loud applause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in each intervening pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The music of a violin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fire-light, shedding over all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendor of its ruddy glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled the whole parlor large and low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It gleamed on wainscot and on wall,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It touched with more than wonted grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair Princess Mary's pictured face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bronzed the rafters overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the old spinet's ivory keys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It played inaudible melodies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It crowned the sombre clock with flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hands, the hours, the maker's name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And painted with a livelier red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Landlord's coat-of-arms again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, flashing on the window-pane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emblazoned with its light and shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The jovial rhymes, that still remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Writ near a century ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the great Major Molineaux,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom Hawthorne has immortal made.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before the blazing fire of wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Erect the rapt musician stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever and anon he bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His head upon his instrument,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And seemed to listen, till he caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confessions of its secret thought,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The joy, the triumph, the lament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The exultation and the pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, by the magic of his art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He soothed the throbbings of its heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lulled it into peace again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Around the fireside at their ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There sat a group of friends, entranced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the delicious melodies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who from the far-off noisy town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had to the wayside inn come down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To rest beneath its old oak-trees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fire-light on their faces glanced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their shadows on the wainscot danced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, though of different lands and speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each had his tale to tell, and each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was anxious to be pleased and please.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while the sweet musician plays,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Let me in outline sketch them all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance uncouthly as the blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its uncertain touch portrays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their shadowy semblance on the wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But first the Landlord will I trace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grave in his aspect and attire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man of ancient pedigree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Justice of the Peace was he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Known in all Sudbury as "The Squire."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud was he of his name and race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the parlor, full in view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the wall in colors blazed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He beareth gules upon his shield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chevron argent in the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With three wolf's heads, and for the crest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a helmet barred; below<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The scroll reads, "By the name of Howe."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over this, no longer bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though glimmering with a latent light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was hung the sword his grandsire bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the rebellious days of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down there at Concord in the fight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A youth was there, of quiet ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Student of old books and days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom all tongues and lands were known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet a lover of his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a social virtue graced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet a friend of solitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man of such a genial mood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart of all things he embraced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet of such fastidious taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never found the best too good.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Books were his passion and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in his upper room at home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In vellum bound, with gold bedight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great volumes garmented in white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recalling Florence, Pisa, Rome.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He loved the twilight that surrounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The border-land of old romance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And banner waves, and trumpet sounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ladies ride with hawk on wrist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mighty warriors sweep along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Magnified by the purple mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dusk of centuries and of song.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chronicles of Charlemagne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Merlin and the Mort d'Arthure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingled together in his brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A young Sicilian, too, was there;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sight of Etna born and bred,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Some breath of its volcanic air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was glowing in his heart and brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, being rebellious to his liege,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After Palermo's fatal siege,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the western seas he fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In good King Bomba's happy reign.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His face was like a summer night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All flooded with a dusky light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hands were small; his teeth shone white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sinews supple and strong as oak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clean shaven was he as a priest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who at the mass on Sunday sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that upon his upper lip<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His beard, a good palm's length at least,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Level and pointed at the tip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shot sideways, like a swallow's wings.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poets read he o'er and o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And most of all the Immortal Four<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Italy; and next to those,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The story-telling bard of prose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Decameron, that make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fiesole's green hills and vales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembered for Boccaccio's sake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much too of music was his thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The melodies and measures fraught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sunshine and the open air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of vineyards and the singing sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his beloved Sicily;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And much it pleased him to peruse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The songs of the Sicilian muse,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bucolic songs by Meli sung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the familiar peasant tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made men say, "Behold! once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pitying gods to earth restore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Theocritus of Syracuse!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A Spanish Jew from Alicant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With aspect grand and grave was there;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Vender of silks and fabrics rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And attar of rose from the Levant.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an old Patriarch he appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abraham or Isaac, or at least<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some later Prophet or High-Priest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lustrous eyes, and olive skin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tumbling cataract of his beard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His garments breathed a spicy scent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of cinnamon and sandal blent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the soft aromatic gales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That meet the mariner, who sails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the Moluccas, and the seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wash the shores of Celebes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All stories that recorded are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it was rumored he could say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Parables of Sandabar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the Fables of Pilpay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if not all, the greater part!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Well versed was he in Hebrew books,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Talmud and Targum, and the lore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Kabala; and evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a mystery in his looks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes seemed gazing far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if in vision or in trance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the solemn sackbut play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw the Jewish maidens dance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A Theologian, from the school<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skilful alike with tongue and pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He preached to all men everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Gospel of the Golden Rule,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The New Commandment given to men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking the deed, and not the creed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would help us in our utmost need.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With reverent feet the earth he trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor banished nature from his plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But studied still with deep research<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To build the Universal Church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lofty as is the love of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ample as the wants of man.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A Poet, too, was there, whose verse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was tender, musical, and terse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The inspiration, the delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleam, the glory, the swift flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The revelations of a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All these were his; but with them came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No envy of another's fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He did not find his sleep less sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For music in some neighboring street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor rustling hear in every breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laurels of Miltiades.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honor and blessings on his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While living, good report when dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, not too eager for renown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Last the Musician, as he stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Illumined by that fire of wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His figure tall and straight and lithe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every feature of his face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revealing his Norwegian race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A radiance, streaming from within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around his eyes and forehead beamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Angel with the violin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Painted by Raphael, he seemed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lived in that ideal world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose language is not speech, but song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around him evermore the throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of elves and sprites their dances whirled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Strömkarl sang, the cataract hurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its headlong waters from the height;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mingled in the wild delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scream of sea-birds in their flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rumor of the forest trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The plunge of the implacable seas,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The tumult of the wind at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old ballads, and wild melodies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through mist and darkness pouring forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Elivagar's river flowing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the glaciers of the North.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The instrument on which he played<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was in Cremona's workshops made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By a great master of the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet was lost the art divine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fashioned of maple and of pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in Tyrolian forests vast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had rocked and wrestled with the blast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exquisite was it in design,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perfect in each minutest part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A marvel of the lutist's art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in its hollow chamber, thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maker from whose hands it came<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Had written his unrivalled name,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Antonius Stradivarius."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when he played, the atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was filled with magic, and the ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose music had so weird a sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hunted stag forgot to bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leaping rivulet backward rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The birds came down from bush and tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dead came from beneath the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maiden to the harper's knee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The music ceased; the applause was loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pleased musician smiled and bowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wood-fire clapped its hands of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadows on the wainscot stirred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the harpsichord there came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A ghostly murmur of acclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sound like that sent down at night<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +<span class="i0">By birds of passage in their flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the remotest distance heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then silence followed; then began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A clamor for the Landlord's tale,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The story promised them of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They said, but always left untold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he, although a bashful man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all his courage seemed to fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finding excuse of no avail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yielded; and thus the story ran.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LANDLORD'S TALE.</h2> + + +<h3>PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Listen, my children, and you shall hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hardly a man is now alive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who remembers that famous day and year.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He said to his friend, "If the British march<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By land or sea from the town to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the North Church tower as a signal light,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One, if by land, and two, if by sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I on the opposite shore will be,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ready to ride and spread the alarm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through every Middlesex village and farm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the country-folk to be up and to arm."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as the moon rose over the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where swinging wide at her moorings lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Somerset, British man-of-war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A phantom ship, with each mast and spar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the moon like a prison bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a huge black hulk, that was magnified<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By its own reflection in the tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wanders and watches with eager ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till in the silence around him he hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The muster of men at the barrack door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the measured tread of the grenadiers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marching down to their boats on the shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he climbed to the tower of the church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the belfry-chamber overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And startled the pigeons from their perch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the sombre rafters, that round him made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Masses and moving shapes of shade,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the highest window in the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where he paused to listen and look down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment on the roofs of the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the moonlight flowing over all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their night-encampment on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapped in silence so deep and still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The watchful night-wind, as it went<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Creeping along from tent to tent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment only he feels the spell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the lonely belfry and the dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For suddenly all his thoughts are bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a shadowy something far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the river widens to meet the bay,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A line of black that bends and floats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now he patted his horse's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now gazed at the landscape far and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mostly he watched with eager search<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As it rose above the graves on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A second lamp in the belfry burns!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A hurry of hoofs in a village street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fate of a nation was riding that night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindled the land into flame with its heat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He has left the village and mounted the steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the alders, that skirt its edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was twelve by the village clock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the crowing of the cock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the barking of the farmer's dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt the damp of the river fog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rises after the sun goes down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was one by the village clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he galloped into Lexington.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw the gilded weathercock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swim in the moonlight as he passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Gaze at him with a spectral glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they already stood aghast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the bloody work they would look upon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was two by the village clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he came to the bridge in Concord town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the bleating of the flock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the twitter of birds among the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt the breath of the morning breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blowing over the meadows brown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one was safe and asleep in his bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who at the bridge would be first to fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who that day would be lying dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pierced by a British musket-ball.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You know the rest. In the books you have read,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the British Regulars fired and fled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the farmers gave them ball for ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Chasing the red-coats down the lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then crossing the fields to emerge again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the trees at the turn of the road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only pausing to fire and load.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So through the night rode Paul Revere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so through the night went his cry of alarm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every Middlesex village and farm,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cry of defiance and not of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a word that shall echo forevermore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all our history, to the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the hour of darkness and peril and need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The people will waken and listen to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the midnight message of Paul Revere.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTERLUDE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Landlord ended thus his tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rising took down from its nail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sword that hung there, dim with dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cleaving to its sheath with rust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said, "This sword was in the fight."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Poet seized it, and exclaimed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"It is the sword of a good knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though homespun was his coat-of-mail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What matter if it be not named<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Excalibar, or Aroundight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or other name the books record?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your ancestor, who bore this sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Colonel of the Volunteers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mounted upon his old gray mare,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Seen here and there and everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me a grander shape appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than old Sir William, or what not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clinking about in foreign lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With iron gauntlets on his hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on his head an iron pot!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All laughed; the Landlord's face grew red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As his escutcheon on the wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not comprehend at all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drift of what the Poet said;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For those who had been longest dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were always greatest in his eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he was speechless with surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see Sir William's plumed head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought to a level with the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made the subject of a jest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this perceiving, to appease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Landlord's wrath, the others' fears,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Student said, with careless ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The ladies and the cavaliers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arms, the loves, the courtesies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deeds of high emprise, I sing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Ariosto says, in words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That have the stately stride and ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of armed knights and clashing swords.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now listen to the tale I bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listen! though not to me belong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowing draperies of his song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The words that rouse, the voice that charms.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Landlord's tale was one of arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only a tale of love is mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blending the human and divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tale of the Decameron, told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Palmieri's garden old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Fiametta, laurel-crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While her companions lay around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard the intermingled sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of airs that on their errands sped,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And wild birds gossiping overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lisp of leaves, and fountain's fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her own voice more sweet than all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Telling the tale, which, wanting these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance may lose its power to please."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE STUDENT'S TALE.</h2> + + +<h3>THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One summer morning, when the sun was hot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weary with labor in his garden-plot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a rude bench beneath his cottage eaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ser Federigo sat among the leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a huge vine, that, with its arms outspread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung its delicious clusters overhead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below him, through the lovely valley, flowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The river Arno, like a winding road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from its banks were lifted high in air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spires and roofs of Florence called the Fair:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him a marble tomb, that rose above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wasted fortunes and his buried love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there, in banquet and in tournament,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His wealth had lavished been, his substance spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To woo and lose, since ill his wooing sped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ideal woman of a young man's dream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To this small farm, the last of his domain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only comfort and his only care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To prune his vines, and plant the fig and pear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only forester and only guest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His falcon, faithful to him, when the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose willing hands had found so light of yore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brazen knocker of his palace door.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had now no strength to lift the wooden latch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Companion of his solitary ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Purveyor of his feasts on holidays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On him this melancholy man bestowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love with which his nature overflowed.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And so the empty-handed years went round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so, that summer morn, he sat and mused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With folded, patient hands, as he was used,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dreamily before his half-closed sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floated the vision of his lost delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside him, motionless, the drowsy bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, that dare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The headlong plunge thro' eddying gulfs of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, starting broad awake upon his perch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, looking at his master, seemed to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to-day?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ser Federigo thought not of the chase;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender vision of her lovely face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will not say he seems to see, he sees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the leaf-shadows of the trellises,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Herself, yet not herself; a lovely child<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coming undaunted up the garden walk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looking not at him, but at the hawk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Beautiful falcon!" said he, "would that I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice was hers, and made strange echoes start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all the haunted chambers of his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As an æolian harp through gusty doors<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some old ruin its wild music pours.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who is thy mother, my fair boy?" he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hand laid softly on that shining head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Monna Giovanna.—Will you let me stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little while, and with your falcon play?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We live there, just beyond your garden wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the great house behind the poplars tall."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So he spake on; and Federigo heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As from afar each softly uttered word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drifted onward through the golden gleams<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And shadows of the misty sea of dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As mariners becalmed through vapors drift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear far off the mournful breakers roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And voices calling faintly from the shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, waking from his pleasant reveries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took the little boy upon his knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And told him stories of his gallant bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till in their friendship he became a third.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Monna Giovanna, widowed in her prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had come with friends to pass the summer time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her grand villa, half-way up the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erlooking Florence, but retired and still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With iron gates, that opened through long lines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sacred ilex and centennial pines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sylvan deities, with moss o'ergrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fountains palpitating in the heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all Val d'Arno stretched beneath its feet.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Here in seclusion, as a widow may,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovely lady whiled the hours away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pacing in sable robes the statued hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Herself the stateliest statue among all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seeing more and more, with secret joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her husband risen and living in her boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the lost sense of life returned again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not as delight, but as relief from pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stormed down the terraces from length to length;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And climbed the garden trellises for fruit.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his chief pastime was to watch the flight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the trees that fringed the garden wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then downward stooping at some distant call;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as he gazed full often wondered he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who might the master of the falcon be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until that happy morning, when he found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Master and falcon in the cottage ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And now a shadow and a terror fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the great house, as if a passing-bell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tolled from the tower, and filled each spacious room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With secret awe, and preternatural gloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The petted boy grew ill, and day by day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pined with mysterious malady away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mother's heart would not be comforted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her darling seemed to her already dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often, sitting by the sufferer's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What can I do to comfort thee?" she cried.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At first the silent lips made no reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, moved at length by her importunate cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Give me," he answered, with imploring tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ser Federigo's falcon for my own!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No answer could the astonished mother make;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How could she ask, e'en for her darling's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such favor at a luckless lover's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well knowing that to ask was to command?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Well knowing, what all falconers confessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all the land that falcon was the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master's pride and passion and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sole pursuivant of this poor knight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet, for her child's sake, she could no less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than give assent, to soothe his restlessness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So promised, and then promising to keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her promise sacred, saw him fall asleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The morrow was a bright September morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth was beautiful as if new-born;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was that nameless splendor everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wild exhilaration in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which makes the passers in the city street<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Congratulate each other as they meet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed through the garden gate into the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dewy sunshine showering down between.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The one, close-hooded, had the attractive grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which sorrow sometimes lends a woman's face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the gulf-stream of passion in the soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other with her hood thrown back, her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making a golden glory in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her young heart singing louder than the thrush.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So walked, that morn, through mingled light and shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each by the other's presence lovelier made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intent upon their errand and its end.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They found Ser Federigo at his toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like banished Adam, delving in the soil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he looked and these fair women spied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The garden suddenly was glorified;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His long-lost Eden was restored again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the strange river winding through the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer was the Arno to his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the Euphrates watering Paradise!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Monna Giovanna raised her stately head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with fair words of salutation said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ser Federigo, we come here as friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hoping in this to make some poor amends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For past unkindness. I who ne'er before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would even cross the threshold of your door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I who in happier days such pride maintained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This morning come, a self-invited guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To put your generous nature to the test,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breakfast with you under your own vine."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which he answered: "Poor desert of mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not your unkindness call it, for if aught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is good in me of feeling or of thought,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +<span class="i0">From you it comes, and this last grace outweighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All sorrows, all regrets of other days."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And after further compliment and talk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the dahlias in the garden walk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left his guests; and to his cottage turned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as he entered for a moment yearned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the lost splendors of the days of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ruby glass, the silver and the gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt how piercing is the sting of pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By want embittered and intensified.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looked about him for some means or way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep this unexpected holiday;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searched every cupboard, and then searched again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summoned the maid, who came, but came in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Signor did not hunt to-day," she said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There's nothing in the house but wine and bread."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His little bells, with that sagacious look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which said, as plain as language to the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If anything is wanting, I am here!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, everything is wanting, gallant bird!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master seized thee without further word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like thine own lure, he whirled thee round; ah me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pomp and flutter of brave falconry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet hood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flight and the pursuit o'er field and wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All these forevermore are ended now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer victor, but the victim thou!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ser Federigo, would not these suffice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When all was ready, and the courtly dame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her companion to the cottage came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild enchantment of a magic spell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The room they entered, mean and low and small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rustic chair she sat on was a throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He ate celestial food, and a divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flavor was given to his country wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A peacock was, or bird of paradise!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the repast was ended, they arose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And passed again into the garden-close.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then said the lady, "Far too well I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembering still the days of long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though you betray it not, with what surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You see me here in this familiar wise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You have no children, and you cannot guess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What anguish, what unspeakable distress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mother feels, whose child is lying ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor how her heart anticipates his will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet for this, you see me lay aside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All womanly reserve and check of pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ask the thing most precious in your sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which if you find it in your heart to give,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ser Federigo listens, and replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tears of love and pity in his eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Alas, dear lady! there can be no task<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sweet to me, as giving when you ask.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One little hour ago, if I had known<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This wish of yours, it would have been my own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thinking in what manner I could best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do honor to the presence of my guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I deemed that nothing worthier could be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than what most dear and precious was to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so my gallant falcon breathed his last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To furnish forth this morning our repast."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In mute contrition, mingled with dismay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gentle lady turned her eyes away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grieving that he such sacrifice should make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kill his falcon for a woman's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet feeling in her heart a woman's pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That nothing she could ask for was denied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then took her leave, and passed out at the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With footstep slow and soul disconsolate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three days went by, and lo! a passing-bell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tolled from the little chapel in the dell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathing a prayer, "Alas! her child is dead!"<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Three months went by; and lo! a merrier chime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang from the chapel bells at Christmas time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cottage was deserted, and no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ser Federigo sat beside its door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now, with servitors to do his will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the grand villa, half-way up the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enthroned once more in the old rustic chair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High-perched upon the back of which there stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The image of a falcon carved in wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And underneath the inscription, with a date,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"All things come round to him who will but wait."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTERLUDE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon as the story reached its end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One, over eager to commend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned it with injudicious praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the voice of blame found vent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fanned the embers of dissent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a somewhat lively blaze.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Theologian shook his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"These old Italian tales," he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"From the much-praised Decameron down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all the rabble of the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are either trifling, dull, or lewd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gossip of a neighborhood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In some remote provincial town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A scandalous chronicle at best!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They seem to me a stagnant fen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grown rank with rushes and with reeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where a white lily, now and then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deadly nightshade on its banks."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To this the Student straight replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"For the white lily, many thanks!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One should not say, with too much pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fountain, I will not drink of thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor were it grateful to forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That from these reservoirs and tanks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even imperial Shakspeare drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Moor of Venice and the Jew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Romeo and Juliet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a famous comedy."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then a long pause; till some one said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"An Angel is flying overhead!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At these words spake the Spanish Jew,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And murmured with an inward breath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"God grant, if what you say is true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may not be the Angel of Death!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then another pause; and then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stroking his beard, he said again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This brings back to my memory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A story in the Talmud told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That book of gems, that book of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wonders many and manifold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tale that often comes to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fills my heart, and haunts my brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never wearies nor grows old."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE.</h2> + + +<h3>THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A volume of the Law, in which it said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"No man shall look upon my face and live."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as he read, he prayed that God would give<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faithful servant grace with mortal eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To look upon His face and yet not die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then fell a sudden shadow on the page<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw the Angel of Death before him stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding a naked sword in his right hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With trembling voice he said, "What wilt thou here?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The angel answered, "Lo! the time draws near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou must die; yet first, by God's decree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Replied the Rabbi, "Let these living eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First look upon my place in Paradise."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then said the Angel, "Come with me and look."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rising, and uplifting his gray head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Give me thy sword," he to the Angel said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Angel smiled and hastened to obey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then led him forth to the Celestial Town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might look upon his place in Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then straight into the city of the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel's sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the streets there swept a sudden breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of something there unknown, which men call death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, and cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come back!" To which the Rabbi's voice replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"No! in the name of God, whom I adore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I swear that hence I will depart no more!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then all the Angels cried, "O Holy One,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See what the son of Levi here has done!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in Thy name refuses to go hence!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lord replied, "My Angels, be not wroth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him remain; for he with mortal eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall look upon my face and yet not die."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Give back the sword, and let me go my way."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, "Nay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anguish enough already has it caused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the sons of men." And while he paused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the awful mandate of the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resounding through the air, "Give back the sword!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then said he to the dreadful Angel, "Swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No human eye shall look on it again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when thou takest away the souls of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Angel took the sword again, and swore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And walks on earth unseen forevermore.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTERLUDE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He ended: and a kind of spell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the silent listeners fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His solemn manner and his words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had touched the deep, mysterious chords,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That vibrate in each human breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alike, but not alike confessed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spiritual world seemed near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And close above them, full of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its awful adumbration passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A luminous shadow, vague and vast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They almost feared to look, lest there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embodied from the impalpable air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They might behold the Angel stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding the sword in his right hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +<span class="i0">At last, but in a voice subdued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to disturb their dreamy mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said the Sicilian: "While you spoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Telling your legend marvellous,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suddenly in my memory woke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thought of one, now gone from us,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old Abate, meek and mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My friend and teacher, when a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sometimes in those days of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The legend of an Angel told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which ran, if I remember, thus."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SICILIAN'S TALE.</h2> + + +<h3>KING ROBERT OF SICILY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apparelled in magnificent attire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With retinue of many a knight and squire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as he listened, o'er and o'er again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repeated, like a burden or refrain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He caught the words, "<i>Deposuit potentes</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>De sede, et exaltavit humiles</i>";<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slowly lifting up his kingly head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He to a learned clerk beside him said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What mean these words?" The clerk made answer meet,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"He has put down the mighty from their seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And has exalted them of low degree."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis well that such seditious words are sung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only by priests and in the Latin tongue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For unto priests and people be it known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no power can push me from my throne!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he awoke, it was already night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The church was empty, and there was no light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lighted a little space before some saint.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He started from his seat and gazed around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But saw no living thing and heard no sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He groped towards the door, but it was locked;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And imprecations upon men and saints.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At length the sexton, hearing from without<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tumult of the knocking and the shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Open: 'tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man rushed by him at a single stride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But leaped into the blackness of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vanished like a spectre from his sight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despoiled of his magnificent attire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To right and left each seneschal and page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until at last he reached the banquet-room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There on the dais sat another king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +<span class="i0">King Robert's self in features, form, and height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all transfigured with angelic light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was an Angel; and his presence there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a divine effulgence filled the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An exaltation, piercing the disguise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though none the hidden Angel recognize.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who met his looks of anger and surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the divine compassion of his eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which King Robert answered, with a sneer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I am the King, and come to claim my own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From an impostor, who usurps my throne!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And suddenly, at these audacious words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Angel answered, with unruffled brow,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A group of tittering pages ran before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as they opened wide the folding-door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He said within himself, "It was a dream!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the straw rustled as he turned his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were the cap and bells beside his bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around him rose the bare, discolored walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the corner, a revolting shape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was no dream; the world he loved so much<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Days came and went; and now returned again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Sicily the old Saturnian reign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the Angel's governance benign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy island danced with corn and wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep within the mountain's burning breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sullen and silent and disconsolate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With looks bewildered and a vacant stare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only friend the ape, his only food<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What others left,—he still was unsubdued.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the Angel met him on his way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half in earnest, half in jest, would say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst from him in resistless overflow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Almost three years were ended; when there came<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ambassadors of great repute and name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By letter summoned them forthwith to come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Angel with great joy received his guests,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave them presents of embroidered vests,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he departed with them o'er the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the lovely land of Italy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose loveliness was more resplendent made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the mere passing of that cavalcade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lo! among the menials, in mock state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The solemn ape demurely perched behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Robert rode, making huge merriment<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all the country towns through which they went.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Giving his benediction and embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While with congratulations and with prayers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He entertained the Angel unawares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I am the King! Look, and behold in me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is an impostor in a king's disguise.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Do you not know me? does no voice within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answer my cry, and say we are akin?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was hustled back among the populace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In solemn state the Holy Week went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The presence of the Angel, with its light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the sun rose, made the city bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He felt within a power unfelt before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the rushing garments of the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now the visit ending, and once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land was made resplendent with his train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashing along the towns of Italy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto Salerno, and from there by sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when once more within Palermo's wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, seated on the throne in his great hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the Angelus from convent towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the better world conversed with ours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with a gesture bade the rest retire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when they were alone, the Angel said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Art thou the King?" Then bowing down his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in some cloister's school of penitence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A holy light illumined all the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the open window, loud and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the stir and tumult of the street:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He has put down the mighty from their seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And has exalted them of low degree!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the chant a second melody<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose like the throbbing of a single string:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">King Robert, who was standing near the throne,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all apparelled as in days of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when his courtiers came, they found him there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTERLUDE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then the blue-eyed Norseman told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Saga of the days of old.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There is," said he, "a wondrous book<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Legends in the old Norse tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dead kings of Norroway,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Legends that once were told or sung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many a smoky fireside nook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Iceland, in the ancient day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By wandering Saga-man or Scald;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heimskringla is the volume called;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he who looks may find therein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The story that I now begin."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in each pause the story made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his violin he played,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As an appropriate interlude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fragments of old Norwegian tunes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bound in one the separate runes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And held the mind in perfect mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Entwining and encircling all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strange and antiquated rhymes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With melodies of olden times;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over some half-ruined wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disjointed and about to fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh woodbines climb and interlace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And keep the loosened stones in place.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MUSICIAN'S TALE.</h2> + + +<h3>THE SAGA OF KING OLAF.</h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<h4>THE CHALLENGE OF THOR.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am the God Thor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am the War God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am the Thunderer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in my Northland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My fastness and fortress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reign I forever!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here amid icebergs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rule I the nations;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is my hammer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Miölner the mighty;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Giants and sorcerers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cannot withstand it!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +<span class="i0">These are the gauntlets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherewith I wield it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hurl it afar off;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is my girdle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenever I brace it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strength is redoubled!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The light thou beholdest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stream through the heavens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In flashes of crimson,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is but my red beard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown by the night-wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affrighting the nations!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jove is my brother;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine eyes are the lightning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wheels of my chariot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roll in the thunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blows of my hammer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ring in the earthquake!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Force rules the world still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has ruled it, shall rule it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meekness is weakness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strength is triumphant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the whole earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still is it Thor's-Day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou art a God too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Galilean!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus single-handed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the combat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gauntlet or Gospel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here I defy thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> +<h4>II.</h4> + +<h4>KING OLAF'S RETURN.</h4> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And King Olaf heard the cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw the red light in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Laid his hand upon his sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he leaned upon the railing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his ships went sailing, sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Northward into Drontheim fiord.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There he stood as one who dreamed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the red light glanced and gleamed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the armor that he wore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he shouted, as the rifted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streamers o'er him shook and shifted,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"I accept thy challenge, Thor!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To avenge his father slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reconquer realm and reign,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came the youthful Olaf home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the midnight sailing, sailing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listening to the wild wind's wailing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the dashing of the foam.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To his thoughts the sacred name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his mother Astrid came,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the tale she oft had told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her flight by secret passes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the mountains and morasses,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the home of Hakon old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then strange memories crowded back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a hurried flight by sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of grim Vikings, and their rapture<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the sea-fight, and the capture,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the life of slavery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +<span class="i0">How a stranger watched his face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the Esthonian market-place,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Scanned his features one by one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saying, "We should know each other;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then as Queen Allogia's page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old in honors, young in age,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Chief of all her men-at-arms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till vague whispers, and mysterious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reached King Valdemar, the imperious,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Filling him with strange alarms.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then his cruisings o'er the seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Westward to the Hebrides,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to Scilly's rocky shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hermit's cavern dismal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christ's great name and rites baptismal,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the ocean's rush and roar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +<span class="i0">All these thoughts of love and strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glimmered through his lurid life,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the stars' intenser light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the red flames o'er him trailing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As his ships went sailing, sailing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Northward in the summer night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Trained for either camp or court,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skilful in each manly sport,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Young and beautiful and tall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art of warfare, craft of chases,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Excellent alike in all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When at sea, with all his rowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He along the bending oars<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Outside of his ship could run.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He the Smalsor Horn ascended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his shining shield suspended<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On its summit, like a sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On the ship-rails he could stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wield his sword with either hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And at once two javelins throw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At all feasts where ale was strongest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat the merry monarch longest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">First to come and last to go.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Norway never yet had seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One so beautiful of mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One so royal in attire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in arms completely furnished,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harness gold-inlaid and burnished,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mantle like a flame of fire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus came Olaf to his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When upon the night-wind blown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Passed that cry along the shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he answered, while the rifted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streamers o'er him shook and shifted,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"I accept thy challenge, Thor!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> +<h4>III.</h4> + +<h4>THORA OF RIMOL.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thora of Rimol! hide me! hide me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Danger and shame and death betide me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Olaf the King is hunting me down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through field and forest, through thorp and town!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus cried Jarl Hakon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hakon Jarl! for the love I bear thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neither shall shame nor death come near thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the hiding-place wherein thou must lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the cave underneath the swine in the sty."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus to Jarl Hakon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall Karker<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon darker,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Olaf came riding, with men in mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the forest roads into Orkadale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Demanding Jarl Hakon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Rich and honored shall be whoever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the breathing-holes of the darksome cave.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alone in her chamber<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wept Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Said Karker, the crafty, "I will not slay thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all the king's gold I will never betray thee!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Then why dost thou turn so pale, O churl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then again black as the earth?" said the Earl.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +<span class="i2">More pale and more faithful<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From a dream in the night the thrall started, saying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Round my neck a gold ring King Olaf was laying!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Hakon answered, "Beware of the king!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will lay round thy neck a blood-red ring."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the ring on her finger<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gazed Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thrall in the darkness plunged with his knife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Earl awakened no more in this life.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +<span class="i2">But wakeful and weeping<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sat Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At Nidarholm the priests are all singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his thrall's,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the people are shouting from windows and walls;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While alone in her chamber<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swoons Thora, the fairest of women.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<h4>QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud and aloft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft.<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Heart's dearest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Why dost thou sorrow so?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The floor with tassels of fir was besprent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filling the room with their fragrant scent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She heard the birds sing, she saw the sun shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The air of summer was sweeter than wine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between her own kingdom and Norroway.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But Olaf the King had sued for her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sword would be sheathed, the river be spanned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her maidens were seated around her knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Working bright figures in tapestry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And one was singing the ancient rune<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of Gudrun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And through it, and round it, and over it all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounded incessant the waterfall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Queen in her hand held a ring of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the door of Ladé's Temple old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her thoughts as arrows were keen and swift.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who smiled, as they handed it back again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And Sigrid the Queen, in her haughty way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said, "Why do you smile, my goldsmiths, say?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they answered: "O Queen! if the truth must be told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring is of copper, and not of gold!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lightning flashed o'er her forehead and cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She only murmured, she did not speak:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If in his gifts he can faithless be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There will be no gold in his love to me."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A footstep was heard on the outer stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in strode King Olaf with royal air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He kissed the Queen's hand, and he whispered of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swore to be true as the stars are above.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But she smiled with contempt as she answered: "O King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will you swear it, as Odin once swore, on the ring?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the King: "O speak not of Odin to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Looking straight at the King, with her level brows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She said, "I keep true to my faith and my vows."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rose in his anger and strode through the room.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why, then, should I care to have thee?" he said,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A faded old woman, a heathenish jade!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His zeal was stronger than fear or love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wooden stairway shook with his tread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Heart's dearest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Why dost thou sorrow so?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> +<h4>V.</h4> + +<h4>THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now from all King Olaf's farms<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">His men-at-arms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathered on the Eve of Easter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his house at Angvalds-ness<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Fast they press,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drinking with the royal feaster.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loudly through the wide-flung door<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Came the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sea upon the Skerry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its thunder loud and near<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Reached the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingling with their voices merry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Halfred the Bald,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Listen to that song, and learn it!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half my kingdom would I give,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">As I live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If by such songs you would earn it!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For of all the runes and rhymes<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Of all times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Best I like the ocean's dirges,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the old harper heaves and rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">His hoary locks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowing and flashing in the surges!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Halfred answered: "I am called<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">The Unappalled!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing hinders me or daunts me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearken to me, then, O King,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">While I sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great Ocean Song that haunts me."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"I will hear your song sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Some other time,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Says the drowsy monarch, yawning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And retires; each laughing guest<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Applauds the jest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then they sleep till day is dawning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pacing up and down the yard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">King Olaf's guard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the sands, and up the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Gathering still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round the house where they were sleeping.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was not the fog he saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Nor misty flaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That above the landscape brooded;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was Eyvind Kallda's crew<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Of warlocks blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their caps of darkness hooded!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Round and round the house they go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Weaving slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Magic circles to encumber<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And imprison in their ring<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Olaf the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he helpless lies in slumber.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then athwart the vapors dun<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">The Easter sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streamed with one broad track of splendor!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their real forms appeared<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">The warlocks weird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awful as the Witch of Endor.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blinded by the light that glared,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">They groped and stared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round about with steps unsteady;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his window Olaf gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">And, amazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Who are these strange people?" said he.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Eyvind Kellda and his men!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Answered then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the yard a sturdy farmer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the men-at-arms apace<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Filled the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Busily buckling on their armor.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the gates they sallied forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">South and north,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scoured the island coast around them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seizing all the warlock band,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Foot and hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the Skerry's rocks they bound them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And at eve the king again<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Called his train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with all the candles burning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent sat and heard once more<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">The sullen roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the ocean tides returning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Shrieks and cries of wild despair<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Filled the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Growing fainter as they listened;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the bursting surge alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Sounded on;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus the sorcerers were christened!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sing, O Scald, your song sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">Your ocean-rhyme,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried King Olaf: "it will cheer me!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2half">"The Skerry of Shrieks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sings too loud for you to hear me!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<h4>THE WRAITH OF ODIN.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The guests were loud, the ale was strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Olaf feasted late and long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hoary Scalds together sang;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The door swung wide, with creak and din;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blast of cold night-air came in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the threshold shivering stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The King exclaimed, "O graybeard pale!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come warm thee with this cup of ale."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The foaming draught the old man quaffed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noisy guests looked on and laughed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then spake the King: "Be not afraid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sit here by me." The guest obeyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, seated at the table, told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tales of the sea, and Sagas old.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And ever, when the tale was o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King demanded yet one more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis late, O King, and time for bed."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The King retired; the stranger guest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Followed and entered with the rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lights were out, the pages gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still the garrulous guest spake on.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As one who from a volume reads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake of heroes and their deeds,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Of lands and cities he had seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stormy gulfs that tossed between.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then from his lips in music rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Havamal of Odin old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sounds mysterious as the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of billows on a distant shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Do we not learn from runes and rhymes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made by the gods in elder times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And do not still the great Scalds teach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That silence better is than speech?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Smiling at this, the King replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thy lore is by thy tongue belied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For never was I so enthralled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Either by Saga-man or Scald."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night wanes, O King! 'tis time for sleep!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then slept the King, and when he woke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The guest was gone, the morning broke.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They found the doors securely barred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They found the watch-dog in the yard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was no footprint in the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And none had seen the stranger pass.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">King Olaf crossed himself and said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I know that Odin the Great is dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure is the triumph of our Faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one-eyed stranger was his wraith."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<h4>IRON-BEARD.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Olaf the King, one summer morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blew a blast on his bugle-horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gathered the farmers far and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their war weapons ready to confront him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ploughing under the morning star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Old Iron-Beard in Yriar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He wiped the sweat-drops from his brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unharnessed his horses from the plough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +<span class="i2">He was the churliest of the churls;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Little he cared for king or earls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming passions.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Hodden-gray was the garb he wore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And by the Hammer of Thor he swore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hated the narrow town, and all its fashions.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But he loved the freedom of his farm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His ale at night, by the fireside warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen tresses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He loved his horses and his herds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smell of the earth, and the song of birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His well-filled barns, his brook with its watercresses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Huge and cumbersome was his frame;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His beard, from which he took his name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer the Giant.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +<span class="i2">So at the Hus-Ting he appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On horseback, with an attitude defiant.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And to King Olaf he cried aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the middle of the crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tossed about him like a stormy ocean:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Such sacrifices shalt thou bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Odin and to Thor, O King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As other kings have done in their devotion!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">King Olaf answered: "I command<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This land to be a Christian land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"But if you ask me to restore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your sacrifices, stained with gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then will I offer human sacrifices!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +<span class="i2">"Not slaves and peasants shall they be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But men of note and high degree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Then to their Temple strode he in,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And loud behind him heard the din<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">There in the Temple, carved in wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The image of great Odin stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And other gods, with Thor supreme among them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">King Olaf smote them with the blade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And downward shattered to the pavement flung them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">At the same moment rose without,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the contending crowd, a shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And there upon the trampled plain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Midway between the assailed and the assailing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">King Olaf from the doorway spoke:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Choose ye between two things, my folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be baptized or given up to slaughter!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And seeing their leader stark and dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The people with a murmur said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O King, baptize us with thy holy water!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">So all the Drontheim land became<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Christian land in name and fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the old gods no more believing and trusting.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And as a blood-atonement, soon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus in peace ended the Drontheim Hus-Ting!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<h4>GUDRUN.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On King Olaf's bridal night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines the moon with tender light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And across the chamber streams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its tide of dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the fatal midnight hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all evil things have power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the glimmer of the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stands Gudrun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Close against her heaving breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something in her hand is pressed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an icicle, its sheen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is cold and keen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On the cairn are fixed her eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where her murdered father lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a voice remote and drear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She seems to hear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What a bridal night is this!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold will be the dagger's kiss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laden with the chill of death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is its breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like the drifting snow she sweeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the couch where Olaf sleeps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suddenly he wakes and stirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His eyes meet hers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What is that," King Olaf said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Gleams so bright above thy head?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherefore standest thou so white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In pale moonlight?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis the bodkin that I wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When at night I bind my hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It woke me falling on the floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis nothing more."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Forests have ears, and fields have eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Often treachery lurking lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Underneath the fairest hair!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gudrun beware!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ere the earliest peep of morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blew King Olaf's bugle-horn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forever sundered ride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bridegroom and bride!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<h4>THANGBRAND THE PRIEST.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Short of stature, large of limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Burly face and russet beard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the women stared at him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When in Iceland he appeared.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">"Look!" they said,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With nodding head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the prayers he knew by rote,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He could preach like Chrysostome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the Fathers he could quote,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He had even been at Rome.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A learned clerk,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A man of mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He was quarrelsome and loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And impatient of control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boisterous in the market crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Boisterous at the wassail-bowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would drink and swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In his house this malecontent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Could the King no longer bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So to Iceland he was sent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To convert the heathen there,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And away<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One summer day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There in Iceland, o'er their books<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pored the people day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he did not like their looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor the songs they used to write.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +<span class="i3">"All this rhyme<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is waste of time!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To the alehouse, where he sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came the Scalds and Saga-men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it to be wondered at,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That they quarrelled now and then,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When o'er his beer<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Began to leer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the folk in Altafiord<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Boasted of their island grand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saying in a single word,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Iceland is the finest land<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Doth shine upon!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And he answered: "What's the use<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of this bragging up and down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When three women and one goose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Make a market in your town!"<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Every Scald<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Satires scrawled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Something worse they did than that;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And what vexed him most of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was a figure in shovel hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drawn in charcoal on the wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With words that go<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sprawling below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hardly knowing what he did,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then he smote them might and main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thorvald Veile and Veterlid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lay there in the alehouse slain.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +<span class="i3">"To-day we are gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To-morrow mould!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Much in fear of axe and rope,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Back to Norway sailed he then.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O, King Olaf! little hope<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is there of these Iceland men!"<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Meekly said,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With bending head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> +<h4>X.</h4> + +<h4>RAUD THE STRONG.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All the old gods are dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the wild warlocks fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the White Christ lives and reigns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And throughout my wide domains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Gospel shall be spread!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the Evangelists<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus swore King Olaf.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But still in dreams of the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beheld he the crimson light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard the voice that defied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him who was crucified,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And challenged him to the fight.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Sigurd the Bishop<br /></span> +<span class="i2">King Olaf confessed it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And Sigurd the Bishop said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The old gods are not dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the great Thor still reigns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And among the Jarls and Thanes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old witchcraft still is spread."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus to King Olaf<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said Sigurd the Bishop.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Far north in the Salten Fiord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By rapine, fire, and sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the Godoe Isles belong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him and his heathen horde."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus went on speaking<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sigurd the Bishop.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A warlock, a wizard is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lord of the wind and the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whichever way he sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He has ever favoring gales,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +<span class="i0">By his craft in sorcery."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here the sign of the cross made<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Devoutly King Olaf.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"With rites that we both abhor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He worships Odin and Thor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So it cannot yet be said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all the old gods are dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the warlocks are no more,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flushing with anger<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said Sigurd the Bishop.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then King Olaf cried aloud:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I will talk with this mighty Raud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And along the Salten Fiord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Preach the Gospel with my sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or be brought back in my shroud!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So northward from Drontheim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sailed King Olaf!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<h4>BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loud the angry wind was wailing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As King Olaf's ships came sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northward out of Drontheim haven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the mouth of Salten Fiord.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though the flying sea-spray drenches<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fore and aft the rowers' benches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a single heart is craven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the champions there on board.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All without the Fiord was quiet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But within it storm and riot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as on his Viking cruises<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Raud the Strong was wont to ride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the sea through all its tide-ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept the reeling vessels sideways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the leaves are swept through sluices,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the flood-gates open wide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"But the Lord is not affrighted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the witchcraft of his foes."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To the ship's bow he ascended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By his choristers attended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round him were the tapers lighted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the sacred incense rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his robes, as one transfigured,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Crucifix he planted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High amid the rain and mist.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then with holy water sprinkled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud the monks around him chanted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loud he read the Evangelist.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As into the Fiord they darted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On each side the water parted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down a path like silver molten<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Steadily burned all night the tapers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the White Christ through the vapors<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As through John's Apocalypse,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the little isle of Gelling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a guard was at the doorway,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not a glimmer of light was seen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But at anchor, carved and gilded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay the dragon-ship he builded;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas the grandest ship in Norway,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its crest and scales of green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up the stairway, softly creeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the loft where Raud was sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their fists they burst asunder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bolt and bar that held the door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drunken with sleep and ale they found him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dragged him from his bed and bound him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While he stared with stupid wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the look and garb they wore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little time have we for speaking,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Choose between the good and evil;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be baptized, or thou shalt die!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But in scorn the heathen scoffer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answered: "I disdain thine offer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neither fear I God nor Devil;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thee and thy Gospel I defy!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then between his jaws distended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When his frantic struggles ended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through King Olaf's horn an adder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Touched by fire, they forced to glide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sharp his tooth was as an arrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he gnawed through bone and marrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But without a groan or shudder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Raud the Strong blaspheming died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then baptized they all that region,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far as swims the salmon, leaping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up the streams of Salten Fiord.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In their temples Thor and Odin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay in dust and ashes trodden,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As King Olaf, onward sweeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Preached the Gospel with his sword.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he took the carved and gilded<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dragon-ship that Raud had builded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tiller single-handed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grasping, steered into the main.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Southward sailed the ship that bore him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till at Drontheim haven landed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Olaf and his crew again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<h4>KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At Drontheim, Olaf the King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As he sat in his banquet-hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drinking the nut-brown ale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his bearded Berserks hale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three days his Yule-tide feasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He held with Bishops and Priests,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his horn filled up to the brim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the ale was never too strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor the Saga-man's tale too long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O'er his drinking-horn, the sign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He made of the cross divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As he drank, and muttered his prayers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the Berserks evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over theirs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The gleams of the fire-light dance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon helmet and hauberk and lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laugh in the eyes of the King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he cries to Halfred the Scald,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Sing!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sing me a song divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a sword in every line,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And this shall be thy reward."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he loosened the belt at his waist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in front of the singer placed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His sword.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Quern-biter of Hakon the Good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherewith at a stroke he hewed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The millstone through and through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were neither so broad nor so long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor so true."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the Scald took his harp and sang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loud through the music rang<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sound of that shining word;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the harp-strings a clangor made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they were struck with the blade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a sword.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the Berserks round about<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broke forth into a shout<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That made the rafters ring:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They smote with their fists on the board,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shouted, "Long live the Sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the King!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But the King said, "O my son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss the bright word in one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thy measures and thy rhymes."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Halfred the Scald replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"In another 'twas multiplied<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Three times."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then King Olaf raised the hilt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And said, "Do not refuse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Count well the gain and the loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thor's hammer or Christ's cross:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Choose!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Halfred the Scald said, "This<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the name of the Lord I kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who on it was crucified!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a shout went round the board,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"In the name of Christ the Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who died!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then over the waste of snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noonday sun uprose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the driving mists revealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the lifting of the Host,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By incense-clouds almost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Concealed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the shining wall a vast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shadowy cross was cast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the hilt of the lifted sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in foaming cups of ale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Berserks drank "Was-hael!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the Lord!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<h4>THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thorberg Skafting, master-builder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his ship-yard by the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whistled, saying, "'Twould bewilder<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any man but Thorberg Skafting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Any man but me!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Near him lay the Dragon stranded,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Built of old by Raud the Strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And King Olaf had commanded<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He should build another Dragon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Twice as large and long.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As he sat with half-closed eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his head turned sideways, drafting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That new vessel for King Olaf<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Twice the Dragon's size.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Round him busily hewed and hammered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mallet huge and heavy axe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Workmen laughed and sang and clamored;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whirred the wheels, that into rigging<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spun the shining flax!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All this tumult heard the master,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It was music to his ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fancy whispered all the faster,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For a hundred year!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Workmen sweating at the forges<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fashioned iron bolt and bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a warlock's midnight orgies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smoked and bubbled the black caldron<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the boiling tar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did the warlocks mingle in it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thorberg Skafting, any curse?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Could you not be gone a minute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some mischief must be doing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turning bad to worse?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas an ill wind that came wafting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From his homestead words of woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his farm went Thorberg Skafting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft repeating to his workmen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Build ye thus and so.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">After long delays returning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came the master back by night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his ship-yard longing, yearning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurried he, and did not leave it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the morning's light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come and see my ship, my darling!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the morrow said the King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Finished now from keel to carling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never yet was seen in Norway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such a wondrous thing!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In the ship-yard, idly talking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the ship the workmen stared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some one, all their labor balking,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down her sides had cut deep gashes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not a plank was spared!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Death be to the evil-doer!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With an oath King Olaf spoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"But rewards to his pursuer!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with wrath his face grew redder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than his scarlet cloak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Straight the master-builder, smiling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Answered thus the angry King:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Cease blaspheming and reviling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who has done this thing!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he chipped and smoothed the planking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the King, delighted, swore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With much lauding and much thanking,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Handsomer is now my Dragon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than she was before!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seventy ells and four extended<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the grass the vessel's keel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High above it, gilt and splendid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose the figure-head ferocious<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its crest of steel.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then they launched her from the tressels,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the ship-yard by the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was the grandest of all vessels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never ship was built in Norway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half so fine as she!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Long Serpent was she christened,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They who to the Saga listened<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For a hundred year!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<h4>THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Olaf's fleet assembled lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, striped with white and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Downward fluttered sail and banner,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As alights the screaming lanner;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lustily cheered, in their wild manner,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Long Serpent's crew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a wolf's was his shaggy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His teeth as large and white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His beard, of gray and russet blended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round as a swallow's nest descended;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As standard-bearer he defended<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Olaf's flag in the fight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Near him Kolbiorn had his place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the King in garb and face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So gallant and so hale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every cabin-boy and varlet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wondered at his cloak of scarlet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a river, frozen and star-lit,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gleamed his coat of mail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the bulkhead, tall and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A figure gaunt and grand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his hairy arm imprinted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was an anchor, azure-tinted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was his brawny hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Einar Tamberskelver, bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the winds his golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the mainmast stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Graceful was his form, and slender,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And his eyes were deep and tender<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a woman's, in the splendor<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of her maidenhood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched the sailors at their work:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heavens! how they swore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thirty men they each commanded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Iron-sinewed, horny-handed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shoulders broad, and chests expanded,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tugging at the oar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These, and many more like these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With King Olaf sailed the seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till the waters vast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled them with a vague devotion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the freedom and the motion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the roll and roar of ocean<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sounding blast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +<span class="i0">When they landed from the fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they roared through Drontheim's street,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Boisterous as the gale!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they laughed and stamped and pounded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the tavern roof resounded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the host looked on astounded<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As they drank the ale!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never saw the wild North Sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such a gallant company<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sail its billows blue!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never, while they cruised and quarrelled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Owned a ship so well apparelled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Boasted such a crew!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<h4>A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A little bird in the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is singing of Thyri the fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sister of Svend the Dane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the song of the garrulous bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the streets of the town is heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And repeated again and again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hoist up your sails of silk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And flee away from each other.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To King Burislaf, it is said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the beautiful Thyri wed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a sorrowful bride went she;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And after a week and a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She has fled away and away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From his town by the stormy sea.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Hoist up your sails of silk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And flee away from each other.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say, that through heat and through cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through weald, they say, and through wold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By day and by night, they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She has fled; and the gossips report<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She has come to King Olaf's court,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the town is all in dismay.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hoist up your sails of silk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And flee away from each other.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is whispered King Olaf has seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has talked with the beautiful Queen;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they wonder how it will end;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For surely, if here she remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is war with King Svend the Dane,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And King Burislaf the Vend!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hoist up your sails of silk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And flee away from each other.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O, greatest wonder of all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is published in hamlet and hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It roars like a flame that is fanned!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King—yes, Olaf the King—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has wedded her with his ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Thyri is Queen in the land!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hoist up your sails of silk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And flee away from each other.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<h4>QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Northward over Drontheim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flew the clamorous sea-gulls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang the lark and linnet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the meadows green;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Weeping in her chamber,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lonely and unhappy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat the Drottning Thyri,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sat King Olaf's Queen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In at all the windows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streamed the pleasant sunshine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the roof above her<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Softly cooed the dove;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But the sound she heard not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor the sunshine heeded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the thoughts of Thyri<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were not thoughts of love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then King Olaf entered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beautiful as morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the sun at Easter<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shone his happy face;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In his hand he carried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angelicas uprooted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With delicious fragrance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Filling all the place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like a rainy midnight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat the Drottning Thyri,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the smile of Olaf<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Could not cheer her gloom;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Nor the stalks he gave her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a gracious gesture,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with words as pleasant<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As their own perfume.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In her hands he placed them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her jewelled fingers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the green leaves glistened<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the dews of morn;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But she cast them from her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haughty and indignant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the floor she threw them<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a look of scorn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Richer presents," said she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Gave King Harald Gormson<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the Queen, my mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than such worthless weeds;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"When he ravaged Norway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laying waste the kingdom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seizing scatt and treasure<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For her royal needs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But thou darest not venture<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the Sound to Vendland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My domains to rescue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From King Burislaf;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Lest King Svend of Denmark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forked Beard, my brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scatter all thy vessels<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the wind the chaff."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then up sprang King Olaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a reindeer bounding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With an oath he answered<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thus the luckless Queen:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Never yet did Olaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fear King Svend of Denmark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This right hand shall hale him<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By his forked chin!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he left the chamber,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thundering through the doorway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud his steps resounded<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down the outer stair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Smarting with the insult,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the streets of Drontheim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strode he red and wrathful,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With his stately air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All his ships he gathered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summoned all his forces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making his war levy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the region round;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Down the coast of Norway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a flock of sea-gulls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailed the fleet of Olaf<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the Danish Sound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With his own hand fearless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steered he the Long Serpent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strained the creaking cordage,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bent each boom and gaff;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Till in Vendland landing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The domains of Thyri<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He redeemed and rescued<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From King Burislaf.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then said Olaf, laughing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Not ten yoke of oxen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have the power to draw us<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a woman's hair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Now will I confess it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better things are jewels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than angelica stalks are<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a Queen to wear."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<h4>KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loudly the sailors cheered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Svend of the Forked Beard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with his fleet he steered<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Southward to Vendland;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where with their courses hauled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All were together called,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the Isle of Svald<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Near to the mainland.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">After Queen Gunhild's death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the old Saga saith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plighted King Svend his faith<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Sigrid the Haughty;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And to avenge his bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothing her wounded pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the waters wide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">King Olaf sought he.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still on her scornful face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blushing with deep disgrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bore she the crimson trace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Olaf's gauntlet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a malignant star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blazing in heaven afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red shone the angry scar<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Under her frontlet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oft to King Svend she spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"For thine own honor's sake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalt thou swift vengeance take<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the vile coward!"<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Until the King at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gusty and overcast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a tempestuous blast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Threatened and lowered.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon as the Spring appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Svend of the Forked Beard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High his red standard reared,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Eager for battle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While every warlike Dane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seizing his arms again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left all unsown the grain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unhoused the cattle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Likewise the Swedish King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summoned in haste a Thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weapons and men to bring<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In aid of Denmark;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Eric the Norseman, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the war-tidings flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailed with a chosen crew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Lapland and Finmark.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So upon Easter day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailed the three kings away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the sheltered bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the bright season;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With them Earl Sigvald came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eager for spoil and fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pity that such a name<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stooped to such treason!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Safe under Svald at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now were their anchors cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safe from the sea and blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Plotted the three kings;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +<span class="i0">While, with a base intent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Southward Earl Sigvald went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a foul errand bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unto the Sea-kings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thence to hold on his course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto King Olaf's force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lying within the hoarse<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mouths of Stet-haven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him to ensnare and bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the Danish king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who his dead corse would fling<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forth to the raven!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<h4>KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the gray sea-sands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Olaf stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northward and seaward<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He points with his hands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With eddy and whirl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea-tides curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Washing the sandals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Sigvald the Earl.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mariners shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ships swing about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yards are all hoisted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sails flutter out.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The war-horns are played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The anchors are weighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like moths in the distance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sails flit and fade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sea is like lead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The harbor lies dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a corse on the sea-shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose spirit has fled!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On that fatal day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The histories say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seventy vessels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailed out of the bay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But soon scattered wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the billows they ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Sigvald and Olaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sail side by side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Cried the Earl: "Follow me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I your pilot will be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I know all the channels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where flows the deep sea!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So into the strait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where his foes lie in wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gallant King Olaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sails to his fate!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the sea-fog veils<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ships and their sails;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Queen Sigrid the Haughty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy vengeance prevails!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<h4>KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Strike the sails!" King Olaf said;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Never shall men of mine take flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never away from battle I fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never away from my foes!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let God dispose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my life in the fight!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And suddenly through the drifting brume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blare of the horns began to ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the terrible trumpet shock<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Regnarock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the Day of Doom!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Louder and louder the war-horns sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the level floor of the flood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the sails came down with a clang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there in the mist overhead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun hung red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a drop of blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drifting down on the Danish fleet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three together the ships were lashed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that neither should turn and retreat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the midst, but in front of the rest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The burnished crest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Serpent flashed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bow of ash and arrows of oak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His gilded shield was without a fleck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His helmet inlaid with gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in many a fold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung his crimson cloak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On the forecastle Ulf the Red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched the lashing of the ships;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If the Serpent lie so far ahead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall have hard work of it here,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said he with a sneer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his bearded lips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">King Olaf laid an arrow on string,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Have I a coward on board?" said he.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Shoot it another way, O King!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sullenly answered Ulf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old sea-wolf;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You have need of me!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In front came Svend, the King of the Danes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeping down with his fifty rowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on board of the Iron Beard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Earl Eric steered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the left with his oars.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"At home with their wives had better stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But where Eric the Norseman leads<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heroic deeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will be done to-day!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then as together the vessels crashed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eric severed the cables of hide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With which King Olaf's ships were lashed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left them to drive and drift<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the currents swift<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the outward tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Louder the war-horns growl and snarl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharper the dragons bite and sting!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eric the son of Hakon Jarl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A death-drink salt as the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pledges to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Olaf the King!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<h4>EINAR TAMBERSKELVER.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was Einar Tamberskelver<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stood beside the mast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his yew-bow, tipped with silver,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flew the arrows fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aimed at Eric unavailing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As he sat concealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half behind the quarter-railing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Half behind his shield.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">First an arrow struck the tiller,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Just above his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then Earl Eric said.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Sing the song of Hakon dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing his funeral wail!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And another arrow flying<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Grazed his coat of mail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Turning to a Lapland yeoman,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the arrow passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Standing by the mast."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sooner than the word was spoken<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flew the yeoman's shaft;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Einar's bow in twain was broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Einar only laughed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What was that?" said Olaf, standing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the quarter-deck.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Something heard I like the stranding<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a shattered wreck."<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Einar then, the arrow taking<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the loosened string,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answered, "That was Norway breaking<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From thy hand, O king!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thou art but a poor diviner,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Straightway Olaf said;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Take my bow, and swifter, Einar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let thy shafts be sped."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his bows the fairest choosing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Reached he from above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Einar saw the blood-drops oozing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through his iron glove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the bow was thin and narrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At the first assay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er its head he drew the arrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flung the bow away;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Said, with hot and angry temper<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flushing in his cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Olaf! for so great a Kämper<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are thy bows too weak!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, with smile of joy defiant<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On his beardless lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scaled he, light and self-reliant,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Eric's dragon-ship.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loose his golden locks were flowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bright his armor gleamed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Saint Michael overthrowing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lucifer he seemed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +<h4>KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All day has the battle raged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day have the ships engaged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not yet is assuaged<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The vengeance of Eric the Earl.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The decks with blood are red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arrows of death are sped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ships are filled with the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the spears the champions hurl.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They drift as wrecks on the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grappling-irons are plied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boarders climb up the side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The shouts are feeble and few.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! never shall Norway again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See her sailors come back o'er the main;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They all lie wounded or slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or asleep in the billows blue!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the deck stands Olaf the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around him whistle and sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spears that the foemen fling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the stones they hurl with their hands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the midst of the stones and the spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His shield in the air he uprears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the side of King Olaf he stands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the slippery wreck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Long Serpent's deck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeps Eric with hardly a check,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His lips with anger are pale;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He hews with his axe at the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till it falls, with the sails overcast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a snow-covered pine in the vast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dim forests of Orkadale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seeking King Olaf then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rushes aft with his men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a hunter into the den<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the bear, when he stands at bay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When lo! on his wondering eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two kingly figures arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Two Olafs in warlike array!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of King Olaf a word of cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a whisper that none may hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a smile on his tremulous lip;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Two shields raised high in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two flashes of golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two scarlet meteors' glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And both have leaped from the ship.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Earl Eric's men in the boats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cry, from their hairy throats,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"See! it is Olaf the King!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While far on the opposite side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floats another shield on the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a jewel set in the wide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sea-current's eddying ring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is told a wonderful tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the King stripped off his mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like leaves of the brown sea-kale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As he swam beneath the main;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But the young grew old and gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never, by night or by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his kingdom of Norroway<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was King Olaf seen again!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<h4>THE NUN OF NIDAROS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the convent of Drontheim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone in her chamber<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knelt Astrid the Abbess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At midnight, adoring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beseeching, entreating<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Virgin and Mother.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She heard in the silence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of one speaking,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without in the darkness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gusts of the night-wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now louder, now nearer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now lost in the distance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of a stranger<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed as she listened,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some one who answered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beseeching, imploring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cry from afar off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not distinguish.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The voice of Saint John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beloved disciple,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wandered and waited<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Master's appearance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone in the darkness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unsheltered and friendless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"It is accepted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The angry defiance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The challenge of battle!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is accepted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not with the weapons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of war that thou wieldest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Cross against corslet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love against hatred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace-cry for war-cry!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patience is powerful;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He that o'ercometh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath power o'er the nations!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"As torrents in summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half dried in their channels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suddenly rise, though the<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sky is still cloudless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For rain has been falling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off at their fountains;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So hearts that are fainting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grow full to o'erflowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they that behold it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marvel, and know not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That God at their fountains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off has been raining!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Stronger than steel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the sword of the Spirit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swifter than arrows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light of the truth is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greater than anger<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is love, and subdueth!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thou art a phantom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shape of the sea-mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shape of the brumal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rain, and the darkness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearful and formless;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day dawns and thou art not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The dawn is not distant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor is the night starless;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love is eternal!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God is still God, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faith shall not fail us;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christ is eternal!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTERLUDE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A strain of music closed the tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A low, monotonous, funeral wail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with its cadence, wild and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made the long Saga more complete.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thank God," the Theologian said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The reign of violence is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dying surely from the world;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Love triumphant reigns instead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in a brighter sky o'erhead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His blessed banners are unfurled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And most of all thank God for this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The war and waste of clashing creeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now end in words, and not in deeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no one suffers loss, or bleeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thoughts that men call heresies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"I stand without here in the porch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear the bell's melodious din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear the organ peal within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear the prayer, with words that scorch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like sparks from an inverted torch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear the sermon upon sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With threatenings of the last account.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all, translated in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reach me but as our dear Lord's Prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the Sermon on the Mount.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Must it be Calvin, and not Christ?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must it be Athanasian creeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or holy water, books, and beads?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must struggling souls remain content<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With councils and decrees of Trent?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And can it be enough for these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Christian Church the year embalms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With evergreens and boughs of palms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fills the air with litanies?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"I know that yonder Pharisee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanks God that he is not like me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my humiliation dressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only stand and beat my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pray for human charity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Not to one church alone, but seven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice prophetic spake from heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unto each the promise came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Diversified, but still the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him that overcometh are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The new name written on the stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The raiment white, the crown, the throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I will give him the Morning Star!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah! to how many Faith has been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No evidence of things unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a dim shadow, that recasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The creed of the Phantasiasts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom no Man of Sorrows died,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For whom the Tragedy Divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was but a symbol and a sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Christ a phantom crucified!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For others a diviner creed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is living in the life they lead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passing of their beautiful feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blesses the pavement of the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all their looks and words repeat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not as a vulture, but a dove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Holy Ghost came from above.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And this brings back to me a tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sad the hearer well may quail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And question if such things can be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in the chronicles of Spain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the dark pages runs this stain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And naught can wash them white again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fearful is the tragedy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE.</h2> + + +<h3>TORQUEMADA.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the heroic days when Ferdinand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Isabella ruled the Spanish land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Torquemada, with his subtle brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor of Spain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a great castle near Valladolid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moated and high and by fair woodlands hid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There dwelt, as from the chronicles we learn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old Hidalgo proud and taciturn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose name has perished, with his towers of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all his actions save this one alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This one, so terrible, perhaps 'twere best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If it, too, were forgotten with the rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A double picture, with its gloom and glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendor overhead, the death below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This sombre man counted each day as lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he chanced the passing Host to meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft he confessed; and with each mutinous thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In deep contrition scourged himself in Lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walked in processions, with his head down bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only pastime was to hunt the boar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or with his jingling mules to hurry down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To some grand bull-fight in the neighboring town,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Or in the crowd with lighted taper stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Jews were burned, or banished from the land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The demon whose delight is to destroy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now, in that old castle in the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His daughters, in the dawn of womanhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returning from their convent school, had made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resplendent with their bloom the forest shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reminding him of their dead mother's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first she came into that gloomy place,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A memory in his heart as dim and sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As moonlight in a solitary street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the same rays, that lift the sea, are thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lovely but powerless upon walls of stone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +<span class="i0">These two fair daughters of a mother dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were all the dream had left him as it fled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A joy at first, and then a growing care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if a voice within him cried, "Beware!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vague presentiment of impending doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haunted him day and night; a formless fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That death to some one of his house was near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dark surmises of a hidden crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made life itself a death before its time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spy upon his daughters he became;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With velvet slippers, noiseless on the floors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He glided softly through half-open doors;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now in the room, and now upon the stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood beside them ere they were aware;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He listened in the passage when they talked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watched them from the casement when they walked,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He saw the gypsy haunt the river's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw the monk among the cork-trees glide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, tortured by the mystery and the doubt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some dark secret, past his finding out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Baffled he paused; then reassured again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursued the flying phantom of his brain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watched them even when they knelt in church;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, descending lower in his search,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Questioned the servants, and with eager eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listened incredulous to their replies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gypsy? none had seen her in the wood!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monk? a mendicant in search of food!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At length the awful revelation came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crushing at once his pride of birth and name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hopes his yearning bosom forward cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the ancestral glories of the past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All fell together, crumbling in disgrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A turret rent from battlement to base.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His daughters talking in the dead of night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their own chamber, and without a light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listening, as he was wont, he overheard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learned the dreadful secret, word by word;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hurrying from his castle, with a cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised his hands to the unpitying sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught it, and shuddering answered, "Heresy!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o'er his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now hurrying forward, now with lingering pace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He walked all night the alleys of his park,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With one unseen companion in the dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Demon who within him lay in wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by his presence turned his love to hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever muttering in an undertone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the morrow, after early Mass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While yet the dew was glistening on the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the woods were musical with birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walked homeward with the Priest, and in his room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When questioned, with brief answers they replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor when accused evaded or denied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expostulations, passionate appeals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that the human heart most fears or feels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain the father threatened, wept, and prayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until at last he said, with haughty mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Holy Office, then, must intervene!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the fifty horsemen of his train,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His awful name resounding, like the blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came to Valladolid, and there began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Demanded audience on affairs of state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in a secret chamber stood before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A venerable graybeard of fourscore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in his hand the mystic horn he held,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then answered in a voice that made him quail:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Son of the Church! when Abraham of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sacrifice his only son was told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He did not pause to parley nor protest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hastened to obey the Lord's behest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In him it was accounted righteousness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Holy Church expects of thee no less!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mercy from that hour implored in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! who will e'er believe the words I say?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His daughters he accused, and the same day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They both were cast into the dungeon's gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dismal antechamber of the tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The secret torture and the public shame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hidalgo went, more eager than before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said: "When Abraham offered up his son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He clave the wood wherewith it might be done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By his example taught, let me too bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wood from the forest for my offering!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the deep voice, without a pause, replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Son of the Church! by faith now justified,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou wilt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Church absolves thy conscience from all guilt!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then this most wretched father went his way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the woods, that round his castle lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where once his daughters in their childhood played<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their young mother in the sun and shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now all the leaves had fallen; the branches bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made a perpetual moaning in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And screaming from their eyries overhead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his own hands he lopped the boughs and bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fagots, that crackled with foreboding sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on his mules, caparisoned and gay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bells and tassels, sent them on their way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again to the Inquisitor he went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said: "Behold, the fagots I have brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, lest my atonement be as naught,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Grant me one more request, one last desire,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my own hand to light the funeral fire!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Torquemada answered from his seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Son of the Church! Thine offering is complete;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her servants through all ages shall not cease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon the market-place, builded of stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scaffold rose, whereon Death claimed his own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the four corners, in stern attitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon this place of human sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round which was gathering fast the eager crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With clamor of voices dissonant and loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every roof and window was alive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With restless gazers, swarming like a hive.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A line of torches smoked along the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with its banners floating in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly the long procession crossed the square,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, to the statues of the Prophets bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victims stood, with fagots piled around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And louder sang the monks with bell and book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted his torch, and, bursting through the crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lighted in haste the fagots, and then fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O pitiless skies! why did your clouds retain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For peasants' fields their floods of hoarded rain?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O pitiless earth! why opened no abyss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bury in its chasm a crime like this?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That night, a mingled column of fire and smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the dark thickets of the forest broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the villagers in terror gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They saw the figure of that cruel knight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lean from a window in the turret's height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ghastly face illumined with the glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hands upraised above his head in prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the floor sank beneath him, and he fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the black hollow of that burning well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three centuries and more above his bones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have piled the oblivious years like funeral stones;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name has perished with him, and no trace<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Remains on earth of his afflicted race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Torquemada's name, with clouds o'ercast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looms in the distant landscape of the Past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a burnt tower upon a blackened heath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lit by the fires of burning woods beneath!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTERLUDE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus closed the tale of guilt and gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cast upon each listener's face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its shadow, and for some brief space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unbroken silence filled the room.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Jew was thoughtful and distressed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his memory thronged and pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The persecution of his race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their wrongs and sufferings and disgrace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His head was sunk upon his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from his eyes alternate came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashes of wrath and tears of shame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The student first the silence broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one who long has lain in wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With purpose to retaliate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus he dealt the avenging stroke.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"In such a company as this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tale so tragic seems amiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That by its terrible control<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'ermasters and drags down the soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a fathomless abyss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Italian Tales that you disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some merry Night of Straparole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Machiavelli's Belphagor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would cheer us and delight us more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give greater pleasure and less pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than your grim tragedies of Spain!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here the Poet raised his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With such entreaty and command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It stopped discussion at its birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said: "The story I shall tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has meaning in it, if not mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listen, and hear what once befell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The merry birds of Killingworth!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE POET'S TALE.</h2> + + +<h3>THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was the season, when through all the land<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The merle and mavis build, and building sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whom Saxon Cædmon calls the Blithe-heart King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When on the boughs the purple buds expand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The banners of the vanguard of the Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wave their fluttering signals from the steep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The robin and the blue-bird, piping loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hungry crows assembled in a crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The village with the cheers of all their fleet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like foreign sailors, landed in the street<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In fabulous days, some hundred years ago;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mingled with the universal mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To swift destruction the whole race of birds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And a town-meeting was convened straightway<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To set a price upon the guilty heads<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Levied black-mail upon the garden beds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And corn-fields, and beheld without dismay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skeleton that waited at their feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then from his house, a temple painted white,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With fluted columns, and a roof of red,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slowly descending, with majestic tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down the long street he walked, as one who said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A town that boasts inhabitants like me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can have no lack of good society!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The instinct of whose nature was to kill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wrath of God he preached from year to year,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His favorite pastime was to slay the deer<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Summer on some Adirondac hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en now, while walking down the rural lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the Academy, whose belfry crowned<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The hill of Science with its vane of brass,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all absorbed in reveries profound<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of fair Almira in the upper class,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who was, as in a sonnet he had said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As pure as water, and as good as bread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And next the Deacon issued from his door,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A suit of sable bombazine he wore;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His form was ponderous, and his step was slow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There never was so wise a man before;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told you so!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to perpetuate his great renown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a street named after him in town.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These came together in the new town-hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With sundry farmers from the region round.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Squire presided, dignified and tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His air impressive and his reasoning sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But enemies enough, who every one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When they had ended, from his place apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, trembling like a steed before the start,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To speak out what was in him, clear and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alike regardless of their smile or frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And quite determined not to be laughed down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Plato, anticipating the Reviewers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From his Republic banished without pity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Poets; in this little town of yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You put to death, by means of a Committee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ballad-singers and the Troubadours,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The street-musicians of the heavenly city,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The birds, who make sweet music for us all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In our dark hours, as David did for Saul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The thrush that carols at the dawn of day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the green steeples of the piny wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The oriole in the elm; the noisy jay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jargoning like a foreigner at his food;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue-bird balanced on some topmost spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flooding with melody the neighborhood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a scant handful more or less of wheat,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Or rye, or barley, or some other grain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Scratched up at random by industrious feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searching for worm or weevil after rain!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As are the songs these uninvited guests<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dialect they speak, where melodies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alone are the interpreters of thought?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose household words are songs in many keys,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose habitations in the tree-tops even<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are half-way houses on the road to heaven!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Think, every morning when the sun peeps through<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +<span class="i0">How jubilant the happy birds renew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their old, melodious madrigals of love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when you think of this, remember too<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis always morning somewhere, and above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The awakening continents, from shore to shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Think of your woods and orchards without birds!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in an idiot's brain remembered words<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Make up for the lost music, when your teams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feathered gleaners follow to your door?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What! would you rather see the incessant stir<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of insects in the windrows of the hay,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the locust and the grasshopper<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is this more pleasant to you than the whirr<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of meadow-lark, and its sweet roundelay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You call them thieves and pillagers; but know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They are the winged wardens of your farms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from your harvests keep a hundred harms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the blackest of them all, the crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Renders good service as your man-at-arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crying havoc on the slug and snail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How can I teach your children gentleness,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And mercy to the weak, and reverence<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For Life, which, in its weakness or excess,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The selfsame light, although averted hence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When by your laws, your actions, and your speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You contradict the very things I teach?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With this he closed; and through the audience went<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their yellow heads together like their sheaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The birds were doomed; and, as the record shows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bounty offered for the heads of crows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +<span class="i0">There was another audience out of reach,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who had no voice nor vote in making laws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in the papers read his little speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And crowned his modest temples with applause;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They made him conscious, each one more than each,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He still was victor, vanquished in their cause.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O fair Almira at the Academy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so the dreadful massacre began;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wounded crept away from sight of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While the young died of famine in their nests;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A slaughter to be told in groans, not words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very St. Bartholomew of Birds!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Summer came, and all the birds were dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The days were like hot coals; the very ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was burned to ashes; in the orchards fed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Myriads of caterpillars, and around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cultivated fields and garden beds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No foe to check their march, till they had made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land a desert without leaf or shade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The canker-worms upon the passers-by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who shook them off with just a little cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They were the terror of each favorite walk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The endless theme of all the village talk.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The farmers grew impatient, but a few<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Confessed their error, and would not complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For after all, the best thing one can do<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When it is raining, is to let it rain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then they repealed the law, although they knew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It would not call the dead to life again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As school-boys, finding their mistake too late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That year in Killingworth the Autumn came<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Without the light of his majestic look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wonder of the falling tongues of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And drowned themselves despairing in the brook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the wild wind went moaning everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lamenting the dead children of the air!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sight that never yet by bard was sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As great a wonder as it would have been<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If some dumb animal had found a tongue!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wagon, overarched with evergreen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All full of singing birds, came down the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filling the air with music wild and sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From all the country round these birds were brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By order of the town, with anxious quest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In woods and fields the places they loved best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing loud canticles, which many thought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were satires to the authorities addressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While others, listening in green lanes, averred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such lovely music never had been heard!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But blither still and louder carolled they<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was the fair Almira's wedding-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And everywhere, around, above, below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Preceptor bore his bride away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a new heaven bent over a new earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> +<h2>FINALE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hour was late; the fire burned low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Landlord's eyes were closed in sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And near the story's end a deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sonorous sound at times was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when the distant bagpipes blow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At this all laughed; the Landlord stirred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one awaking from a swound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, gazing anxiously around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Protested that he had not slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only shut his eyes, and kept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ears attentive to each word.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then all arose, and said "Good Night."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone remained the drowsy Squire<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To rake the embers of the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And quench the waning parlor light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While from the windows, here and there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scattered lamps a moment gleamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the illumined hostel seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The constellation of the Bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Downward, athwart the misty air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinking and setting toward the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off the village clock struck one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> +<h2>BIRDS OF PASSAGE.</h2> + +<h3>FLIGHT THE SECOND.</h3> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Between the dark and the daylight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the night is beginning to lower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes a pause in the day's occupations,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That is known as the Children's Hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hear in the chamber above me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The patter of little feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound of a door that is opened,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And voices soft and sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From my study I see in the lamplight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Descending the broad hall stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Edith with golden hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A whisper, and then a silence:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet I know by their merry eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are plotting and planning together<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To take me by surprise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A sudden rush from the stairway,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sudden raid from the hall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By three doors left unguarded<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They enter my castle wall!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They climb up into my turret<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the arms and back of my chair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I try to escape, they surround me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They seem to be everywhere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They almost devour me with kisses,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their arms about me entwine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Because you have scaled the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such an old moustache as I am<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is not a match for you all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have you fast in my fortress,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And will not let you depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But put you down into the dungeon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the round-tower of my heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there will I keep you forever,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yes, forever and a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And moulder in dust away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> +<h2>ENCELADUS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under Mount Etna he lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It is slumber, it is not death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he struggles at times to arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And above him the lurid skies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are hot with his fiery breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crags are piled on his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The earth is heaped on his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the groans of his wild unrest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though smothered and half suppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are heard, and he is not dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the nations far away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are watching with eager eyes;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They talk together and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"To-morrow, perhaps to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Enceladus will arise!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the old gods, the austere<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oppressors in their strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand aghast and white with fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the ominous sounds they hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tremble, and mutter, "At length!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah me! for the land that is sown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the harvest of despair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the burning cinders, blown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the lips of the overthrown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Enceladus, fill the air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where ashes are heaped in drifts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over vineyard and field and town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenever he starts and lifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His head through the blackened rifts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the crags that keep him down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +<span class="i0">See, see! the red light shines!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis the glare of his awful eyes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the storm-wind shouts through the pines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Alps and of Apennines,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Enceladus, arise!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CUMBERLAND.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at times from the fortress across the bay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The alarum of drums swept past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or a bugle blast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the camp on the shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then far away to the south uprose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A little feather of snow-white smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we knew that the iron ship of our foes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was steadily steering its course<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To try the force<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of our ribs of oak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Down upon us heavily runs,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Silent and sullen, the floating fort;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leaps the terrible death,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With fiery breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From each open port.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are not idle, but send her straight<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Defiance back in a full broadside!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rebounds our heavier hail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From each iron scale<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the monster's hide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Strike your flag!" the rebel cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his arrogant old plantation strain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Never!" our gallant Morris replies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"It is better to sink than to yield!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the whole air pealed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the cheers of our men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then, like a kraken huge and black,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down went the Cumberland all a wrack,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a sudden shudder of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the cannon's breath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For her dying gasp.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still floated our flag at the mainmast-head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lord, how beautiful was thy day!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Every waft of the air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was a whisper of prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or a dirge for the dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye are at peace in the troubled stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ho! brave land! with hearts like these,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy flag, that is rent in twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall be one again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And without a seam!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> +<h2>SNOW-FLAKES.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out of the bosom of the Air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the woodlands brown and bare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over the harvest-fields forsaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Silent, and soft, and slow<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Descends the snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even as our cloudy fancies take<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Suddenly shape in some divine expression,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as the troubled heart doth make<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the white countenance confession,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The troubled sky reveals<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The grief it feels.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This is the poem of the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slowly in silent syllables recorded;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is the secret of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Now whispered and revealed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To wood and field.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> +<h2>A DAY OF SUNSHINE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O gift of God! O perfect day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon shall no man work, but play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon it is enough for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to be doing, but to be!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through every fibre of my brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through every nerve, through every vein,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel the electric thrill, the touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life, that seems almost too much.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hear the wind among the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Playing celestial symphonies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the branches downward bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like keys of some great instrument.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And over me unrolls on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendid scenery of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where through a sapphire sea the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sails like a golden galleon,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose steep sierra far uplifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its craggy summits white with drifts.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow, winds! and bend within my reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fiery blossoms of the peach!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Life and Love! O happy throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O heart of man! canst thou not be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blithe as the air is, and as free?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p style="margin-left: 6.5em;">1860.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> +<h2>SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Labor with what zeal we will,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Something still remains undone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something uncompleted still<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Waits the rising of the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the bedside, on the stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At the threshold, near the gates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its menace or its prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a mendicant it waits;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Waits, and will not go away;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Waits, and will not be gainsaid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the cares of yesterday<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each to-day is heavier made;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Till at length the burden seems<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Greater than our strength can bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavy as the weight of dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pressing on us everywhere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And we stand from day to day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the dwarfs of times gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, as Northern legends say,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On their shoulders held the sky.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> +<h2>WEARINESS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O little feet! that such long years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must wander on through hopes and fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Must ache and bleed beneath your load;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, nearer to the wayside inn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where toil shall cease and rest begin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Am weary, thinking of your road!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O little hands! that, weak or strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have still to serve or rule so long,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have still so long to give or ask;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, who so much with book and pen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have toiled among my fellow-men,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Am weary, thinking of your task.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O little hearts! that throb and beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With such impatient, feverish heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such limitless and strong desires;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine that so long has glowed and burned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With passions into ashes turned<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now covers and conceals its fires.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O little souls! as pure and white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crystalline as rays of light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Direct from heaven, their source divine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refracted through the mist of years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How red my setting sun appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How lurid looks this soul of mine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="sectctr">THE END.</p> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> +<p class="p4">Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1_ad" id="Page_1_ad">[1]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/scroll.png" alt="Decorative scrollwork" width="95%"/> +</div> + +<p class="place">135, Washington St., Boston,<br /></p> +<p class="datesc">November, 1863.</p> + + +<h1>A List of Books</h1> + +<p class="p3">PUBLISHED BY</p> + +<h2><span class="smcap">Messrs.</span> TICKNOR AND FIELDS.</h2> + +<div class="booklist"> +<p><img src="images/finger.png" width="30" height="13" alt="pointing finger" /> <i>Any book on this List sent</i> <span class="smcap">POST-PAID</span>, <i>on receipt of the +advertised price. For a more full description of the works here +advertised, see Ticknor and Fields's "Descriptive Catalogue," which will +be sent gratuitously to any address.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>AGASSIZ'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Prof. Louis</span>) Methods of Study in Natural History. 1 vol. +16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ADDISON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Joseph</span>) Sir Roger de Coverley. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>AUSTEN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Jane</span>) Pride and Prejudice, and Northanger Abbey. 1 vol. +12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Mansfield Park. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Sense and Sensibility, and Persuasion. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Emma. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ADAMS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Dr.</span>) Agnes and the Little Key; Or, Bereaved Parents +Instructed and Comforted. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Catharine. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Bertha and her Baptism. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Broadcast. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Friends of Christ in the New Testament. 1 vol. 12mo. <i>Nearly +ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">—— Christ a Friend. 1 vol. 12mo. <i>Nearly ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Communion-Sabbath. 1 vol. 12mo. <i>Nearly ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">—— A South-Side View of Slavery. Fourth Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Sable Cloud. A Southern Tale with Northern Comments. 1 vol. +16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2_ad" id="Page_2_ad">[2]</a></span><i>ALLSTON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Washington</span>) Monaldi. A Tale. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ALFORD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry</span>) Poetical Works. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ALLINGHAM'S</i> (<span class="smcap">William</span>) Poems. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ALMOST A HEROINE.</i> By the Author of "<span class="smcap">Charles Auchester</span>," etc. 1 vol. +16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>AMERICAN INSTITUTE LECTURES</i>, delivered 1840-1862. Complete in +twenty-three 16mo. volumes. Each, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ANDERSEN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Hans Christian</span>) Sand Hills of Jutland. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ANGEL VOICES</i>; Or, Words of Counsel for Overcoming the World. With a +Steel Engraving. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p>An entirely new and much enlarged edition, beautifully printed on tinted +paper, and richly bound. 1 vol. small 4to. $2.00. <i>Just Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ARAGO'S</i> (<span class="smcap">François</span>) Biographies of Distinguished Scientific Men. 2 +vols. 16mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ARNOLD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Thomas, D. D.</span>) Life and Correspondence. By <span class="smcap">Arthur +Penrhyn Stanley</span>. 2 vols. 12mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ARNOLD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Matthew</span>) Poetical Works. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ARNOLD'S</i> (W. D.) Oakfield; Or, Fellowship in the East. A Novel. 1 vol. +16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>AYTOUN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Prof. William Edmonstone</span>) Bothwell. A Poem. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>AUNT EFFIE'S</i> Rhymes for Little Children. With 24 fine Illustrations. 1 +vol. Small 4to. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BACON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Delia</span>) Philosophy of Shakspeare's Plays Unfolded. With a +Preface by <span class="smcap">Nathaniel Hawthorne</span>. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BAILEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Philip James</span>) The Mystic, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Age: A Colloquial Satire. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BAILEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Samuel</span>) Essays on the Formation and Publication of Opinions, +the Pursuit of Truth, etc. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BARTOL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. C. A.</span>) Church and Congregation,—a Plea for their +Unity. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BEECHER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Henry Ward</span>) Eyes and Ears. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Lectures to Young Men. <i>A New Edition.</i> 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Freedom and War. Discourses upon Topics Suggested by the Times. 1 +vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BOKER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">George H.</span>) Plays and Poems. <i>Second Edition.</i> 2 vols. 16mo. +$2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BOSTON BOOK.</i> Specimens of Metropolitan Literature. With a fine Steel +Plate, designed by Billings. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3_ad" id="Page_3_ad">[3]</a></span><i>BOWRING'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John</span>) Matins and Vespers. With Hymns and Devotional +Pieces. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BROOKS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. C. T.</span>) German Lyrics. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BOTTA'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Anne C. Lynch</span>) Hand-Book of Universal Literature. From the +Best and Latest Authorities. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BROWN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John, M. D.</span>) Spare Hours. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Rab and his Friends. 16mo. Paper. 15 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BROWNE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Sir Thomas, Kt., M. D.</span>) Religio Medici, A Letter to a +Friend, Christian Morals, Urn-Burial and Other Papers. With Steel +Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BROWNING'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Robert</span>) Poetical Works. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Men and Women. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Sordello, Stanford, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>BUCKINGHAM'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Joseph T.</span>) Personal Memoirs and Recollections of +Editorial Life. With Portrait. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CALVERT</i> (<span class="smcap">George H.</span>) The Gentleman. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">"<i>CARLETON'S</i>" (Correspondent of the Boston Journal) My Days and Nights +on the Battle-Field. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CARLYLE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Dr. Alexander</span>) Autobiography. Containing Memorials of +the Men and Events of his Times. Edited by <span class="smcap">John Hill Burton</span>. 1 vol. +12mo. With Portrait. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CARY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Phœbe</span>) Poems and Parodies. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CARY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Alice</span>) Clovernook Children. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CHANNING'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Prof. Edward T.</span>) Lectures on Rhetoric. Read to the Seniors +in Harvard College. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CHANNING'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Walter, M. D.</span>) A Physician's Vacation; Or, A Summer in +Europe. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CHANTER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charlotte</span>) Over the Cliffs. A Novel. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CHAPEL LITURGY.</i> A Book of Common Prayer. According to the Use of +King's Chapel, Boston. 1 vol. 8vo. Sheep. $2.00. 12mo Edition. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CHILD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. L. M.</span>) Looking toward Sunset. With Illustrations. 1 vol. +12mo. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">—— Rainbows for Children. 1 vol. 16mo. With 28 Illustrations. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Magician's Show-Box. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CHOMEL'S</i> (A. F.) Elements of General Pathology. From the French. By +<span class="smcap">Drs. Oliver</span> and <span class="smcap">Morland</span>. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4_ad" id="Page_4_ad">[4]</a></span><i>CLARKE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mary Cowden</span>) Kit Bam's Adventures; Or, The Yarns of an Old +Mariner. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CLOUGH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Arthur Hugh</span>) Poems. With Memoir by <span class="smcap">Charles Eliot Norton</span>. 1 +vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>COALE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">William Edward, M. D.</span>) Hints on Health. <i>Third Edition.</i> 1 +vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>COMBE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">George</span>) Constitution of Man. <i>Twenty-Eighth American +Edition.</i> 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CONWAY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. M. D.</span>) The Golden Hour. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CORNWALL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Barry</span>) English Songs and Other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Dramatic Scenes. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Essays and Tales in Prose. 2 vols. 16mo. With Portrait. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">"<i>COUNTRY PARSON'S</i>" (<span class="smcap">The</span>) Recreations. 2 vols. 16mo. $3.00. <i>Cheap +Edition</i>, $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Leisure Hours. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Graver Thoughts. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Every-day Philosopher. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CROSLAND'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Newton</span>) English Tales and Sketches. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Memorable Women. With Illustrations. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Lydia: A Woman's Book. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CROSWELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. William, D. D.</span>) Poems, Sacred and Secular. With +Memoir and Notes, by Rev. A. Cleveland Cole, D. D., and a Portrait. 1 +vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CUMMINS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Maria S.</span>) El Fureidis. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Lamplighter. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CURIOUS STORIES</i> about Fairies and other Funny People. Illustrated by +Billings. 1 vol 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>CURTIS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Herbert Pelham</span>) Arabian Days' Entertainments. From the +German of <span class="smcap">Hauff</span>. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Hoppin</span>. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DANA'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Richard H., Jr.</span>) To Cuba and Back: A Vacation Voyage. 1 vol. +16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DAVIS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. S. M.</span>) Life and Times of Sir Philip Sidney. With Steel +Portrait and Engraving. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DE QUINCEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>) Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. With +Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Biographical Essays. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Miscellaneous Essays. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5_ad" id="Page_5_ad">[5]</a></span>—— Literary Reminiscences. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Cæsars. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Narrative and Miscellaneous Papers. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.80.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Essays on the Poets and other English Writers. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Historical and Critical Essays. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.80.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Autobiographic Sketches. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Essays on Philosophical Writers and other Men of Letters. 2 vols. +16mo. $1.80.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Letters to a Young Man, and other Papers. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Theological Essays, and other Papers. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.80.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Note-Book of an English Opium-Eater. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Memorials, and other Papers. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.80.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Avenger, and other Papers. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Logic of Political Economy, and other Papers. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Beauties Selected from his Writings. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DICKENS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charles</span>) Pickwick Papers. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Nicholas Nickleby. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Martin Chuzzlewit. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Old Curiosity Shop, and Reprinted Pieces. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Barnaby Rudge, and Hard Times. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Sketches, by Boz. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Oliver Twist. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Dombey and Son. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— David Copperfield. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Pictures from Italy, and American Notes. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Bleak House. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Little Dorrit. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Christmas Books. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DIXON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">W. Hepworth</span>) The Personal History of Lord Bacon. From +Unpublished Documents. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6_ad" id="Page_6_ad">[6]</a></span><i>DOBELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Sydney</span>) Poems. 1 vol. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DOLL AND HER FRIENDS.</i> Illustrated. 1 vol. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DOUGHTY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. S. P.</span>) Little Child's Friend. Illustrated. 1 vol. +Small 4to. 38 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>DUFFERIN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Lord</span>) A Yacht Voyage: Letters from High Latitudes. 1 vol. +16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>EDGAR'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John G.</span>) The Crusades and the Crusaders. Illustrated. 1 vol. +16mo. 75 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ERNEST CARROLL</i>; Or, Artist-Life in Italy. 1 vol. 16mo. 88 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>EMERSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Ralph Waldo</span>) Essays. First Series. With Portrait. 1 vol. +12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Essays. Second Series. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Miscellanies. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Representative Men. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— English Traits. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poems. With Portrait. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Conduct of Life. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>FAVORITE AUTHORS.</i> A Companion-Book of Prose and Poetry. With 26 Steel +Engravings. 1 vol. Small 4to. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>FRÉMONT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Jessie Benton</span>) The Story of the Guard: A Chronicle of +the War. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25. Knapsack Edition, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, 75 +cts. German Edition, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>FULLER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>) Good Thoughts in Bad Times. 1 vol. 16mo. With +Portrait. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>GARRATT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Alfred C., M. D.</span>) Electro-Physiology and +Electro-Therapeutics; showing the Best Methods for the Medical Uses of +Electricity. 1 vol. 8vo. Illustrated. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>GILES'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Henry</span>) Illustrations of Genius. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>GOETHE'S</i> Faust. Translated by <span class="smcap">A. Hayward, Esq.</span> 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Translated by <span class="smcap">Rev. C. T. Brooks</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Correspondence with a Child. 1 vol. 12mo. With Portrait of <span class="smcap">Bettina +Brentano</span>. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>GOOD'S</i> Book of Nature. 1 vol. 16mo. 45 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>GREENWELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Dora</span>) The Patience of Hope. With an Introduction by John +G. Whittier. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— A Present Heaven. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Two Friends. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. Nearly ready.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>GREENWOOD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Grace</span>) Greenwood Leaves. First Series. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7_ad" id="Page_7_ad">[7]</a></span>—— Haps and Mishaps of a Tour in Europe. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poems. With Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">——Forest Tragedy, and Other Tales. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— History of my Pets. Illustrated. 1 vol. 60 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Recollections of my Childhood. Illustrated. 1 vol. 60 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Merrie England. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Stories and Legends of Travel and History. Illustrated. 1 vol. +16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Stories from Famous Ballads. With Steel Frontispiece and +Engravings. 1 vol. 60 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Bonnie Scotland. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HARE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Augustus William</span> and <span class="smcap">Julius Charles</span>) Guesses at Truth. With +Portrait. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HALLAM'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Arthur Henry</span>) Literary Remains. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HAMILTON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Gail</span>) Country Living and Country Thinking. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Gala-Days. A New Volume. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HAWTHORNE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Nathaniel</span>) Our Old Home: A Series of English Sketches. 1 +vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Marble Faun; Or, The Romance of Monte Beni. 2 vols. 16mo. +$2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Scarlet Letter. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The House of the Seven Gables. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Twice-Told Tales. With Portrait. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Snow Image, and other Twice-Told Tales. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Blithedale Romance. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Mosses from an Old Manse. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— True Stories from History and Biography. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. +90 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Wonder-Book, for Girls and Boys. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Tanglewood Tales. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8_ad" id="Page_8_ad">[8]</a></span><i>HAYNE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Paul H.</span>) Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Avolio: A Legend of the Island of Cos, and other Poems. 1 vol. +16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HEWLETT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry G.</span>) The Heroes of Europe. With 16 Illustrations. 1 +vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HILLARD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">George S.</span>) Six Months in Italy. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.75.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Dangers and Duties of the Mercantile Profession. 8vo. Paper. 25 +cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Selections from the Writings of <span class="smcap">Walter Savage Landor</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. +75 cts. <i>Large Paper</i>, $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HIGGINSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. T. W.</span>) Out-Door Papers. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HODSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Major W. S. R.</span>) A Soldier's Life in India. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.13.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HOLMES'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Oliver Wendell, M. D.</span>) Poetical Works. 1 vol. 16mo. With +Portrait. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Astræa: The Balance of Illusions. 1 vol. 16mo. 25 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Songs in Many Keys. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poems. Complete. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. With New Portrait. +$1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poems. Complete. 1 vol. 16mo. Cabinet Edition. With New Portrait. +$1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. Illustrated by Hoppin. 1 vol. +16mo, $1.25; 8vo, $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Professor at the Breakfast-Table. With the Story of Iris. 1 +vol. 16mo, $1.25; 8vo, $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Elsie Venner: A Romance of Destiny. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Currents and Counter-Currents in Medical Science, with other +Essays. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Border Lines in some Provinces of Medical Science. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Soundings from the Atlantic. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HOOD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>) Memorials. Edited by his Daughter, with a Preface and +Notes by his Son. Illustrated with his own Sketches. 2 vols. 16mo. +$2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HORACE'S</i> Odes. An English Metrical Translation. By <span class="smcap">Theodore Martin</span>. +With Notes and a Life of Horace. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HOSPITAL TRANSPORTS</i>: A Memoir of the Embarkation of the Sick and +Wounded from the Peninsula of Virginia, in the Summer of 1862. Compiled +and Published at the Request of the Sanitary Commission. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9_ad" id="Page_9_ad">[9]</a></span><i>HOUSEHOLD FRIENDS</i>: A Book for all Seasons. With 18 Portraits on +Steel. Uniform with "Favorite Authors." 1 vol. Small 4to. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HOWE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Julia Ward</span>) A Trip to Cuba. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Passion Flowers. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Words for the Hour. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The World's Own. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HOWITT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">William</span>) Land, Labor, and Gold; Or, Two Years in Victoria: +With Visits to Sydney and Von Diemen's Land. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— A Boy's Adventures in the Wilds of Australia. Illustrated. 1 vol. +16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HOWITT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Anna Mary</span>) The School of Life. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— An Art Student in Munich. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HUFELAND'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Christopher</span>) The Art of Prolonging Life. Edited by <span class="smcap">Erasmus +Wilson, F. R. S.</span> 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HUGHES'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>) Tom Brown's School-Days at Rugby. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.13. 8vo Edition, Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Larkin G. Mead</span>, Jr. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Tom Brown at Oxford. With Portrait on Steel of the Author. 2 vols. +16mo. $2.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Scouring of the White Horse; Or, The Long Vacation Ramble of a +London Clerk. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Richard Doyle</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HUNT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Leigh</span>) Poetical Works. With Portrait after <span class="smcap">Hatter</span>. 2 vols. +32mo. Blue and gold. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>HYMNS OF THE AGES.</i> First and Second Series. Illustrated with Steel +Vignettes, after <span class="smcap">Turner</span>. Each in 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 8vo Edition. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>IRVING'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Washington</span>) Sketch-Book. Published by arrangement with Mr. +<span class="smcap">Geo. P. Putnam</span>. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>JACK HALLIARD'S</i> Voyages in the Arctic Ocean. With many Wood-cuts. 1 +vol. 38 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>JACKSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Dr. James</span>) Letters to a Young Physician. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Another Letter to a Young Physician. 1 vol. 12mo. 80 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>JAMES'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry</span>) Substance and Shadow; Or, Morality and Religion in +their Relation to Life: An Essay upon the Physics of Creation. 1 vol. +12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>JAMESON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span>) Sisters of Charity, Catholic and Protestant, and the +Communion of Labor. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Characteristics of Women. With Steel Portrait. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue +and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10_ad" id="Page_10_ad">[10]</a></span>—— Loves of the Poets. With Steel Portrait. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and +gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Diary of an Ennuyée. With Steel Portrait. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and +gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Sketches of Art, Literature, and Character. With Steel Portrait. 1 +vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Studies and Stories. With Steel Portrait. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and +gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Memoirs of the Early Italian Painters. With Steel Portrait. 1 vol. +32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Legends of the Madonna. With Steel Portrait. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and +gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>JERROLD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Douglas</span>) Wit. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Life and Remains. With Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>JOHNSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rosa Vertner</span>) Poems. With Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>JUDSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Emily C.</span>) Alderbrook. With Portrait. Complete Edition. +1 vol. 16mo. $1.63.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Kathayan Slave, and other Papers. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— My Two Sisters. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>KAVANAGH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Julia</span>) Seven Years, and other Tales. 1 vol. 8vo. Paper. 30 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>KEMBLE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Frances Anne</span>) Poems. Enlarged Edition. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>KINGSLEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charles</span>) Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Andromeda. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Amyas Leigh. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Two Years Ago. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Sir Walter Raleigh and his Time, with other Papers. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— New Miscellanies. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Glaucus; Or, The Wonders of the Shore. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Heroes; Or, Greek Fairy-Tales for my Children. Illustrated by +the Author. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>KINGSLEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry</span>) The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Ravenshoe. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Austin Elliot. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>KINGSTON'S</i> (W. H. G.) Ernest Bracebridge: A Story of School-Days. With +16 Illustrations. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>KRAPF'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Dr. J. Lewis</span>) Travels, Researches, and Missionary +Labors, during an Eighteen-Years' Residence in Eastern <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11_ad" id="Page_11_ad">[11]</a></span>Africa; together +with Journeys to Jagga, Usambara, Ukambani, Shoa, Abessinia, and +Khartum; and a Coasting Voyage from Mombaz to Cape Delgado. With an +Appendix concerning the Source of the Nile, etc., by <span class="smcap">E. J. Ravenstein, +F. R. S.</span>, and Maps. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LABOR AND LOVE.</i> A Tale of English Life. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LAWRENCE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Margarette Woods</span>) Light on the Dark River; Or, +Memorials of Mrs. Henrietta A. L. Hamlin, Missionary in Turkey. With an +Introduction by <span class="smcap">Rev. A. S. Storrs</span>, and a Portrait. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LEE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Eliza Buckminster</span>) Memoir of Joseph Buckminster, D. D., and of +his Son, Rev. Joseph Stevens Buckminster. With a fine Portrait of the +elder Buckminster. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">——Florence: The Parish Orphan. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Parthenia; Or, The Last Days of Paganism. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Life of Jean Paul. <i>New Edition.</i> (In press.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LEWALD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Fanny</span>) Lake House. A Romance. Translated from the German by +<span class="smcap">Nathaniel Greene</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LESLIE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charles Robert, R. A.</span>) Autobiographical Recollections. +Edited, with a Prefatory Essay on Leslie as an Artist, and Selections +from his Correspondence, by <span class="smcap">Tom Taylor, Esq.</span> With fine Portrait. 1 vol. +12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LEWIS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Dr. Dio</span>) The New Gymnastics for Men, Women, and Children. +With 300 Illustrations. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Weak Lungs, and How to Make them Strong; Or, Diseases of the Organs +of the Chest, with their Home-Treatment by the Movement-Cure. Profusely +Illustrated. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LEWIS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Lady Theresa</span>) The Semi-Detached House. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LILIAN.</i> A Romance. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LOCKHART'S</i> (J. G.) Ancient Spanish Ballads, Historical and Romantic. +With Biographical Notice and Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LONGFELLOW'S</i> (H. W.) Poems. With Portrait. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poetical Works. Complete. With Portrait. <i>Cabinet Edition.</i> 2 vols. +16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poetical Works. Complete. With Portrait. <i>Blue and gold Edition.</i> 2 +vols. 32mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Wayside Inn, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Courtship of Miles Standish. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Song of Hiawatha. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25. <i>Large Paper</i>, $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Golden Legend. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Evangeline. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12_ad" id="Page_12_ad">[12]</a></span>—— Hyperion. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Outre-Mer. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Kavanagh. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Seaside and the Fireside. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Voices of the Night. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Belfry of Bruges. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Spanish Student. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LONGFELLOW'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Samuel</span>) and <span class="smcap">Johnson's</span> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Samuel</span>) A Book of +Hymns, for Public and Private Devotion. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— and <span class="smcap">Higginson's</span> (T. W.) Thalatta: A Book for the Seaside. 1 vol. +16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LOWELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Dr. Charles</span>) Sermons, Chiefly Practical. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Occasional Sermons. With Portrait. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LOWELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Anna C.</span>) Thoughts on the Education of Girls. 1 vol. +16mo. 25 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Seed-Grain for Thought and Discussion. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.75.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LOWELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">James Russell</span>) Poems. With Portrait. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poetical Works. Complete. Blue and gold. 2 vols. 32mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Biglow Papers. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Vision of Sir Launfal. 1 vol. 16mo. 25 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LOWELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. R. T. S.</span>) Fresh Hearts that Failed Three Thousand Years +Ago. With other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>LUNT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">George</span>) Lyric Poems, Sonnets, and Miscellanies. 1 vol. 16mo. +63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Julia: A Poem. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Three Eras of New England History, and other Papers. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MACKENZIE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Kenneth R. H., F. S. A.</span>) The Marvellous Adventures and +Rare Conceits of Master Tyll Owlglass. Adorned with many most Diverting +and Cunning Devices, by <span class="smcap">Alfred Crowquill</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MACKAY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charles</span>) Poems. Voices from the Mountains and from the +Crowd. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MANN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Horace</span>) A Few Thoughts for a Young Man when Entering upon +Life. 1 vol. 16mo. 25 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Twelve Sermons, delivered at Antioch College. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13_ad" id="Page_13_ad">[13]</a></span><i>MANN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Horace</span>) Christianity in the Kitchen. A Physiological +Cook-Book. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Flower People. With Illustrations. 1 vol. Square 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MARCUS ANTONINUS</i> (The Emperor), Thoughts of. 1 vol. 16mo. <i>Nearly +Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MASSEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Gerald</span>) Poetical Works. Complete. With a Steel Portrait. 1 +vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MARGRET HOWTH</i>: A Story of To-Day. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>M'CLINTOCK'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Captain Francis L.</span>) The Voyage of the "Fox" in the +Arctic Seas. A Narrative of the Discovery of the Fate of Sir John +Franklin and his Companions. Preface by <span class="smcap">Sir Roderick Murchison, F. R. S.</span> +With Maps and Illustrations. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MELVILLE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">G. J. Whyte</span>) Holmby House: A Tale of Old Northamptonshire. +1 vol. 8vo. Paper. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MEREDITH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Owen</span>) [<span class="smcap">Robert Bulwer Lytton</span>] Poetical Works,—containing +The Wanderer, Clytemnestra, etc. 2 vols. 32mo. Blue and gold. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Lucile. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MILL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John Stuart</span>) On Liberty. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MITFORD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mary Russell</span>) Our Village. Illustrated. 2 vols. 16mo. +$2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Atherton, and other Tales. With a fine Portrait after Lucas. 1 vol. +16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MORLEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry</span>) The Life of Bernard Palissy, of Saintes. His Labors +and Discoveries in Art and Science. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MOTHERWELL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">William</span>) Poetical Works. Complete. With a Memoir by +<span class="smcap">James McConechy, Esq.</span>, and Portrait. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern. With a Historical Introduction and +Notes. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.75.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MOUNTFORD'S</i> (<span class="smcap">William</span>) Thorpe: A Quiet English Town, and Human Life +therein. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MOWATT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Anna Cora</span>) Autobiography of an Actress; Or, Eight Years on +the Stage. With Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Mimic Life; Or, Before and Behind the Curtain. A Series of +Narratives. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Twin Roses. A Narrative. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Plays:—Armand; Or, The Peer and the Peasant: Fashion; Or, Life in +New York. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MULOCH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Dinah Maria</span>) Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>MURDOCH</i> (<span class="smcap">James E.</span>) and <span class="smcap">Russell's</span> (<span class="smcap">William</span>) Orthophony; Or, The +Cultivation of the Human Voice in Elocution. With a Supplement on Purity +of Tone by <span class="smcap">Prof. G. J. Webb</span>. 1 vol. 12mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14_ad" id="Page_14_ad">[14]</a></span><i>NEAL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John</span>) True Womanhood. A Novel. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>NORTON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charles Eliot</span>) Notes of Travel and Study in Italy. 1 vol. +16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>OTIS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Harrison Gray</span>) The Barclays of Boston. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>OUR GRANDMOTHER'S STORIES</i>, and Aunt Kate's Fireside Memories. +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Billings</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. 60 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PARLEY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Peter</span>) Lambert Lilly's Histories:—The American Revolution; +The New England States; The Middle States; The Southern States; The +Western States. Illustrated. 5 vols. 18mo. Each, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PARKER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rev. Theodore</span>) A Discourse of Matters Pertaining to +Religion. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Sermons of Theism, Atheism, and the Popular Theology. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Ten Sermons of Religion. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Critical and Miscellaneous Writings. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional Sermons. 3 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Additional Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional Sermons. 2 vols. +12mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— A Critical and Historical Introduction to the Canonical Scriptures +of the Old Testament. Translated and Enlarged from the German of <span class="smcap">De +Wette</span>. 2 vols. 8vo. $5.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Trial of Theodore Parker for the "Misdemeanor" of a Speech in +Faneuil Hall against Kidnapping, before the Circuit Court of the United +States, at Boston, April 3, 1855. With the Defence. 1 vol. 8vo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Two Christmas Celebrations. A. D. I., and <span class="smcap">m dccc lv</span>. A +Christmas Story. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PARSONS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Thomas William</span>) Poems. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PARSONS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Prof. Theophilus</span>) A Memoir of Chief Justice Theophilus +Parsons, with Notices of Some of his Contemporaries. With a Portrait by +<span class="smcap">Schoff</span>, after <span class="smcap">Stuart</span>. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PATMORE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Coventry</span>) The Angel in the House. A Poem. In Two Parts. I. +The Betrothal; II. The Espousals. 2 vols. 16mo. Each, 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">——Faithful Forever. An Episode of "The Angel in the House." 1 vol. +16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PERCIVAL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">James Gates</span>) Poetical Works. Newly collected. With a +Biographic Sketch and authentic Portrait. 2 vols. 32mo. Blue and gold. +$2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PIOZZI'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Thrale</span>) Autobiography, Letters, and Literary Remains. +Edited, with Notes and an Introductory Account of her Life and Writings, +by <span class="smcap">A. Hayward, Esq., Q. C.</span> 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PIPER'S</i> (R. N., M. D.) Operative Surgery. Illustrated by over 1900 +Engravings. 1 vol. 8vo. $5.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15_ad" id="Page_15_ad">[15]</a></span><i>PRIOR'S</i> (<span class="smcap">James</span>) Memoir of the Life and Character of Edmund Burke, +with Specimens of his Poetry and Letters, and an Estimate of his Genius +and Talents compared with those of his great Contemporaries. With +Portrait. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PRESCOTT</i> (<span class="smcap">George B.</span>) The History, Theory, and Practice of the Electric +Telegraph. With 100 Engravings. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.75.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PRESCOTT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">William H.</span>) Life. By George Ticknor. 1 vol. <i>Nearly +Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PRESCOTT</i> (<span class="smcap">Harriet E.</span>) The Amber Gods, and other Tales. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PROCTER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Adelaide A.</span>) Complete Poetical Works. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and +gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>PUTNAM'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mary Lowell</span>) The Record of an Obscure Man. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Tragedy of Errors. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Tragedy of Success. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>QUINCY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Edmund</span>) Wensley. A Story without a Moral. 1 vol. 16mo. +Paper, 50 cts.; Cloth, 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>QUINCY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Josiah Phillips</span>) Lyteria: A Dramatic Poem. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Charicles: A Dramatic Poem. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>RAMSAY'S</i> (E. B., M. A., LL. D., F. R. S. E., Dean of Edinburgh) +Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character. With an American Preface. +1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>RAY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Isaac, M. D.</span>) Mental Hygiene. 1 vol. 16mo.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>READ'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Thomas Buchanan</span>) Poetical Works. Including "Sylvia," "The +House by the Sea," "The New Pastoral," etc. 2 vols. 12mo. $2.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>READE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charles</span>) Peg Woffington. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Christie Johnstone. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Clouds and Sunshine. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Never too Late to Mend. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.75.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— White Lies. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Propria Quæ Maribus, and the Box-Tunnel. 1 vol. 16mo. Paper. 25 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>REID'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mayne</span>) The Desert Home; Or, The Adventures of a Family lost in +the Wilderness. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Forest Exiles: Or, The Perils of a Peruvian family in the wilds +of the Amazon. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Boy Hunters; Or, Adventures in Search of a White Buffalo. +Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Young Voyageurs; Or, The Boy Hunters in the North. Illustrated. +1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16_ad" id="Page_16_ad">[16]</a></span>—— The Bush-Boys; Or, The History and Adventures of a Cape Farmer and +his Family in the Wild Karoos of Southern Africa. Illustrated. 1 vol. +16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Young Yägers: A Sequel to the Bush-Boys. Illustrated. 1 vol. +16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Plant-Hunters. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Ran Away to Sea. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Boy Tar; Or, A Voyage in the Dark. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Odd People: A Description of Various Singular Races of Men. +Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts. <i>Cheap Edition</i>, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Bruin; Or, The Grand Bear-Hunt Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>RIGBY'S</i> (E. H., M. D.) Obstetric Memoranda. With Additions by the +American editor. 1 vol. 18mo. 25 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>RICHTER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Jean-Paul Friedrich</span>) Titan: A Romance. Translated by +<span class="smcap">Charles T. Brooks</span>. With Portrait. 2 vols. 12mo. $3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces. 2 vols. 12mo. <i>A New Edition.</i> +$2.75.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Levana; Or, The Doctrine of Education. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ROBERTSON'S</i> (the late <span class="smcap">Frederick W.</span>) Sermons. Preached at Trinity +Chapel, Brighton, England. In Four Volumes; the First containing a +Portrait, and the Third a Memoir. 12mo. Each vol., $1.13. Sold separated +or in sets.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Lectures and Addresses on Literary and Social Topics. 1 vol. 12mo. +$1.13.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Letters on Theological, Scientific and Social Subjects. +<i>Preparing.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SALA'S</i> (<span class="smcap">George Augustus</span>) A Journey Due North: Being notes of a +Residence in Russia. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SARGENT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Epes</span>) Songs of the Sea, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SARGENT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Winthrop</span>) The Life and Career of Major John André, +Adjutant-General of the British Army in America. With Portrait. 1 vol. +12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SAXE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John G.</span>) Humorous and Satirical Poems. With Portrait. 1 vol. +16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Money-King, and other Poems. With New Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poems. The two preceding volumes bound in one. 16mo. $ 1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poetical Works. Complete. With New Portrait. 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and +gold. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ST. JOHN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Bayle</span>) Village-Life in Egypt, with Sketches of the Said. 2 +vols. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17_ad" id="Page_17_ad">[17]</a></span><i>SCOTT'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Sir Walter</span>) The Waverley Novels. <i>Illustrated Household +Edition.</i> 50 vols. 16mo. per vol., 90 cts.</p> + +<p><img src="images/finger.png" width="30" height="13" alt="pointing finger" /> The following is the order of publication, and the Novels will +be sold separately or in sets, at the option of purchasers.</p> +</div> + +<div class="centered"> +<table summary="novels written by Sir Walter Scott" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2"> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Waverley.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">St. Ronan's Well.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Guy Mannering.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">Redgauntlet.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Antiquary.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">The Betrothed.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Rob Roy.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">The Highland Widow.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Old Mortality.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">The Talisman.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Black Dwarf.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">Two Drovers.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Legend of Montrose.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3" style="padding-right: 3em;">My Aunt Margaret's Mirror.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Heart of Mid-Lothian.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">The Tapestried Chamber.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft" style="padding-right: 3em;">Bride of Lammermoor.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">The Laird's Jock.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Ivanhoe.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">Woodstock.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Monastery.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">The Fair Maid of Perth.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Abbot.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">Anne of Geierstein.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Kenilworth.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">Count Robert of Paris.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Pirate.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">The Surgeon's Daughter.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Fortunes of Nigel.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">Castle Dangerous.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Peveril of the Peak.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> + <td class="tdl3">Index and Glossary.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Quentin Durward.</td> + <td class="tdright">2 vols.</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<div class="booklist"> +<p class="hang">—— Tales of a Grandfather. Uniform with the Novels. Illustrated. 8 +vols. 16mo. $5.40.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Life. By <span class="smcap">J. G. Lockhart</span>. Uniform with the Novels. Illustrated. 9 +vols. 16mo. $8.10.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Ivanhoe. A Romance. <i>Holiday Edition.</i> Illustrated and elegantly +bound. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.75.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS</i> (<span class="smcap">The</span>) that live in the Round Ball that Floats in +the Air. With Illustrations. 1 vol. Square 12mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SHAKESPEARE SONNETS.</i> A new and beautiful edition, printed on tinted +paper, and handsomely bound. 1 vol. small 4to. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SHAKSPEAR'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Capt. Henry</span>) The Wild Sports of India. With Remarks on +the Breeding and Rearing of Horses, and the Formation of Light Irregular +Cavalry. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SHELLEY MEMORIALS.</i> From Authentic Sources. Edited by Lady Shelley. 1 +vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SILSBEE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span>) Memory and Hope. A Collection of Consolatory Pieces. +1 vol. 8vo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Willie Winkie's Nursery Rhymes of Scotland. With Frontispiece by +<span class="smcap">Billings</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SMITH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Alexander</span>) A Life Drama, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 +cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— City Poems. With Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Edwin of Deira. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SMITH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Horace and James</span>) Rejected Addresses; Or, The New Theatrum +Poetarum. With Preface and Notes by the Authors. <i>A New Edition.</i> 1 vol. +16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SMITH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">William</span>) Thorndale; Or, The Conflict of Opinions. 1 vol. +12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18_ad" id="Page_18_ad">[18]</a></span><i>SMILES'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Samuel</span>) The Life of George Stephenson, Railway Engineer. +With a copy of <span class="smcap">Lucas's</span> Portrait, on steel, by <span class="smcap">Schoff</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.13.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Self-Help. With Illustrations of Character and Conduct. Containing +a Complete Analytical Index, and fine Portrait of <span class="smcap">John Flaxman</span>. 1 vol. +16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Brief Biographies. With 6 Steel Portraits. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SPRAGUE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Charles</span>) Complete Poetical and Prose Writings. With +Portrait. 1 vol. 16mo. 88 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>STODDARD'S</i> (R. H.) Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Songs of Summer. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Adventures in Fairy Land. A Book for Young People. Illustrated. 1 +vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>STOWE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Harriet Beecher</span>) Agnes of Sorrento. An Italian Romance. +1 vol 12mo. $ 1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Pearl of Orr's Island. An American Story. 1 vol. 12mo. $ +1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Uncle Tom's Cabin. <i>311th Thousand.</i> 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Minister's Wooing. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The May-Flower, and other Sketches. <i>A New Edition.</i> <i>Nearly +ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>STRANGE, SURPRISING ADVENTURES</i> of the Venerable Gooroo Simple and his +Five Disciples, Noodle, Doodle, Wiseacre, Zany, and Foozle. Adorned with +50 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Alfred Crowquill</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. $ 2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>SWORD AND GOWN.</i> A Novel. By the Author of "Guy Livingstone." 1 vol. +16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TABERNACLE</i> (<span class="smcap">The</span>). A Collection of Hymn-Tunes, Chants, Sentences, +Motetts, and Anthems, adapted to Public and Private Worship, and to the +Use of Choirs, Singing-Schools, Musical Societies, and Conventions; +together with a Complete Treatise on the Principles of Musical Notation. +By <span class="smcap">B. P. Baker</span> and <span class="smcap">W. O. Perkins</span>. 1 vol. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TALES FROM CATLAND.</i> 1 vol. Square 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TARDIEU'S</i> Treatise on Epidemic Cholera. Translated from the French by +<span class="smcap">S. L. Bigelow, M. D.</span> With an Appendix by a Fellow of the Massachusetts +Medical Society. 1 vol 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TAYLOR'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Bayard</span>) Poems of the Orient. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poems of Home and Travel. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Poet's Journal. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TAYLOR'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry</span>) Notes from Life. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Philip Van Artevelde. <i>A New Edition.</i> 1 vol. 32mo. Blue and gold. +$1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TENNYSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>) Poems. With Portrait. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19_ad" id="Page_19_ad">[19]</a></span><i>TENNYSON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>) Poetical Works. Complete. With Portrait. <i>Cabinet +Edition.</i> 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poetical Works. Complete. With Portrait. <i>Blue and gold Edition.</i> 2 +vols. 32mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poetical Works. Complete. With Portrait. <i>Pocket Edition.</i> 1 vol. +18mo. $1.13.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Princess. A Medley. 1 vol. 16mo. 60 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— In Memoriam. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts. <i>Holiday Edition.</i> 1 vol. 4to. +$3.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Idyls of the King. 1 vol. 16mo. 90 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TERRY'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Rose</span>) Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>THACKERAY'S</i> (W. M.) Ballads. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>THOREAU'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry D.</span>) Walden; Or, Life in the Woods. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Excursions in Field and Forest. With Portrait. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TICKNOR'S</i> (<span class="smcap">George</span>) History of Spanish Literature. <i>New and Revised +Edition.</i> 3 vols. 12mo. $5.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Life of <span class="smcap">William Hickling Prescott</span>. 1 vol. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TRELAWNY'S</i> (E. J.) Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and +Byron. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TUCKERMAN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry Theodore</span>) Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TOCQUEVILLE'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Alexis de</span>) Memoirs, Letters, and Remains. Translated +From the French of <span class="smcap">Gustave de Beaumont</span>. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>TYNDALL'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Prof. John, F. R. S.</span>) The Glaciers of the Alps. Being a +Narrative of Excursions and Ascents, an Account of the Origin and +Phenomena of Glaciers, and an Exposition of the Physical Principles to +which they are related. With numerous Illustrations. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>UPHAM'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Hon. Charles W.</span>) Life, Explorations, and Public Services of +John C. Frémont. With Portrait and Illustrations. 1 vol 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WALLIS'S</i> (S. T.) Spain: Her Institutions, Politics, and Public Men. 1 +vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WARREN'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John C., M. D.</span>) Etherization and Chloroform; with Surgical +Remarks. 1 vol. 12mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Constipation: Its Prevention and Cure. 1 vol. 16mo. 10 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Preservation of Health, with Remarks on Constipation, Old Age, +etc. 1 vol. 16mo. 38 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Life. Compiled chiefly from his Autobiography and Journals, by +<span class="smcap">Edward Warren, M. D.</span> With Illustrations on Steel by <span class="smcap">Schoff</span>. 2 vols. 8vo. +$3.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20_ad" id="Page_20_ad">[20]</a></span><i>WALKER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">James, D. D.</span>) Sermons Preached in Harvard Chapel. 1 vol. +12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WHEATON'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Robert</span>) Memoir. With Selections from his Writings. 1 vol. +16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WHIPPLE'S</i> (E. P.) Lectures on Subjects Connected with Literature and +Life. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Essays and Reviews. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Washington and the Revolution. 1 vol. 16mo. 20 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WHITTIER'S</i> (<span class="smcap">John G.</span>) Poetical Works. Complete. With Portrait. <i>Cabinet +Edition.</i> 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— In War-Time, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16 mo. <i>Just Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">—— Poetical Works. Complete. With Portrait. <i>Blue and gold Edition.</i> 2 +vols. 32mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Songs of Labor. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Chapel of the Hermits, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Panorama, and other Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Home Ballads and Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Old Portraits and Modern Sketches. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal in the Province of +Massachusetts Bay, 1678-9. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cts.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Literary Recreations and Miscellanies. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WILLIAMS'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Henry W., M. D.</span>) A Practical Guide to the Study of the +Diseases of the Eye. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WINTHROP'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Theodore</span>) Cecil Dreeme. With Biographical Sketch by <span class="smcap">George +William Curtis</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— John Brent. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Edwin Brothertoft. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— The Canoe and the Saddle. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Life in the Open Air, and other Papers. With Portrait on Steel, and +an Engraving of Mt. Katahdin from a Sketch by <span class="smcap">F. E. Church</span>. 1 vol. 16mo. +$1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WINTHROP'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Robert C.</span>) Life and Letters of John Winthrop. 1 vol. 8vo. +<i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>WORDSWORTH'S</i> (<span class="smcap">Christopher</span>) Memoirs of William Wordsworth. Poet +Laureate, D. C. L. Edited by <span class="smcap">Henry Reed</span>. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50.</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>ZSCHOKKE'S</i> Meditations on Death and Eternity. Translated from the +German by <span class="smcap">Frederica Rowan</span>. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p class="hang">—— Meditations on Life and its Religious Duties. Translated from the +German by <span class="smcap">Frederica Rowan</span>. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21_ad" id="Page_21_ad">[21]</a></span></p> +<h2>BOOKS PUBLISHED IN BLUE AND GOLD,</h2> + +<p class="p4">BY</p> + +<h3>TICKNOR AND FIELDS.</h3> + + +<p><i>Longfellow's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Longfellow's Prose.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Whittier's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Leigh Hunt's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Tennyson's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Gerald Massey's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Lowell's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Percival's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Motherwell's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Owen Meredith's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.00.</p> + +<p><i>Owen Meredith's Lucile.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Sydney Dobell's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Bowring's Matins and Vespers.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Allingham's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Horace.</i> Translated by <span class="smcap">Theodore Martin</span>. $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Jameson's Characteristics of Women.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Jameson's Loves of the Poets.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Jameson's Diary.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Jameson's Sketches of Art.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Jameson's Legends of the Madonna.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Jameson's Italian Painters.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. Jameson's Studies and Stories.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Saxe's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Clough's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Holmes's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Adelaide Procter's Poems.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Taylor's Philip Van Artevelde.</i> $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Irving's Sketch-Book.</i> $1.00. <i>Nearly Ready.</i></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22_ad" id="Page_22_ad">[22]</a></span></p> +<h2>CABINET EDITIONS OF THE POETS.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Messrs. Ticknor and Fields</span> are publishing a new edition of the writings +of popular Poets, called the Cabinet Edition. It is handsomely printed +on laid tinted paper, and elegantly bound in vellum cloth with gilt top. +The following are now published:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>Longfellow's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.50.</p> + +<p><i>Tennyson's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.50.</p> + +<p><i>Whittier's Poems.</i> 2 vols. $2.50.</p> + +<p><i>Holmes's Poems.</i> 1 vol. $1.25.</p> +</div></div> + + +<div class="notebox"> +<p>Transcriber's Note: Variant spellings of cornfields and corn-fields +are as in the original.</p> +</div> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 25153-h.htm or 25153-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/1/5/25153/</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of a Wayside Inn + +Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +Release Date: April 24, 2008 [EBook #25153] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN *** + + + + +Produced by Sigal Alon, Lisa Reigel, Michael Zeug, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This book was produced from scanned images of public +domain material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + [Illustration] + + + + + TALES + + OF A + + WAYSIDE INN + + + BY + + HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. + + + [Illustration] + + + BOSTON: + TICKNOR AND FIELDS. + 1863. + + + + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by + HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, + in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of + Massachusetts. + + + UNIVERSITY PRESS: + WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY, + CAMBRIDGE. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. + + PAGE + PRELUDE. + + THE WAYSIDE INN 1 + + THE LANDLORD'S TALE. + + PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 18 + + INTERLUDE 26 + + THE STUDENT'S TALE. + + THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO 30 + + INTERLUDE 46 + + THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. + + THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI 49 + + INTERLUDE 53 + + THE SICILIAN'S TALE. + + KING ROBERT OF SICILY 55 + + INTERLUDE 69 + + THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. + + THE SAGA OF KING OLAF 71 + + I. The Challenge of Thor 71 + II. King Olaf's Return 74 + III. Thora of Rimol 79 + IV. Queen Sigrid the Haughty 83 + V. The Skerry of Shrieks 88 + VI. The Wraith of Odin 94 + VII. Iron-Beard 98 + VIII. Gudrun 103 + IX. Thangbrand the Priest 106 + X. Raud the Strong 111 + XI. Bishop Sigurd at Salten Fiord 114 + XII. King Olaf's Christmas 120 + XIII. The Building of the Long Serpent 125 + XIV. The Crew of the Long Serpent 130 + XV. A Little Bird in the Air 134 + XVI. Queen Thyri and the Angelica Stalks 137 + XVII. King Svend of the Forked Beard 144 + XVIII. King Olaf and Earl Sigvald 149 + XIX. King Olaf's War-Horns 152 + XX. Einar Tamberskelver 156 + XXI. King Olaf's Death-drink 160 + XXII. The Nun of Nidaros 165 + + INTERLUDE 169 + + THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. + + TORQUEMADA 173 + + INTERLUDE 187 + + THE POET'S TALE. + + THE BIRDS OR KILLINGWORTH 189 + + FINALE 205 + + +BIRDS OF PASSAGE. + +FLIGHT THE SECOND. + + THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 209 + + ENCELADUS 212 + + THE CUMBERLAND 215 + + SNOW-FLAKES 218 + + A DAY OF SUNSHINE 220 + + SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE 222 + + WEARINESS 224 + + + + +TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. + + + + +PRELUDE. + + +THE WAYSIDE INN. + + One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, + Across the meadows bare and brown, + The windows of the wayside inn + Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves + Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves + Their crimson curtains rent and thin. + + As ancient is this hostelry + As any in the land may be, + Built in the old Colonial day, + When men lived in a grander way, + With ampler hospitality; + A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, + Now somewhat fallen to decay, + With weather-stains upon the wall, + And stairways worn, and crazy doors, + And creaking and uneven floors, + And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall. + + A region of repose it seems, + A place of slumber and of dreams, + Remote among the wooded hills! + For there no noisy railway speeds, + Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds; + But noon and night, the panting teams + Stop under the great oaks, that throw + Tangles of light and shade below, + On roofs and doors and window-sills. + Across the road the barns display + Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay, + Through the wide doors the breezes blow, + The wattled cocks strut to and fro, + And, half effaced by rain and shine, + The Red Horse prances on the sign. + + Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode + Deep silence reigned, save when a gust + Went rushing down the county road, + And skeletons of leaves, and dust, + A moment quickened by its breath, + Shuddered and danced their dance of death, + And through the ancient oaks o'erhead + Mysterious voices moaned and fled. + + But from the parlor of the inn + A pleasant murmur smote the ear, + Like water rushing through a weir; + Oft interrupted by the din + Of laughter and of loud applause, + And, in each intervening pause, + The music of a violin. + The fire-light, shedding over all + The splendor of its ruddy glow, + Filled the whole parlor large and low; + It gleamed on wainscot and on wall, + It touched with more than wonted grace + Fair Princess Mary's pictured face; + It bronzed the rafters overhead, + On the old spinet's ivory keys + It played inaudible melodies, + It crowned the sombre clock with flame, + The hands, the hours, the maker's name, + And painted with a livelier red + The Landlord's coat-of-arms again; + And, flashing on the window-pane, + Emblazoned with its light and shade + The jovial rhymes, that still remain, + Writ near a century ago, + By the great Major Molineaux, + Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. + + Before the blazing fire of wood + Erect the rapt musician stood; + And ever and anon he bent + His head upon his instrument, + And seemed to listen, till he caught + Confessions of its secret thought,-- + The joy, the triumph, the lament, + The exultation and the pain; + Then, by the magic of his art, + He soothed the throbbings of its heart, + And lulled it into peace again. + + Around the fireside at their ease + There sat a group of friends, entranced + With the delicious melodies; + Who from the far-off noisy town + Had to the wayside inn come down, + To rest beneath its old oak-trees. + The fire-light on their faces glanced, + Their shadows on the wainscot danced, + And, though of different lands and speech, + Each had his tale to tell, and each + Was anxious to be pleased and please. + And while the sweet musician plays, + Let me in outline sketch them all, + Perchance uncouthly as the blaze + With its uncertain touch portrays + Their shadowy semblance on the wall. + + But first the Landlord will I trace; + Grave in his aspect and attire; + A man of ancient pedigree, + A Justice of the Peace was he, + Known in all Sudbury as "The Squire." + Proud was he of his name and race, + Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, + And in the parlor, full in view, + His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed, + Upon the wall in colors blazed; + He beareth gules upon his shield, + A chevron argent in the field, + With three wolf's heads, and for the crest + A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed + Upon a helmet barred; below + The scroll reads, "By the name of Howe." + And over this, no longer bright, + Though glimmering with a latent light, + Was hung the sword his grandsire bore, + In the rebellious days of yore, + Down there at Concord in the fight. + + A youth was there, of quiet ways, + A Student of old books and days, + To whom all tongues and lands were known, + And yet a lover of his own; + With many a social virtue graced, + And yet a friend of solitude; + A man of such a genial mood + The heart of all things he embraced, + And yet of such fastidious taste, + He never found the best too good. + Books were his passion and delight, + And in his upper room at home + Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome, + In vellum bound, with gold bedight, + Great volumes garmented in white, + Recalling Florence, Pisa, Rome. + He loved the twilight that surrounds + The border-land of old romance; + Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, + And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, + And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, + And mighty warriors sweep along, + Magnified by the purple mist, + The dusk of centuries and of song. + The chronicles of Charlemagne, + Of Merlin and the Mort d'Arthure, + Mingled together in his brain + With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur, + Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour, + Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour, + Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. + + A young Sicilian, too, was there;-- + In sight of Etna born and bred, + Some breath of its volcanic air + Was glowing in his heart and brain, + And, being rebellious to his liege, + After Palermo's fatal siege, + Across the western seas he fled, + In good King Bomba's happy reign. + His face was like a summer night, + All flooded with a dusky light; + His hands were small; his teeth shone white + As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke; + His sinews supple and strong as oak; + Clean shaven was he as a priest, + Who at the mass on Sunday sings, + Save that upon his upper lip + His beard, a good palm's length at least, + Level and pointed at the tip, + Shot sideways, like a swallow's wings. + The poets read he o'er and o'er, + And most of all the Immortal Four + Of Italy; and next to those, + The story-telling bard of prose, + Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales + Of the Decameron, that make + Fiesole's green hills and vales + Remembered for Boccaccio's sake. + Much too of music was his thought; + The melodies and measures fraught + With sunshine and the open air, + Of vineyards and the singing sea + Of his beloved Sicily; + And much it pleased him to peruse + The songs of the Sicilian muse,-- + Bucolic songs by Meli sung + In the familiar peasant tongue, + That made men say, "Behold! once more + The pitying gods to earth restore + Theocritus of Syracuse!" + + A Spanish Jew from Alicant + With aspect grand and grave was there; + Vender of silks and fabrics rare, + And attar of rose from the Levant. + Like an old Patriarch he appeared, + Abraham or Isaac, or at least + Some later Prophet or High-Priest; + With lustrous eyes, and olive skin, + And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin, + The tumbling cataract of his beard. + His garments breathed a spicy scent + Of cinnamon and sandal blent, + Like the soft aromatic gales + That meet the mariner, who sails + Through the Moluccas, and the seas + That wash the shores of Celebes. + All stories that recorded are + By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart, + And it was rumored he could say + The Parables of Sandabar, + And all the Fables of Pilpay, + Or if not all, the greater part! + Well versed was he in Hebrew books, + Talmud and Targum, and the lore + Of Kabala; and evermore + There was a mystery in his looks; + His eyes seemed gazing far away, + As if in vision or in trance + He heard the solemn sackbut play, + And saw the Jewish maidens dance. + + A Theologian, from the school + Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there; + Skilful alike with tongue and pen, + He preached to all men everywhere + The Gospel of the Golden Rule, + The New Commandment given to men, + Thinking the deed, and not the creed, + Would help us in our utmost need. + With reverent feet the earth he trod, + Nor banished nature from his plan, + But studied still with deep research + To build the Universal Church, + Lofty as is the love of God, + And ample as the wants of man. + + A Poet, too, was there, whose verse + Was tender, musical, and terse; + The inspiration, the delight, + The gleam, the glory, the swift flight, + Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem + The revelations of a dream, + All these were his; but with them came + No envy of another's fame; + He did not find his sleep less sweet + For music in some neighboring street, + Nor rustling hear in every breeze + The laurels of Miltiades. + Honor and blessings on his head + While living, good report when dead, + Who, not too eager for renown, + Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown! + + Last the Musician, as he stood + Illumined by that fire of wood; + Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe, + His figure tall and straight and lithe, + And every feature of his face + Revealing his Norwegian race; + A radiance, streaming from within, + Around his eyes and forehead beamed, + The Angel with the violin, + Painted by Raphael, he seemed. + He lived in that ideal world + Whose language is not speech, but song; + Around him evermore the throng + Of elves and sprites their dances whirled; + The Stroemkarl sang, the cataract hurled + Its headlong waters from the height; + And mingled in the wild delight + The scream of sea-birds in their flight, + The rumor of the forest trees, + The plunge of the implacable seas, + The tumult of the wind at night, + Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing, + Old ballads, and wild melodies + Through mist and darkness pouring forth, + Like Elivagar's river flowing + Out of the glaciers of the North. + + The instrument on which he played + Was in Cremona's workshops made, + By a great master of the past, + Ere yet was lost the art divine; + Fashioned of maple and of pine, + That in Tyrolian forests vast + Had rocked and wrestled with the blast: + Exquisite was it in design, + Perfect in each minutest part, + A marvel of the lutist's art; + And in its hollow chamber, thus, + The maker from whose hands it came + Had written his unrivalled name,-- + "Antonius Stradivarius." + + And when he played, the atmosphere + Was filled with magic, and the ear + Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold, + Whose music had so weird a sound, + The hunted stag forgot to bound, + The leaping rivulet backward rolled, + The birds came down from bush and tree, + The dead came from beneath the sea, + The maiden to the harper's knee! + + The music ceased; the applause was loud, + The pleased musician smiled and bowed; + The wood-fire clapped its hands of flame, + The shadows on the wainscot stirred, + And from the harpsichord there came + A ghostly murmur of acclaim, + A sound like that sent down at night + By birds of passage in their flight, + From the remotest distance heard. + + Then silence followed; then began + A clamor for the Landlord's tale,-- + The story promised them of old, + They said, but always left untold; + And he, although a bashful man, + And all his courage seemed to fail, + Finding excuse of no avail, + Yielded; and thus the story ran. + + + + +THE LANDLORD'S TALE. + + +PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. + + Listen, my children, and you shall hear + Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, + On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; + Hardly a man is now alive + Who remembers that famous day and year. + + He said to his friend, "If the British march + By land or sea from the town to-night, + Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch + Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-- + One, if by land, and two, if by sea; + And I on the opposite shore will be, + Ready to ride and spread the alarm + Through every Middlesex village and farm, + For the country-folk to be up and to arm." + + Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar + Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, + Just as the moon rose over the bay, + Where swinging wide at her moorings lay + The Somerset, British man-of-war; + A phantom ship, with each mast and spar + Across the moon like a prison bar, + And a huge black hulk, that was magnified + By its own reflection in the tide. + + Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, + Wanders and watches with eager ears, + Till in the silence around him he hears + The muster of men at the barrack door, + The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, + And the measured tread of the grenadiers, + Marching down to their boats on the shore. + + Then he climbed to the tower of the church, + Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, + To the belfry-chamber overhead, + And startled the pigeons from their perch + On the sombre rafters, that round him made + Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- + Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, + To the highest window in the wall, + Where he paused to listen and look down + A moment on the roofs of the town, + And the moonlight flowing over all. + + Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, + In their night-encampment on the hill, + Wrapped in silence so deep and still + That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, + The watchful night-wind, as it went + Creeping along from tent to tent, + And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" + A moment only he feels the spell + Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread + Of the lonely belfry and the dead; + For suddenly all his thoughts are bent + On a shadowy something far away, + Where the river widens to meet the bay,-- + A line of black that bends and floats + On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. + + Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, + Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride + On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. + Now he patted his horse's side, + Now gazed at the landscape far and near, + Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, + And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; + But mostly he watched with eager search + The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, + As it rose above the graves on the hill, + Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. + And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height + A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! + He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, + But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight + A second lamp in the belfry burns! + + A hurry of hoofs in a village street, + A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, + And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark + Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; + That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, + The fate of a nation was riding that night; + And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, + Kindled the land into flame with its heat. + + He has left the village and mounted the steep, + And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, + Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; + And under the alders, that skirt its edge, + Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, + Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. + + It was twelve by the village clock + When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. + He heard the crowing of the cock, + And the barking of the farmer's dog, + And felt the damp of the river fog, + That rises after the sun goes down. + + It was one by the village clock, + When he galloped into Lexington. + He saw the gilded weathercock + Swim in the moonlight as he passed, + And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, + Gaze at him with a spectral glare, + As if they already stood aghast + At the bloody work they would look upon. + + It was two by the village clock, + When he came to the bridge in Concord town. + He heard the bleating of the flock, + And the twitter of birds among the trees, + And felt the breath of the morning breeze + Blowing over the meadows brown. + And one was safe and asleep in his bed + Who at the bridge would be first to fall, + Who that day would be lying dead, + Pierced by a British musket-ball. + + You know the rest. In the books you have read, + How the British Regulars fired and fled,-- + How the farmers gave them ball for ball, + From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, + Chasing the red-coats down the lane, + Then crossing the fields to emerge again + Under the trees at the turn of the road, + And only pausing to fire and load. + + So through the night rode Paul Revere; + And so through the night went his cry of alarm + To every Middlesex village and farm,-- + A cry of defiance and not of fear, + A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, + And a word that shall echo forevermore! + For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, + Through all our history, to the last, + In the hour of darkness and peril and need, + The people will waken and listen to hear + The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, + And the midnight message of Paul Revere. + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + The Landlord ended thus his tale, + Then rising took down from its nail + The sword that hung there, dim with dust, + And cleaving to its sheath with rust, + And said, "This sword was in the fight." + The Poet seized it, and exclaimed, + "It is the sword of a good knight, + Though homespun was his coat-of-mail; + What matter if it be not named + Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale, + Excalibar, or Aroundight, + Or other name the books record? + Your ancestor, who bore this sword + As Colonel of the Volunteers, + Mounted upon his old gray mare, + Seen here and there and everywhere, + To me a grander shape appears + Than old Sir William, or what not, + Clinking about in foreign lands + With iron gauntlets on his hands, + And on his head an iron pot!" + + All laughed; the Landlord's face grew red + As his escutcheon on the wall; + He could not comprehend at all + The drift of what the Poet said; + For those who had been longest dead + Were always greatest in his eyes; + And he was speechless with surprise + To see Sir William's plumed head + Brought to a level with the rest, + And made the subject of a jest. + + And this perceiving, to appease + The Landlord's wrath, the others' fears, + The Student said, with careless ease, + "The ladies and the cavaliers, + The arms, the loves, the courtesies, + The deeds of high emprise, I sing! + Thus Ariosto says, in words + That have the stately stride and ring + Of armed knights and clashing swords. + Now listen to the tale I bring; + Listen! though not to me belong + The flowing draperies of his song, + The words that rouse, the voice that charms. + The Landlord's tale was one of arms, + Only a tale of love is mine, + Blending the human and divine, + A tale of the Decameron, told + In Palmieri's garden old, + By Fiametta, laurel-crowned, + While her companions lay around, + And heard the intermingled sound + Of airs that on their errands sped, + And wild birds gossiping overhead, + And lisp of leaves, and fountain's fall, + And her own voice more sweet than all, + Telling the tale, which, wanting these, + Perchance may lose its power to please." + + + + +THE STUDENT'S TALE. + + +THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. + + One summer morning, when the sun was hot, + Weary with labor in his garden-plot, + On a rude bench beneath his cottage eaves, + Ser Federigo sat among the leaves + Of a huge vine, that, with its arms outspread, + Hung its delicious clusters overhead. + Below him, through the lovely valley, flowed + The river Arno, like a winding road, + And from its banks were lifted high in air + The spires and roofs of Florence called the Fair: + To him a marble tomb, that rose above + His wasted fortunes and his buried love. + For there, in banquet and in tournament, + His wealth had lavished been, his substance spent, + To woo and lose, since ill his wooing sped, + Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed, + Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme, + The ideal woman of a young man's dream. + + Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain, + To this small farm, the last of his domain, + His only comfort and his only care + To prune his vines, and plant the fig and pear; + His only forester and only guest + His falcon, faithful to him, when the rest, + Whose willing hands had found so light of yore + The brazen knocker of his palace door. + Had now no strength to lift the wooden latch, + That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch. + Companion of his solitary ways, + Purveyor of his feasts on holidays, + On him this melancholy man bestowed + The love with which his nature overflowed. + And so the empty-handed years went round, + Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound, + And so, that summer morn, he sat and mused + With folded, patient hands, as he was used, + And dreamily before his half-closed sight + Floated the vision of his lost delight. + Beside him, motionless, the drowsy bird + Dreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heard + The sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, that dare + The headlong plunge thro' eddying gulfs of air, + Then, starting broad awake upon his perch, + Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church, + And, looking at his master, seemed to say, + "Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to-day?" + + Ser Federigo thought not of the chase; + The tender vision of her lovely face, + I will not say he seems to see, he sees + In the leaf-shadows of the trellises, + Herself, yet not herself; a lovely child + With flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild, + Coming undaunted up the garden walk, + And looking not at him, but at the hawk. + "Beautiful falcon!" said he, "would that I + Might hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly!" + The voice was hers, and made strange echoes start + Through all the haunted chambers of his heart, + As an aeolian harp through gusty doors + Of some old ruin its wild music pours. + + "Who is thy mother, my fair boy?" he said, + His hand laid softly on that shining head. + "Monna Giovanna.--Will you let me stay + A little while, and with your falcon play? + We live there, just beyond your garden wall, + In the great house behind the poplars tall." + + So he spake on; and Federigo heard + As from afar each softly uttered word, + And drifted onward through the golden gleams + And shadows of the misty sea of dreams, + As mariners becalmed through vapors drift, + And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift, + And hear far off the mournful breakers roar, + And voices calling faintly from the shore! + Then, waking from his pleasant reveries, + He took the little boy upon his knees, + And told him stories of his gallant bird, + Till in their friendship he became a third. + + Monna Giovanna, widowed in her prime, + Had come with friends to pass the summer time + In her grand villa, half-way up the hill, + O'erlooking Florence, but retired and still; + With iron gates, that opened through long lines + Of sacred ilex and centennial pines, + And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone, + And sylvan deities, with moss o'ergrown, + And fountains palpitating in the heat, + And all Val d'Arno stretched beneath its feet. + Here in seclusion, as a widow may, + The lovely lady whiled the hours away, + Pacing in sable robes the statued hall, + Herself the stateliest statue among all, + And seeing more and more, with secret joy, + Her husband risen and living in her boy, + Till the lost sense of life returned again, + Not as delight, but as relief from pain. + Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his strength, + Stormed down the terraces from length to length; + The screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit, + And climbed the garden trellises for fruit. + But his chief pastime was to watch the flight + Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight, + Beyond the trees that fringed the garden wall, + Then downward stooping at some distant call; + And as he gazed full often wondered he + Who might the master of the falcon be, + Until that happy morning, when he found + Master and falcon in the cottage ground. + + And now a shadow and a terror fell + On the great house, as if a passing-bell + Tolled from the tower, and filled each spacious room + With secret awe, and preternatural gloom; + The petted boy grew ill, and day by day + Pined with mysterious malady away. + The mother's heart would not be comforted; + Her darling seemed to her already dead, + And often, sitting by the sufferer's side, + "What can I do to comfort thee?" she cried. + At first the silent lips made no reply, + But, moved at length by her importunate cry, + "Give me," he answered, with imploring tone, + "Ser Federigo's falcon for my own!" + + No answer could the astonished mother make; + How could she ask, e'en for her darling's sake, + Such favor at a luckless lover's hand, + Well knowing that to ask was to command? + Well knowing, what all falconers confessed, + In all the land that falcon was the best, + The master's pride and passion and delight, + And the sole pursuivant of this poor knight. + But yet, for her child's sake, she could no less + Than give assent, to soothe his restlessness, + So promised, and then promising to keep + Her promise sacred, saw him fall asleep. + + The morrow was a bright September morn; + The earth was beautiful as if new-born; + There was that nameless splendor everywhere, + That wild exhilaration in the air, + Which makes the passers in the city street + Congratulate each other as they meet. + Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood, + Passed through the garden gate into the wood, + Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheen + Of dewy sunshine showering down between. + + The one, close-hooded, had the attractive grace + Which sorrow sometimes lends a woman's face; + Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that roll + From the gulf-stream of passion in the soul; + The other with her hood thrown back, her hair + Making a golden glory in the air, + Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush, + Her young heart singing louder than the thrush. + So walked, that morn, through mingled light and shade, + Each by the other's presence lovelier made, + Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend, + Intent upon their errand and its end. + + They found Ser Federigo at his toil, + Like banished Adam, delving in the soil; + And when he looked and these fair women spied, + The garden suddenly was glorified; + His long-lost Eden was restored again, + And the strange river winding through the plain + No longer was the Arno to his eyes, + But the Euphrates watering Paradise! + + Monna Giovanna raised her stately head, + And with fair words of salutation said: + "Ser Federigo, we come here as friends, + Hoping in this to make some poor amends + For past unkindness. I who ne'er before + Would even cross the threshold of your door, + I who in happier days such pride maintained, + Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained, + This morning come, a self-invited guest, + To put your generous nature to the test, + And breakfast with you under your own vine." + To which he answered: "Poor desert of mine, + Not your unkindness call it, for if aught + Is good in me of feeling or of thought, + From you it comes, and this last grace outweighs + All sorrows, all regrets of other days." + + And after further compliment and talk, + Among the dahlias in the garden walk + He left his guests; and to his cottage turned, + And as he entered for a moment yearned + For the lost splendors of the days of old, + The ruby glass, the silver and the gold, + And felt how piercing is the sting of pride, + By want embittered and intensified. + He looked about him for some means or way + To keep this unexpected holiday; + Searched every cupboard, and then searched again, + Summoned the maid, who came, but came in vain; + "The Signor did not hunt to-day," she said, + "There's nothing in the house but wine and bread." + + Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shook + His little bells, with that sagacious look, + Which said, as plain as language to the ear, + "If anything is wanting, I am here!" + Yes, everything is wanting, gallant bird! + The master seized thee without further word, + Like thine own lure, he whirled thee round; ah me! + The pomp and flutter of brave falconry, + The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet hood, + The flight and the pursuit o'er field and wood, + All these forevermore are ended now; + No longer victor, but the victim thou! + + Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread, + Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread, + Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot, + The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot; + Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed, + And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced. + Ser Federigo, would not these suffice + Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice? + + When all was ready, and the courtly dame + With her companion to the cottage came, + Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fell + The wild enchantment of a magic spell; + The room they entered, mean and low and small, + Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall, + With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown; + The rustic chair she sat on was a throne; + He ate celestial food, and a divine + Flavor was given to his country wine, + And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice, + A peacock was, or bird of paradise! + + When the repast was ended, they arose + And passed again into the garden-close. + Then said the lady, "Far too well I know, + Remembering still the days of long ago, + Though you betray it not, with what surprise + You see me here in this familiar wise. + You have no children, and you cannot guess + What anguish, what unspeakable distress + A mother feels, whose child is lying ill, + Nor how her heart anticipates his will. + And yet for this, you see me lay aside + All womanly reserve and check of pride, + And ask the thing most precious in your sight, + Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight, + Which if you find it in your heart to give, + My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live." + + Ser Federigo listens, and replies, + With tears of love and pity in his eyes: + "Alas, dear lady! there can be no task + So sweet to me, as giving when you ask. + One little hour ago, if I had known + This wish of yours, it would have been my own. + But thinking in what manner I could best + Do honor to the presence of my guest, + I deemed that nothing worthier could be + Than what most dear and precious was to me, + And so my gallant falcon breathed his last + To furnish forth this morning our repast." + + In mute contrition, mingled with dismay, + The gentle lady turned her eyes away, + Grieving that he such sacrifice should make, + And kill his falcon for a woman's sake, + Yet feeling in her heart a woman's pride, + That nothing she could ask for was denied; + Then took her leave, and passed out at the gate + With footstep slow and soul disconsolate. + + Three days went by, and lo! a passing-bell + Tolled from the little chapel in the dell; + Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said, + Breathing a prayer, "Alas! her child is dead!" + Three months went by; and lo! a merrier chime + Rang from the chapel bells at Christmas time; + The cottage was deserted, and no more + Ser Federigo sat beside its door, + But now, with servitors to do his will, + In the grand villa, half-way up the hill, + Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his side + Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, + Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair, + Enthroned once more in the old rustic chair, + High-perched upon the back of which there stood + The image of a falcon carved in wood, + And underneath the inscription, with a date, + "All things come round to him who will but wait." + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + Soon as the story reached its end, + One, over eager to commend, + Crowned it with injudicious praise; + And then the voice of blame found vent, + And fanned the embers of dissent + Into a somewhat lively blaze. + + The Theologian shook his head; + "These old Italian tales," he said, + "From the much-praised Decameron down + Through all the rabble of the rest, + Are either trifling, dull, or lewd; + The gossip of a neighborhood + In some remote provincial town, + A scandalous chronicle at best! + They seem to me a stagnant fen, + Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, + Where a white lily, now and then, + Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds + And deadly nightshade on its banks." + + To this the Student straight replied, + "For the white lily, many thanks! + One should not say, with too much pride, + Fountain, I will not drink of thee! + Nor were it grateful to forget, + That from these reservoirs and tanks + Even imperial Shakspeare drew + His Moor of Venice and the Jew, + And Romeo and Juliet, + And many a famous comedy." + + Then a long pause; till some one said, + "An Angel is flying overhead!" + At these words spake the Spanish Jew, + And murmured with an inward breath: + "God grant, if what you say is true + It may not be the Angel of Death!" + + And then another pause; and then, + Stroking his beard, he said again: + "This brings back to my memory + A story in the Talmud told, + That book of gems, that book of gold, + Of wonders many and manifold, + A tale that often comes to me, + And fills my heart, and haunts my brain, + And never wearies nor grows old." + + + + +THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. + + +THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. + + Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read + A volume of the Law, in which it said, + "No man shall look upon my face and live." + And as he read, he prayed that God would give + His faithful servant grace with mortal eye + To look upon His face and yet not die. + + Then fell a sudden shadow on the page + And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age, + He saw the Angel of Death before him stand, + Holding a naked sword in his right hand. + Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, + Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran. + + With trembling voice he said, "What wilt thou here?" + The angel answered, "Lo! the time draws near + When thou must die; yet first, by God's decree, + Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee." + Replied the Rabbi, "Let these living eyes + First look upon my place in Paradise." + + Then said the Angel, "Come with me and look." + Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, + And rising, and uplifting his gray head, + "Give me thy sword," he to the Angel said, + "Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way." + The Angel smiled and hastened to obey, + Then led him forth to the Celestial Town, + And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down, + Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes, + Might look upon his place in Paradise. + + Then straight into the city of the Lord + The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel's sword, + And through the streets there swept a sudden breath + Of something there unknown, which men call death. + Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, and cried, + "Come back!" To which the Rabbi's voice replied, + "No! in the name of God, whom I adore, + I swear that hence I will depart no more!" + + Then all the Angels cried, "O Holy One, + See what the son of Levi here has done! + The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence, + And in Thy name refuses to go hence!" + The Lord replied, "My Angels, be not wroth; + Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath? + Let him remain; for he with mortal eye + Shall look upon my face and yet not die." + + Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death + Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath, + "Give back the sword, and let me go my way." + Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, "Nay! + Anguish enough already has it caused + Among the sons of men." And while he paused + He heard the awful mandate of the Lord + Resounding through the air, "Give back the sword!" + + The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer; + Then said he to the dreadful Angel, "Swear, + No human eye shall look on it again; + But when thou takest away the souls of men, + Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword, + Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord." + + The Angel took the sword again, and swore, + And walks on earth unseen forevermore. + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + He ended: and a kind of spell + Upon the silent listeners fell. + His solemn manner and his words + Had touched the deep, mysterious chords, + That vibrate in each human breast + Alike, but not alike confessed. + The spiritual world seemed near; + And close above them, full of fear, + Its awful adumbration passed, + A luminous shadow, vague and vast. + They almost feared to look, lest there, + Embodied from the impalpable air, + They might behold the Angel stand, + Holding the sword in his right hand. + + At last, but in a voice subdued, + Not to disturb their dreamy mood, + Said the Sicilian: "While you spoke, + Telling your legend marvellous, + Suddenly in my memory woke + The thought of one, now gone from us,-- + An old Abate, meek and mild, + My friend and teacher, when a child, + Who sometimes in those days of old + The legend of an Angel told, + Which ran, if I remember, thus." + + + + +THE SICILIAN'S TALE. + + +KING ROBERT OF SICILY. + + Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane + And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat + And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. + And as he listened, o'er and o'er again + Repeated, like a burden or refrain, + He caught the words, "_Deposuit potentes + De sede, et exaltavit humiles_"; + And slowly lifting up his kingly head + He to a learned clerk beside him said, + "What mean these words?" The clerk made answer meet, + "He has put down the mighty from their seat, + And has exalted them of low degree." + Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, + "'Tis well that such seditious words are sung + Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; + For unto priests and people be it known, + There is no power can push me from my throne!" + And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, + Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. + + When he awoke, it was already night; + The church was empty, and there was no light, + Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, + Lighted a little space before some saint. + He started from his seat and gazed around, + But saw no living thing and heard no sound. + He groped towards the door, but it was locked; + He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, + And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, + And imprecations upon men and saints. + The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls + As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls! + + At length the sexton, hearing from without + The tumult of the knocking and the shout, + And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, + Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?" + Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, + "Open: 'tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?" + The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, + "This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!" + Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; + A man rushed by him at a single stride, + Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, + Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, + But leaped into the blackness of the night, + And vanished like a spectre from his sight. + + Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane + And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, + Despoiled of his magnificent attire, + Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, + With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, + Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; + Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage + To right and left each seneschal and page, + And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, + His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. + From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed; + Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, + Until at last he reached the banquet-room, + Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. + + There on the dais sat another king, + Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring, + King Robert's self in features, form, and height, + But all transfigured with angelic light! + It was an Angel; and his presence there + With a divine effulgence filled the air, + An exaltation, piercing the disguise, + Though none the hidden Angel recognize. + + A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, + The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, + Who met his looks of anger and surprise + With the divine compassion of his eyes; + Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?" + To which King Robert answered, with a sneer, + "I am the King, and come to claim my own + From an impostor, who usurps my throne!" + And suddenly, at these audacious words, + Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords; + The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, + "Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou + Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, + And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape; + Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, + And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!" + + Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, + They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; + A group of tittering pages ran before, + And as they opened wide the folding-door, + His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, + The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, + And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring + With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!" + + Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, + He said within himself, "It was a dream!" + But the straw rustled as he turned his head, + There were the cap and bells beside his bed, + Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, + Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, + And in the corner, a revolting shape, + Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. + It was no dream; the world he loved so much + Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch! + + Days came and went; and now returned again + To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; + Under the Angel's governance benign + The happy island danced with corn and wine, + And deep within the mountain's burning breast + Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. + + Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, + Sullen and silent and disconsolate. + Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, + With looks bewildered and a vacant stare, + Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, + By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, + His only friend the ape, his only food + What others left,--he still was unsubdued. + And when the Angel met him on his way, + And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, + Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel + The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, + "Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe + Burst from him in resistless overflow, + And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling + The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!" + + Almost three years were ended; when there came + Ambassadors of great repute and name + From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, + Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane + By letter summoned them forthwith to come + On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. + The Angel with great joy received his guests, + And gave them presents of embroidered vests, + And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, + And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. + Then he departed with them o'er the sea + Into the lovely land of Italy, + Whose loveliness was more resplendent made + By the mere passing of that cavalcade, + With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir + Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. + + And lo! among the menials, in mock state, + Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, + His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, + The solemn ape demurely perched behind, + King Robert rode, making huge merriment + In all the country towns through which they went. + + The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare + Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square, + Giving his benediction and embrace, + Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. + While with congratulations and with prayers + He entertained the Angel unawares, + Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, + Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, + "I am the King! Look, and behold in me + Robert, your brother, King of Sicily! + This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, + Is an impostor in a king's disguise. + Do you not know me? does no voice within + Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" + The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, + Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene; + The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport + To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!" + And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace + Was hustled back among the populace. + + In solemn state the Holy Week went by, + And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; + The presence of the Angel, with its light, + Before the sun rose, made the city bright, + And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, + Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. + Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, + With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, + He felt within a power unfelt before, + And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, + He heard the rushing garments of the Lord + Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. + + And now the visit ending, and once more + Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, + Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again + The land was made resplendent with his train, + Flashing along the towns of Italy + Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. + And when once more within Palermo's wall, + And, seated on the throne in his great hall, + He heard the Angelus from convent towers, + As if the better world conversed with ours, + He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, + And with a gesture bade the rest retire; + And when they were alone, the Angel said, + "Art thou the King?" Then bowing down his head, + King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, + And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best! + My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, + And in some cloister's school of penitence, + Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, + Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven!" + The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face + A holy light illumined all the place, + And through the open window, loud and clear, + They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, + Above the stir and tumult of the street: + "He has put down the mighty from their seat, + And has exalted them of low degree!" + And through the chant a second melody + Rose like the throbbing of a single string: + "I am an Angel, and thou art the King!" + + King Robert, who was standing near the throne, + Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! + But all apparelled as in days of old, + With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; + And when his courtiers came, they found him there + Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + 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 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, + Mioelner 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! + + 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 armor 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 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 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, + As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, + Through the forest roads into Orkadale, + Demanding Jarl Hakon + Of Thora, the fairest of women. + + "Rich and honored shall be whoever + The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever!" + Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, + Through the breathing-holes of the darksome cave. + Alone in her chamber + Wept Thora, the fairest of women. + + 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. + + At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered, + But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered; + The thrall in the darkness plunged with his knife, + And the Earl awakened no more in this life. + But wakeful and weeping + Sat Thora, the fairest of women. + + At Nidarholm the priests are all singing, + Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging; + One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his thrall's, + And the people are shouting from windows and walls; + While alone in her chamber + Swoons Thora, the fairest of women. + + +IV. + +QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY. + + Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud and aloft + In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft. + Heart's dearest, + Why dost thou sorrow so? + + The floor with tassels of fir was besprent, + Filling the room with their fragrant scent. + + She heard the birds sing, she saw the sun shine, + The air of summer was sweeter than wine. + + Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay + Between her own kingdom and Norroway. + + But Olaf the King had sued for her hand, + The sword would be sheathed, the river be spanned. + + Her maidens were seated around her knee, + Working bright figures in tapestry. + + And one was singing the ancient rune + Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of Gudrun. + + And through it, and round it, and over it all + Sounded incessant the waterfall. + + The Queen in her hand held a ring of gold, + From the door of Lade's Temple old. + + King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift, + But her thoughts as arrows were keen and swift. + + She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain, + Who smiled, as they handed it back again. + + And Sigrid the Queen, in her haughty way, + Said, "Why do you smile, my goldsmiths, say?" + + And they answered: "O Queen! if the truth must be told, + The ring is of copper, and not of gold!" + + The lightning flashed o'er her forehead and cheek, + She only murmured, she did not speak: + + "If in his gifts he can faithless be, + There will be no gold in his love to me." + + A footstep was heard on the outer stair, + And in strode King Olaf with royal air. + + He kissed the Queen's hand, and he whispered of love, + And swore to be true as the stars are above. + + But she smiled with contempt as she answered: "O King, + Will you swear it, as Odin once swore, on the ring?" + + And the King: "O speak not of Odin to me, + The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be." + + Looking straight at the King, with her level brows, + She said, "I keep true to my faith and my vows." + + Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom, + He rose in his anger and strode through the room. + + "Why, then, should I care to have thee?" he said,-- + "A faded old woman, a heathenish jade!" + + His zeal was stronger than fear or love, + And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove. + + Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled, + And the wooden stairway shook with his tread. + + Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, + "This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death!" + Heart's dearest, + Why dost thou sorrow so? + + +V. + +THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS. + + Now from all King Olaf's farms + His men-at-arms + Gathered on the Eve of Easter; + To his house at Angvalds-ness + Fast they press, + Drinking with the royal feaster. + + Loudly through the wide-flung door + Came the roar + Of the sea upon the Skerry; + And its thunder loud and near + Reached the ear, + Mingling with their voices merry. + + "Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald, + Halfred the Bald, + "Listen to that song, and learn it! + Half my kingdom would I give, + As I live, + If by such songs you would earn it! + + "For of all the runes and rhymes + Of all times, + Best I like the ocean's dirges, + When the old harper heaves and rocks, + His hoary locks + Flowing and flashing in the surges!" + + Halfred answered: "I am called + The Unappalled! + Nothing hinders me or daunts me. + Hearken to me, then, O King, + While I sing + The great Ocean Song that haunts me." + + "I will hear your song sublime + Some other time," + Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, + And retires; each laughing guest + Applauds the jest; + Then they sleep till day is dawning. + + Pacing up and down the yard, + King Olaf's guard + Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping + O'er the sands, and up the hill, + Gathering still + Round the house where they were sleeping. + + It was not the fog he saw, + Nor misty flaw, + That above the landscape brooded; + It was Eyvind Kallda's crew + Of warlocks blue, + With their caps of darkness hooded! + + Round and round the house they go, + Weaving slow + Magic circles to encumber + And imprison in their ring + Olaf the King, + As he helpless lies in slumber. + + Then athwart the vapors dun + The Easter sun + Streamed with one broad track of splendor! + In their real forms appeared + The warlocks weird, + Awful as the Witch of Endor. + + Blinded by the light that glared, + They groped and stared + Round about with steps unsteady; + From his window Olaf gazed, + And, amazed, + "Who are these strange people?" said he. + + "Eyvind Kellda and his men!" + Answered then + From the yard a sturdy farmer; + While the men-at-arms apace + Filled the place, + Busily buckling on their armor. + + From the gates they sallied forth, + South and north, + Scoured the island coast around them, + Seizing all the warlock band, + Foot and hand + On the Skerry's rocks they bound them. + + And at eve the king again + Called his train, + And, with all the candles burning, + Silent sat and heard once more + The sullen roar + Of the ocean tides returning. + + Shrieks and cries of wild despair + Filled the air, + Growing fainter as they listened; + Then the bursting surge alone + Sounded on;-- + Thus the sorcerers were christened! + + "Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, + Your ocean-rhyme," + Cried King Olaf: "it will cheer me!" + Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, + "The Skerry of Shrieks + Sings too loud for you to hear me!" + + +VI. + +THE WRAITH OF ODIN. + + The guests were loud, the ale was strong, + King Olaf feasted late and long; + The hoary Scalds together sang; + O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + The door swung wide, with creak and din; + A blast of cold night-air came in, + And on the threshold shivering stood + A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + The King exclaimed, "O graybeard pale! + Come warm thee with this cup of ale." + The foaming draught the old man quaffed, + The noisy guests looked on and laughed. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + Then spake the King: "Be not afraid; + Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, + And, seated at the table, told + Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + And ever, when the tale was o'er, + The King demanded yet one more; + Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, + "'Tis late, O King, and time for bed." + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + The King retired; the stranger guest + Followed and entered with the rest; + The lights were out, the pages gone, + But still the garrulous guest spake on. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + As one who from a volume reads, + He spake of heroes and their deeds, + Of lands and cities he had seen, + And stormy gulfs that tossed between. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + Then from his lips in music rolled + The Havamal of Odin old, + With sounds mysterious as the roar + Of billows on a distant shore. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + "Do we not learn from runes and rhymes + Made by the gods in elder times, + And do not still the great Scalds teach + That silence better is than speech?" + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + 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 Fogelsang. + + +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 watercresses. + + 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! + + +VIII. + +GUDRUN. + + On King Olaf's bridal night + Shines the moon with tender light, + And across the chamber streams + Its tide of dreams. + + At the fatal midnight hour, + When all evil things have power, + In the glimmer of the moon + Stands Gudrun. + + Close against her heaving breast, + Something in her hand is pressed; + Like an icicle, its sheen + Is cold and keen. + + On the cairn are fixed her eyes + Where her murdered father lies, + And a voice remote and drear + She seems to hear. + + What a bridal night is this! + Cold will be the dagger's kiss; + 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?" + + "'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 malecontent + 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 Thangbrand, 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. + + Something worse they did than that; + 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. + "To-day we are gold, + To-morrow mould!" + Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. + + Much in fear of axe and rope, + Back to Norway sailed he then. + "O, King Olaf! little hope + Is there of these Iceland men!" + Meekly said, + With bending head, + Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. + + +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. + + 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! + + +XI. + +BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD. + + Loud the angry wind was wailing + As King Olaf's ships came sailing + Northward out of Drontheim haven + To the mouth of Salten Fiord. + + Though the flying sea-spray drenches + Fore and aft the rowers' benches, + Not a single heart is craven + Of the champions there on board. + + All without the Fiord was quiet, + But within it storm and riot, + Such as on his Viking cruises + Raud the Strong was wont to ride. + + And the sea through all its tide-ways + Swept the reeling vessels sideways, + As the leaves are swept through sluices, + When the flood-gates open wide. + + "'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demon + Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen; + "But the Lord is not affrighted + By the witchcraft of his foes." + + To the ship's bow he ascended, + By his choristers attended, + Round him were the tapers lighted, + And the sacred incense rose. + + On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, + In his robes, as one transfigured, + And the Crucifix he planted + High amid the rain and mist. + + Then with holy water sprinkled + All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled; + Loud the monks around him chanted, + Loud he read the Evangelist. + + As into the Fiord they darted, + On each side the water parted; + Down a path like silver molten + Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships; + + Steadily burned all night the tapers, + And the White Christ through the vapors + Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, + As through John's Apocalypse,-- + + Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling + On the little isle of Gelling; + Not a guard was at the doorway, + Not a glimmer of light was seen. + + But at anchor, carved and gilded, + Lay the dragon-ship he builded; + 'Twas the grandest ship in Norway, + With its crest and scales of green. + + Up the stairway, softly creeping, + To the loft where Raud was sleeping, + With their fists they burst asunder + Bolt and bar that held the door. + + Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, + Dragged him from his bed and bound him, + While he stared with stupid wonder, + At the look and garb they wore. + + Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King! + Little time have we for speaking, + Choose between the good and evil; + Be baptized, or thou shalt die!" + + But in scorn the heathen scoffer + Answered: "I disdain thine offer; + Neither fear I God nor Devil; + Thee and thy Gospel I defy!" + + Then between his jaws distended, + When his frantic struggles ended, + Through King Olaf's horn an adder, + Touched by fire, they forced to glide. + + Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, + As he gnawed through bone and marrow; + But without a groan or shudder, + Raud the Strong blaspheming died. + + Then baptized they all that region, + Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, + Far as swims the salmon, leaping, + Up the streams of Salten Fiord. + + In their temples Thor and Odin + Lay in dust and ashes trodden, + As King Olaf, onward sweeping, + Preached the Gospel with his sword. + + Then he took the carved and gilded + Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, + And the tiller single-handed, + Grasping, steered into the main. + + Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him, + Southward sailed the ship that bore him, + Till at Drontheim haven landed + Olaf and his crew again. + + +XII. + +KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS. + + At Drontheim, Olaf the King + Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, + As he sat in his banquet-hall, + Drinking the nut-brown ale, + With his bearded Berserks hale + And tall. + + Three days his Yule-tide feasts + He held with Bishops and Priests, + And his horn filled up to the brim; + But the ale was never too strong, + Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, + For him. + + O'er his drinking-horn, the sign + He made of the cross divine, + As he drank, and muttered his prayers; + But the Berserks evermore + Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor + Over theirs. + + The gleams of the fire-light dance + Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, + And laugh in the eyes of the King; + And he cries to Halfred the Scald, + Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, + "Sing!" + + "Sing me a song divine, + With a sword in every line, + And this shall be thy reward." + And he loosened the belt at his waist, + And in front of the singer placed + His sword. + + "Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, + Wherewith at a stroke he hewed + The millstone through and through, + And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, + Were neither so broad nor so long, + Nor so true." + + Then the Scald took his harp and sang, + And loud through the music rang + The sound of that shining word; + And the harp-strings a clangor made, + As if they were struck with the blade + Of a sword. + + And the Berserks round about + Broke forth into a shout + That made the rafters ring: + They smote with their fists on the board, + And shouted, "Long live the Sword, + And the King!" + + But the King said, "O my son, + I miss the bright word in one + Of thy measures and thy rhymes." + And Halfred the Scald replied, + "In another 'twas multiplied + Three times." + + Then King Olaf raised the hilt + Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, + And said, "Do not refuse; + Count well the gain and the loss, + Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: + Choose!" + + And Halfred the Scald said, "This + In the name of the Lord I kiss, + Who on it was crucified!" + And a shout went round the board, + "In the name of Christ the Lord, + Who died!" + + Then over the waste of snows + The noonday sun uprose, + Through the driving mists revealed, + Like the lifting of the Host, + By incense-clouds almost + Concealed. + + On the shining wall a vast + And shadowy cross was cast + From the hilt of the lifted sword, + And in foaming cups of ale + The Berserks drank "Was-hael! + To the Lord!" + + +XIII. + +THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT. + + Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, + In his ship-yard by the sea, + Whistled, saying, "'Twould bewilder + Any man but Thorberg Skafting, + Any man but me!" + + 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 clamored; + Whirred the wheels, that into rigging + 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? + + 'Twas 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: + Some one, all their labor balking, + Down her sides had cut deep gashes, + Not a plank was spared! + + "Death be to the evil-doer!" + With an oath King Olaf spoke; + "But rewards to his pursuer!" + And with wrath his face grew redder + Than his scarlet cloak. + + Straight the master-builder, smiling, + Answered thus the angry King: + "Cease blaspheming and reviling, + Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting + Who has done this thing!" + + Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, + Till the King, delighted, swore, + With much lauding and much thanking, + "Handsomer is now my Dragon + Than she was before!" + + Seventy ells and four extended + On the grass the vessel's keel; + High above it, gilt and splendid, + Rose the figure-head ferocious + With its crest of steel. + + Then they launched her from the tressels, + In the ship-yard by the sea; + She was the grandest of all vessels, + Never ship was built in Norway + Half so fine as she! + + The Long Serpent was she christened, + 'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer! + They who to the Saga listened + Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting + For a hundred year! + + +XIV. + +THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT. + + Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay + King Olaf's fleet assembled lay, + And, striped with white and blue, + Downward fluttered sail and banner, + As alights the screaming lanner; + Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, + The Long Serpent's crew. + + Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red; + Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, + His teeth as large and white; + His beard, of gray and russet blended, + Round as a swallow's nest descended; + As standard-bearer he defended + Olaf's flag in the fight. + + Near him Kolbiorn had his place, + Like the King in garb and face, + So gallant and so hale; + Every cabin-boy and varlet + Wondered at his cloak of scarlet; + Like a river, frozen and star-lit, + Gleamed his coat of mail. + + By the bulkhead, tall and dark, + Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, + A figure gaunt and grand; + On his hairy arm imprinted + Was an anchor, azure-tinted; + Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted + Was his brawny hand. + + Einar Tamberskelver, bare + To the winds his golden hair, + By the mainmast stood; + Graceful was his form, and slender, + And his eyes were deep and tender + As a woman's, in the splendor + Of her maidenhood. + + In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork + Watched the sailors at their work: + Heavens! how they swore! + Thirty men they each commanded, + Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, + Shoulders broad, and chests expanded, + Tugging at the oar. + + These, and many more like these, + With King Olaf sailed the seas, + Till the waters vast + Filled them with a vague devotion, + With the freedom and the motion, + With the roll and roar of ocean + And the sounding blast. + + When they landed from the fleet, + How they roared through Drontheim's street, + 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! + + Never saw the wild North Sea + Such a gallant company + Sail its billows blue! + Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, + Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, + Owned a ship so well apparelled, + Boasted such a crew! + + +XV. + +A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR. + + A little bird in the air + Is singing of Thyri the fair, + The sister of Svend the Dane; + And the song of the garrulous bird + In the streets of the town is heard, + And repeated again and again. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + To King Burislaf, it is said, + Was the beautiful Thyri wed, + And a sorrowful bride went she; + And after a week and a day, + She has fled away and away, + From his town by the stormy sea. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + They say, that through heat and through cold, + Through weald, they say, and through wold, + By day and by night, they say, + She has fled; and the gossips report + She has come to King Olaf's court, + And the town is all in dismay. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + It is whispered King Olaf has seen, + Has talked with the beautiful Queen; + And they wonder how it will end; + For surely, if here she remain, + It is war with King Svend the Dane, + And King Burislaf the Vend! + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + O, greatest wonder of all! + It is published in hamlet and hall, + It roars like a flame that is fanned! + The King--yes, Olaf the King-- + Has wedded her with his ring, + And Thyri is Queen in the land! + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. + + +XVI. + +QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS. + + Northward over Drontheim, + Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, + Sang the lark and linnet + From the meadows green; + + Weeping in her chamber, + Lonely and unhappy, + Sat the Drottning Thyri, + Sat King Olaf's Queen. + + In at all the windows + Streamed the pleasant sunshine, + On the roof above her + Softly cooed the dove; + + But the sound she heard not, + Nor the sunshine heeded, + For the thoughts of Thyri + Were not thoughts of love. + + Then King Olaf entered, + Beautiful as morning, + Like the sun at Easter + Shone his happy face; + + In his hand he carried + Angelicas uprooted, + With delicious fragrance + Filling all the place. + + Like a rainy midnight + Sat the Drottning Thyri, + Even the smile of Olaf + Could not cheer her gloom; + + Nor the stalks he gave her + With a gracious gesture, + And with words as pleasant + As their own perfume. + + In her hands he placed them, + And her jewelled fingers + Through the green leaves glistened + Like the dews of morn; + + But she cast them from her, + Haughty and indignant, + On the floor she threw them + With a look of scorn. + + "Richer presents," said she, + "Gave King Harald Gormson + To the Queen, my mother, + Than such worthless weeds; + + "When he ravaged Norway, + Laying waste the kingdom, + Seizing scatt and treasure + For her royal needs. + + "But thou darest not venture + Through the Sound to Vendland, + My domains to rescue + From King Burislaf; + + "Lest King Svend of Denmark, + Forked Beard, my brother, + Scatter all thy vessels + As the wind the chaff." + + Then up sprang King Olaf, + Like a reindeer bounding, + With an oath he answered + Thus the luckless Queen: + + "Never yet did Olaf + Fear King Svend of Denmark; + This right hand shall hale him + By his forked chin!" + + Then he left the chamber, + Thundering through the doorway, + Loud his steps resounded + Down the outer stair. + + Smarting with the insult, + Through the streets of Drontheim + Strode he red and wrathful, + With his stately air. + + All his ships he gathered, + Summoned all his forces, + Making his war levy + In the region round; + + Down the coast of Norway, + Like a flock of sea-gulls, + Sailed the fleet of Olaf + Through the Danish Sound. + + With his own hand fearless, + Steered he the Long Serpent, + Strained the creaking cordage, + Bent each boom and gaff; + + Till in Vendland landing, + The domains of Thyri + He redeemed and rescued + From King Burislaf. + + Then said Olaf, laughing, + "Not ten yoke of oxen + Have the power to draw us + Like a woman's hair! + + "Now will I confess it, + Better things are jewels + Than angelica stalks are + For a Queen to wear." + + +XVII. + +KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD. + + Loudly the sailors cheered + Svend of the Forked Beard, + As with his fleet he steered + Southward to Vendland; + Where with their courses hauled + All were together called, + Under the Isle of Svald + Near to the mainland. + + After Queen Gunhild's death, + So the old Saga saith, + Plighted King Svend his faith + To Sigrid the Haughty; + And to avenge his bride, + Soothing her wounded pride, + Over the waters wide + King Olaf sought he. + + Still on her scornful face, + Blushing with deep disgrace, + Bore she the crimson trace + Of Olaf's gauntlet; + Like a malignant star, + Blazing in heaven afar, + Red shone the angry scar + Under her frontlet. + + Oft to King Svend she spake, + "For thine own honor's sake + Shalt thou swift vengeance take + On the vile coward!" + Until the King at last, + Gusty and overcast, + Like a tempestuous blast + Threatened and lowered. + + Soon as the Spring appeared, + Svend of the Forked Beard + High his red standard reared, + Eager for battle; + While every warlike Dane, + Seizing his arms again, + Left all unsown the grain, + Unhoused the cattle. + + Likewise the Swedish King + Summoned in haste a Thing, + Weapons and men to bring + In aid of Denmark; + Eric the Norseman, too, + As the war-tidings flew, + Sailed with a chosen crew + From Lapland and Finmark. + + So upon Easter day + Sailed the three kings away, + Out of the sheltered bay, + In the bright season; + With them Earl Sigvald came, + Eager for spoil and fame; + Pity that such a name + Stooped to such treason! + + Safe under Svald at last, + Now were their anchors cast, + Safe from the sea and blast, + Plotted the three kings; + While, with a base intent, + Southward Earl Sigvald went, + On a foul errand bent, + Unto the Sea-kings. + + Thence to hold on his course, + Unto King Olaf's force, + Lying within the hoarse + Mouths of Stet-haven; + Him to ensnare and bring, + Unto the Danish king, + Who his dead corse would fling + Forth to the raven! + + +XVIII. + +KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD. + + On the gray sea-sands + King Olaf stands, + Northward and seaward + He points with his hands. + + With eddy and whirl + The sea-tides curl, + Washing the sandals + Of Sigvald the Earl. + + The mariners shout, + The ships swing about, + The yards are all hoisted, + The sails flutter out. + + The war-horns are played, + The anchors are weighed, + Like moths in the distance + The sails flit and fade. + + The sea is like lead, + The harbor lies dead, + As a corse on the sea-shore, + Whose spirit has fled! + + On that fatal day, + The histories say, + Seventy vessels + Sailed out of the bay. + + But soon scattered wide + O'er the billows they ride, + While Sigvald and Olaf + Sail side by side. + + Cried the Earl: "Follow me! + I your pilot will be, + For I know all the channels + Where flows the deep sea!" + + So into the strait + Where his foes lie in wait, + Gallant King Olaf + Sails to his fate! + + Then the sea-fog veils + The ships and their sails; + Queen Sigrid the Haughty, + Thy vengeance prevails! + + +XIX. + +KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS. + + "Strike the sails!" King Olaf said; + "Never shall men of mine take flight; + Never away from battle I fled, + Never away from my foes! + Let God dispose + Of my life in the fight!" + + "Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King; + And suddenly through the drifting brume + The blare of the horns began to ring, + Like the terrible trumpet shock + Of Regnarock, + On the Day of Doom! + + Louder and louder the war-horns sang + Over the level floor of the flood; + All the sails came down with a clang, + And there in the mist overhead + The sun hung red + As a drop of blood. + + Drifting down on the Danish fleet + Three together the ships were lashed, + So that neither should turn and retreat; + In the midst, but in front of the rest + The burnished crest + Of the Serpent flashed. + + King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, + With bow of ash and arrows of oak, + His gilded shield was without a fleck, + His helmet inlaid with gold, + And in many a fold + Hung his crimson cloak. + + On the forecastle Ulf the Red + Watched the lashing of the ships; + "If the Serpent lie so far ahead, + We shall have hard work of it here," + Said he with a sneer + On his bearded lips. + + King Olaf laid an arrow on string, + "Have I a coward on board?" said he. + "Shoot it another way, O King!" + Sullenly answered Ulf, + The old sea-wolf; + "You have need of me!" + + In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, + Sweeping down with his fifty rowers; + To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes; + And on board of the Iron Beard + Earl Eric steered + On the left with his oars. + + "These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, + "At home with their wives had better stay, + Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting: + But where Eric the Norseman leads + Heroic deeds + Will be done to-day!" + + Then as together the vessels crashed, + Eric severed the cables of hide, + With which King Olaf's ships were lashed, + And left them to drive and drift + With the currents swift + Of the outward tide. + + Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, + Sharper the dragons bite and sting! + Eric the son of Hakon Jarl + A death-drink salt as the sea + Pledges to thee, + Olaf the King! + + +XX. + +EINAR TAMBERSKELVER. + + It was Einar Tamberskelver + Stood beside the mast; + From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, + Flew the arrows fast; + Aimed at Eric unavailing, + As he sat concealed, + Half behind the quarter-railing, + Half behind his shield. + + First an arrow struck the tiller, + Just above his head; + "Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller," + Then Earl Eric said. + "Sing the song of Hakon dying, + Sing his funeral wail!" + And another arrow flying + Grazed his coat of mail. + + Turning to a Lapland yeoman, + As the arrow passed, + Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman + Standing by the mast." + Sooner than the word was spoken + Flew the yeoman's shaft; + Einar's bow in twain was broken, + Einar only laughed. + + "What was that?" said Olaf, standing + On the quarter-deck. + "Something heard I like the stranding + Of a shattered wreck." + Einar then, the arrow taking + From the loosened string, + Answered, "That was Norway breaking + From thy hand, O king!" + + "Thou art but a poor diviner," + Straightway Olaf said; + "Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, + Let thy shafts be sped." + Of his bows the fairest choosing, + Reached he from above; + Einar saw the blood-drops oozing + Through his iron glove. + + But the bow was thin and narrow; + At the first assay, + O'er its head he drew the arrow, + Flung the bow away; + Said, with hot and angry temper + Flushing in his cheek, + "Olaf! for so great a Kaemper + Are thy bows too weak!" + + Then, with smile of joy defiant + On his beardless lip, + Scaled he, light and self-reliant, + Eric's dragon-ship. + Loose his golden locks were flowing, + Bright his armor gleamed; + Like Saint Michael overthrowing + Lucifer he seemed. + + +XXI. + +KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK. + + All day has the battle raged, + All day have the ships engaged, + But not yet is assuaged + The vengeance of Eric the Earl. + + The decks with blood are red, + The arrows of death are sped, + The ships are filled with the dead, + And the spears the champions hurl. + + They drift as wrecks on the tide, + The grappling-irons are plied, + The boarders climb up the side, + The shouts are feeble and few. + + Ah! never shall Norway again + See her sailors come back o'er the main; + They all lie wounded or slain, + Or asleep in the billows blue! + + On the deck stands Olaf the King, + Around him whistle and sing + The spears that the foemen fling, + And the stones they hurl with their hands. + + In the midst of the stones and the spears, + Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, + His shield in the air he uprears, + By the side of King Olaf he stands. + + Over the slippery wreck + Of the Long Serpent's deck + Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, + His lips with anger are pale; + + He hews with his axe at the mast, + Till it falls, with the sails overcast, + Like a snow-covered pine in the vast + Dim forests of Orkadale. + + Seeking King Olaf then, + He rushes aft with his men, + As a hunter into the den + Of the bear, when he stands at bay. + + "Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries; + When lo! on his wondering eyes, + Two kingly figures arise, + Two Olafs in warlike array! + + Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear + Of King Olaf a word of cheer, + In a whisper that none may hear, + With a smile on his tremulous lip; + + Two shields raised high in the air, + Two flashes of golden hair, + Two scarlet meteors' glare, + And both have leaped from the ship. + + Earl Eric's men in the boats + Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats, + And cry, from their hairy throats, + "See! it is Olaf the King!" + + While far on the opposite side + Floats another shield on the tide, + Like a jewel set in the wide + Sea-current's eddying ring. + + There is told a wonderful tale, + How the King stripped off his mail, + Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, + As he swam beneath the main; + + But the young grew old and gray, + And never, by night or by day, + In his kingdom of Norroway + Was King Olaf seen again! + + +XXII. + +THE NUN OF NIDAROS. + + In the convent of Drontheim, + Alone in her chamber + Knelt Astrid the Abbess, + At midnight, adoring, + Beseeching, entreating + The Virgin and Mother. + + She heard in the silence + The voice of one speaking, + Without in the darkness, + In gusts of the night-wind + Now louder, now nearer, + Now lost in the distance. + + The voice of a stranger + It seemed as she listened, + Of some one who answered, + Beseeching, imploring, + A cry from afar off + She could not distinguish. + + The voice of Saint John, + The beloved disciple, + Who wandered and waited + The Master's appearance, + Alone in the darkness, + Unsheltered and friendless. + + "It is accepted + The angry defiance, + The challenge of battle! + It is accepted, + But not with the weapons + Of war that thou wieldest! + + "Cross against corslet, + Love against hatred, + Peace-cry for war-cry! + Patience is powerful; + He that o'ercometh + Hath power o'er the nations! + + "As torrents in summer, + Half dried in their channels, + Suddenly rise, though the + Sky is still cloudless, + For rain has been falling + Far off at their fountains; + + "So hearts that are fainting + Grow full to o'erflowing, + And they that behold it + Marvel, and know not + That God at their fountains + Far off has been raining! + + "Stronger than steel + Is the sword of the Spirit; + Swifter than arrows + The light of the truth is, + Greater than anger + Is love, and subdueth! + + "Thou art a phantom, + A shape of the sea-mist, + A shape of the brumal + Rain, and the darkness + Fearful and formless; + Day dawns and thou art not! + + "The dawn is not distant, + Nor is the night starless; + Love is eternal! + God is still God, and + His faith shall not fail us; + Christ is eternal!" + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + A strain of music closed the tale, + A low, monotonous, funeral wail, + That with its cadence, wild and sweet, + Made the long Saga more complete. + + "Thank God," the Theologian said, + "The reign of violence is dead, + Or dying surely from the world; + While Love triumphant reigns instead, + And in a brighter sky o'erhead + His blessed banners are unfurled. + And most of all thank God for this: + The war and waste of clashing creeds + Now end in words, and not in deeds, + And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, + For thoughts that men call heresies. + + "I stand without here in the porch, + I hear the bell's melodious din, + I hear the organ peal within, + I hear the prayer, with words that scorch + Like sparks from an inverted torch, + I hear the sermon upon sin, + With threatenings of the last account. + And all, translated in the air, + Reach me but as our dear Lord's Prayer, + And as the Sermon on the Mount. + + "Must it be Calvin, and not Christ? + Must it be Athanasian creeds, + Or holy water, books, and beads? + Must struggling souls remain content + With councils and decrees of Trent? + And can it be enough for these + The Christian Church the year embalms + With evergreens and boughs of palms, + And fills the air with litanies? + + "I know that yonder Pharisee + Thanks God that he is not like me; + In my humiliation dressed, + I only stand and beat my breast, + And pray for human charity. + + "Not to one church alone, but seven, + The voice prophetic spake from heaven; + And unto each the promise came, + Diversified, but still the same; + For him that overcometh are + The new name written on the stone, + The raiment white, the crown, the throne, + And I will give him the Morning Star! + + "Ah! to how many Faith has been + No evidence of things unseen, + But a dim shadow, that recasts + The creed of the Phantasiasts, + For whom no Man of Sorrows died, + For whom the Tragedy Divine + Was but a symbol and a sign, + And Christ a phantom crucified! + + "For others a diviner creed + Is living in the life they lead. + The passing of their beautiful feet + Blesses the pavement of the street, + And all their looks and words repeat + Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet, + Not as a vulture, but a dove, + The Holy Ghost came from above. + + "And this brings back to me a tale + So sad the hearer well may quail, + And question if such things can be; + Yet in the chronicles of Spain + Down the dark pages runs this stain, + And naught can wash them white again, + So fearful is the tragedy." + + + + +THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. + + +TORQUEMADA. + + In the heroic days when Ferdinand + And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, + And Torquemada, with his subtle brain, + Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor of Spain, + In a great castle near Valladolid, + Moated and high and by fair woodlands hid, + There dwelt, as from the chronicles we learn, + An old Hidalgo proud and taciturn, + Whose name has perished, with his towers of stone, + And all his actions save this one alone; + This one, so terrible, perhaps 'twere best + If it, too, were forgotten with the rest; + Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein + The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin; + A double picture, with its gloom and glow, + The splendor overhead, the death below. + + This sombre man counted each day as lost + On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed; + And when he chanced the passing Host to meet, + He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street; + Oft he confessed; and with each mutinous thought, + As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought. + In deep contrition scourged himself in Lent, + Walked in processions, with his head down bent, + At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen, + And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green. + His only pastime was to hunt the boar + Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar, + Or with his jingling mules to hurry down + To some grand bull-fight in the neighboring town, + Or in the crowd with lighted taper stand, + When Jews were burned, or banished from the land. + Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy; + The demon whose delight is to destroy + Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone, + "Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!" + + And now, in that old castle in the wood, + His daughters, in the dawn of womanhood, + Returning from their convent school, had made + Resplendent with their bloom the forest shade, + Reminding him of their dead mother's face, + When first she came into that gloomy place,-- + A memory in his heart as dim and sweet + As moonlight in a solitary street, + Where the same rays, that lift the sea, are thrown + Lovely but powerless upon walls of stone. + + These two fair daughters of a mother dead + Were all the dream had left him as it fled. + A joy at first, and then a growing care, + As if a voice within him cried, "Beware!" + A vague presentiment of impending doom, + Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant room, + Haunted him day and night; a formless fear + That death to some one of his house was near, + With dark surmises of a hidden crime, + Made life itself a death before its time. + Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of shame, + A spy upon his daughters he became; + With velvet slippers, noiseless on the floors, + He glided softly through half-open doors; + Now in the room, and now upon the stair, + He stood beside them ere they were aware; + He listened in the passage when they talked, + He watched them from the casement when they walked, + He saw the gypsy haunt the river's side, + He saw the monk among the cork-trees glide; + And, tortured by the mystery and the doubt + Of some dark secret, past his finding out, + Baffled he paused; then reassured again + Pursued the flying phantom of his brain. + He watched them even when they knelt in church; + And then, descending lower in his search, + Questioned the servants, and with eager eyes + Listened incredulous to their replies; + The gypsy? none had seen her in the wood! + The monk? a mendicant in search of food! + + At length the awful revelation came, + Crushing at once his pride of birth and name, + The hopes his yearning bosom forward cast, + And the ancestral glories of the past; + All fell together, crumbling in disgrace, + A turret rent from battlement to base. + His daughters talking in the dead of night + In their own chamber, and without a light, + Listening, as he was wont, he overheard, + And learned the dreadful secret, word by word; + And hurrying from his castle, with a cry + He raised his hands to the unpitying sky, + Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree + Caught it, and shuddering answered, "Heresy!" + + Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o'er his face, + Now hurrying forward, now with lingering pace, + He walked all night the alleys of his park, + With one unseen companion in the dark, + The Demon who within him lay in wait, + And by his presence turned his love to hate, + Forever muttering in an undertone, + "Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!" + + Upon the morrow, after early Mass, + While yet the dew was glistening on the grass, + And all the woods were musical with birds, + The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words, + Walked homeward with the Priest, and in his room + Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom. + When questioned, with brief answers they replied, + Nor when accused evaded or denied; + Expostulations, passionate appeals, + All that the human heart most fears or feels, + In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed, + In vain the father threatened, wept, and prayed; + Until at last he said, with haughty mien, + "The Holy Office, then, must intervene!" + + And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, + With all the fifty horsemen of his train, + His awful name resounding, like the blast + Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed, + Came to Valladolid, and there began + To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban. + To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate + Demanded audience on affairs of state, + And in a secret chamber stood before + A venerable graybeard of fourscore, + Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar; + Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, + And in his hand the mystic horn he held, + Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled. + He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, + Then answered in a voice that made him quail: + "Son of the Church! when Abraham of old + To sacrifice his only son was told, + He did not pause to parley nor protest, + But hastened to obey the Lord's behest. + In him it was accounted righteousness; + The Holy Church expects of thee no less!" + + A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain, + And Mercy from that hour implored in vain. + Ah! who will e'er believe the words I say? + His daughters he accused, and the same day + They both were cast into the dungeon's gloom, + That dismal antechamber of the tomb, + Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the flame, + The secret torture and the public shame. + + Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more + The Hidalgo went, more eager than before, + And said: "When Abraham offered up his son, + He clave the wood wherewith it might be done. + By his example taught, let me too bring + Wood from the forest for my offering!" + And the deep voice, without a pause, replied: + "Son of the Church! by faith now justified, + Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou wilt; + The Church absolves thy conscience from all guilt!" + + Then this most wretched father went his way + Into the woods, that round his castle lay, + Where once his daughters in their childhood played + With their young mother in the sun and shade. + Now all the leaves had fallen; the branches bare + Made a perpetual moaning in the air, + And screaming from their eyries overhead + The ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead. + With his own hands he lopped the boughs and bound + Fagots, that crackled with foreboding sound, + And on his mules, caparisoned and gay + With bells and tassels, sent them on their way. + + Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, + Again to the Inquisitor he went, + And said: "Behold, the fagots I have brought, + And now, lest my atonement be as naught, + Grant me one more request, one last desire,-- + With my own hand to light the funeral fire!" + And Torquemada answered from his seat, + "Son of the Church! Thine offering is complete; + Her servants through all ages shall not cease + To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace!" + + Upon the market-place, builded of stone + The scaffold rose, whereon Death claimed his own. + At the four corners, in stern attitude, + Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood, + Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes + Upon this place of human sacrifice, + Round which was gathering fast the eager crowd, + With clamor of voices dissonant and loud, + And every roof and window was alive + With restless gazers, swarming like a hive. + + The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near, + Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear, + A line of torches smoked along the street, + There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet, + And, with its banners floating in the air, + Slowly the long procession crossed the square, + And, to the statues of the Prophets bound, + The victims stood, with fagots piled around. + Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook, + And louder sang the monks with bell and book, + And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud, + Lifted his torch, and, bursting through the crowd, + Lighted in haste the fagots, and then fled, + Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead! + + O pitiless skies! why did your clouds retain + For peasants' fields their floods of hoarded rain? + O pitiless earth! why opened no abyss + To bury in its chasm a crime like this? + + That night, a mingled column of fire and smoke + From the dark thickets of the forest broke, + And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues away, + Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day. + Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed, + And as the villagers in terror gazed, + They saw the figure of that cruel knight + Lean from a window in the turret's height, + His ghastly face illumined with the glare, + His hands upraised above his head in prayer, + Till the floor sank beneath him, and he fell + Down the black hollow of that burning well. + + Three centuries and more above his bones + Have piled the oblivious years like funeral stones; + His name has perished with him, and no trace + Remains on earth of his afflicted race; + But Torquemada's name, with clouds o'ercast, + Looms in the distant landscape of the Past, + Like a burnt tower upon a blackened heath, + Lit by the fires of burning woods beneath! + + + + +INTERLUDE. + + + Thus closed the tale of guilt and gloom, + That cast upon each listener's face + Its shadow, and for some brief space + Unbroken silence filled the room. + The Jew was thoughtful and distressed; + Upon his memory thronged and pressed + The persecution of his race, + Their wrongs and sufferings and disgrace; + His head was sunk upon his breast, + And from his eyes alternate came + Flashes of wrath and tears of shame. + + The student first the silence broke, + As one who long has lain in wait, + With purpose to retaliate, + And thus he dealt the avenging stroke. + "In such a company as this, + A tale so tragic seems amiss, + That by its terrible control + O'ermasters and drags down the soul + Into a fathomless abyss. + The Italian Tales that you disdain, + Some merry Night of Straparole, + Or Machiavelli's Belphagor, + Would cheer us and delight us more, + Give greater pleasure and less pain + Than your grim tragedies of Spain!" + + And here the Poet raised his hand, + With such entreaty and command, + It stopped discussion at its birth, + And said: "The story I shall tell + Has meaning in it, if not mirth; + Listen, and hear what once befell + The merry birds of Killingworth!" + + + + +THE POET'S TALE. + + +THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. + + It was the season, when through all the land + The merle and mavis build, and building sing + Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, + Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the Blithe-heart King; + When on the boughs the purple buds expand, + The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, + And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, + And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. + + The robin and the blue-bird, piping loud, + Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; + The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud + Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; + And hungry crows assembled in a crowd, + Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, + Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said: + "Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!" + + Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, + Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet + Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed + The village with the cheers of all their fleet; + Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed + Like foreign sailors, landed in the street + Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise + Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys. + + Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, + In fabulous days, some hundred years ago; + And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, + Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, + That mingled with the universal mirth, + Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe; + They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words + To swift destruction the whole race of birds. + + And a town-meeting was convened straightway + To set a price upon the guilty heads + Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, + Levied black-mail upon the garden beds + And corn-fields, and beheld without dismay + The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds; + The skeleton that waited at their feast, + Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. + + Then from his house, a temple painted white, + With fluted columns, and a roof of red, + The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight! + Slowly descending, with majestic tread, + Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, + Down the long street he walked, as one who said, + "A town that boasts inhabitants like me + Can have no lack of good society!" + + The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere, + The instinct of whose nature was to kill; + The wrath of God he preached from year to year, + And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will; + His favorite pastime was to slay the deer + In Summer on some Adirondac hill; + E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, + He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. + + From the Academy, whose belfry crowned + The hill of Science with its vane of brass, + Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, + Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, + And all absorbed in reveries profound + Of fair Almira in the upper class, + Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, + As pure as water, and as good as bread. + + And next the Deacon issued from his door, + In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow; + A suit of sable bombazine he wore; + His form was ponderous, and his step was slow; + There never was so wise a man before; + He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told you so!" + And to perpetuate his great renown + There was a street named after him in town. + + These came together in the new town-hall, + With sundry farmers from the region round. + The Squire presided, dignified and tall, + His air impressive and his reasoning sound; + Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small; + Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, + But enemies enough, who every one + Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. + + When they had ended, from his place apart, + Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong, + And, trembling like a steed before the start, + Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng; + Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart + To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, + Alike regardless of their smile or frown, + And quite determined not to be laughed down. + + "Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, + From his Republic banished without pity + The Poets; in this little town of yours, + You put to death, by means of a Committee, + The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, + The street-musicians of the heavenly city, + The birds, who make sweet music for us all + In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. + + "The thrush that carols at the dawn of day + From the green steeples of the piny wood; + The oriole in the elm; the noisy jay, + Jargoning like a foreigner at his food; + The blue-bird balanced on some topmost spray, + Flooding with melody the neighborhood; + Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng + That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. + + "You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain + Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, + Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, + Scratched up at random by industrious feet, + Searching for worm or weevil after rain! + Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet + As are the songs these uninvited guests + Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. + + "Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? + Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught + The dialect they speak, where melodies + Alone are the interpreters of thought? + Whose household words are songs in many keys, + Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! + Whose habitations in the tree-tops even + Are half-way houses on the road to heaven! + + "Think, every morning when the sun peeps through + The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, + How jubilant the happy birds renew + Their old, melodious madrigals of love! + And when you think of this, remember too + 'Tis always morning somewhere, and above + The awakening continents, from shore to shore, + Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. + + "Think of your woods and orchards without birds! + Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams + As in an idiot's brain remembered words + Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! + Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds + Make up for the lost music, when your teams + Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more + The feathered gleaners follow to your door? + + "What! would you rather see the incessant stir + Of insects in the windrows of the hay, + And hear the locust and the grasshopper + Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? + Is this more pleasant to you than the whirr + Of meadow-lark, and its sweet roundelay, + Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take + Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake? + + "You call them thieves and pillagers; but know + They are the winged wardens of your farms, + Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, + And from your harvests keep a hundred harms; + Even the blackest of them all, the crow, + Renders good service as your man-at-arms, + Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, + And crying havoc on the slug and snail. + + "How can I teach your children gentleness, + And mercy to the weak, and reverence + For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, + Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, + Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less + The selfsame light, although averted hence, + When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, + You contradict the very things I teach?" + + With this he closed; and through the audience went + A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves; + The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent + Their yellow heads together like their sheaves; + Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment + Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. + The birds were doomed; and, as the record shows, + A bounty offered for the heads of crows. + + There was another audience out of reach, + Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, + But in the papers read his little speech, + And crowned his modest temples with applause; + They made him conscious, each one more than each, + He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. + Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, + O fair Almira at the Academy! + + And so the dreadful massacre began; + O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests, + The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. + Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, + Or wounded crept away from sight of man, + While the young died of famine in their nests; + A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, + The very St. Bartholomew of Birds! + + The Summer came, and all the birds were dead; + The days were like hot coals; the very ground + Was burned to ashes; in the orchards fed + Myriads of caterpillars, and around + The cultivated fields and garden beds + Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found + No foe to check their march, till they had made + The land a desert without leaf or shade. + + Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, + Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly + Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down + The canker-worms upon the passers-by, + Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, + Who shook them off with just a little cry; + They were the terror of each favorite walk, + The endless theme of all the village talk. + + The farmers grew impatient, but a few + Confessed their error, and would not complain, + For after all, the best thing one can do + When it is raining, is to let it rain. + Then they repealed the law, although they knew + It would not call the dead to life again; + As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, + Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. + + That year in Killingworth the Autumn came + Without the light of his majestic look, + The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, + The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. + A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, + And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, + While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, + Lamenting the dead children of the air! + + But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, + A sight that never yet by bard was sung, + As great a wonder as it would have been + If some dumb animal had found a tongue! + A wagon, overarched with evergreen, + Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, + All full of singing birds, came down the street, + Filling the air with music wild and sweet. + + From all the country round these birds were brought, + By order of the town, with anxious quest, + And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought + In woods and fields the places they loved best, + Singing loud canticles, which many thought + Were satires to the authorities addressed, + While others, listening in green lanes, averred + Such lovely music never had been heard! + + But blither still and louder carolled they + Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know + It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, + And everywhere, around, above, below, + When the Preceptor bore his bride away, + Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, + And a new heaven bent over a new earth + Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. + + + + +FINALE. + + + The hour was late; the fire burned low, + The Landlord's eyes were closed in sleep, + And near the story's end a deep + Sonorous sound at times was heard, + As when the distant bagpipes blow. + At this all laughed; the Landlord stirred, + As one awaking from a swound, + And, gazing anxiously around, + Protested that he had not slept, + But only shut his eyes, and kept + His ears attentive to each word. + + Then all arose, and said "Good Night." + Alone remained the drowsy Squire + To rake the embers of the fire, + And quench the waning parlor light; + While from the windows, here and there, + The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, + And the illumined hostel seemed + The constellation of the Bear, + Downward, athwart the misty air, + Sinking and setting toward the sun. + Far off the village clock struck one. + + + + +BIRDS OF PASSAGE. + +FLIGHT THE SECOND. + + + + +THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. + + + Between the dark and the daylight, + When the night is beginning to lower, + Comes a pause in the day's occupations, + That is known as the Children's Hour. + + I hear in the chamber above me + The patter of little feet, + The sound of a door that is opened, + And voices soft and sweet. + + From my study I see in the lamplight, + Descending the broad hall stair, + Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, + And Edith with golden hair. + + A whisper, and then a silence: + Yet I know by their merry eyes + They are plotting and planning together + To take me by surprise. + + A sudden rush from the stairway, + A sudden raid from the hall! + By three doors left unguarded + They enter my castle wall! + + They climb up into my turret + O'er the arms and back of my chair; + If I try to escape, they surround me; + They seem to be everywhere. + + They almost devour me with kisses, + Their arms about me entwine, + Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen + In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! + + Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, + Because you have scaled the wall, + Such an old moustache as I am + Is not a match for you all! + + I have you fast in my fortress, + And will not let you depart, + But put you down into the dungeon + In the round-tower of my heart. + + And there will I keep you forever, + Yes, forever and a day, + Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, + And moulder in dust away! + + + + +ENCELADUS. + + + Under Mount Etna he lies, + It is slumber, it is not death; + For he struggles at times to arise, + And above him the lurid skies + Are hot with his fiery breath. + + The crags are piled on his breast, + The earth is heaped on his head; + But the groans of his wild unrest, + Though smothered and half suppressed, + Are heard, and he is not dead. + + And the nations far away + Are watching with eager eyes; + They talk together and say, + "To-morrow, perhaps to-day, + Enceladus will arise!" + + And the old gods, the austere + Oppressors in their strength, + Stand aghast and white with fear + At the ominous sounds they hear, + And tremble, and mutter, "At length!" + + Ah me! for the land that is sown + With the harvest of despair! + Where the burning cinders, blown + From the lips of the overthrown + Enceladus, fill the air. + + Where ashes are heaped in drifts + Over vineyard and field and town, + Whenever he starts and lifts + His head through the blackened rifts + Of the crags that keep him down. + + See, see! the red light shines! + 'Tis the glare of his awful eyes! + And the storm-wind shouts through the pines + Of Alps and of Apennines, + "Enceladus, arise!" + + + + +THE CUMBERLAND. + + + At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, + On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war; + And at times from the fortress across the bay + The alarum of drums swept past, + Or a bugle blast + From the camp on the shore. + + Then far away to the south uprose + A little feather of snow-white smoke, + And we knew that the iron ship of our foes + Was steadily steering its course + To try the force + Of our ribs of oak. + + Down upon us heavily runs, + Silent and sullen, the floating fort; + Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, + And leaps the terrible death, + With fiery breath, + From each open port. + + We are not idle, but send her straight + Defiance back in a full broadside! + As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, + Rebounds our heavier hail + From each iron scale + Of the monster's hide. + + "Strike your flag!" the rebel cries, + In his arrogant old plantation strain. + "Never!" our gallant Morris replies; + "It is better to sink than to yield!" + And the whole air pealed + With the cheers of our men. + + Then, like a kraken huge and black, + She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp! + Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, + With a sudden shudder of death, + And the cannon's breath + For her dying gasp. + + Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, + Still floated our flag at the mainmast-head. + Lord, how beautiful was thy day! + Every waft of the air + Was a whisper of prayer, + Or a dirge for the dead. + + Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas! + Ye are at peace in the troubled stream, + Ho! brave land! with hearts like these, + Thy flag, that is rent in twain, + Shall be one again, + And without a seam! + + + + +SNOW-FLAKES. + + + Out of the bosom of the Air, + Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, + Over the woodlands brown and bare + Over the harvest-fields forsaken, + Silent, and soft, and slow + Descends the snow. + + Even as our cloudy fancies take + Suddenly shape in some divine expression, + Even as the troubled heart doth make + In the white countenance confession, + The troubled sky reveals + The grief it feels. + + This is the poem of the air, + Slowly in silent syllables recorded; + This is the secret of despair, + Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, + Now whispered and revealed + To wood and field. + + + + +A DAY OF SUNSHINE. + + + O gift of God! O perfect day: + Whereon shall no man work, but play; + Whereon it is enough for me, + Not to be doing, but to be! + + Through every fibre of my brain, + Through every nerve, through every vein, + I feel the electric thrill, the touch + Of life, that seems almost too much. + + I hear the wind among the trees + Playing celestial symphonies; + I see the branches downward bent, + Like keys of some great instrument. + + And over me unrolls on high + The splendid scenery of the sky, + Where through a sapphire sea the sun + Sails like a golden galleon, + + Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, + Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, + Whose steep sierra far uplifts + Its craggy summits white with drifts. + + Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms + The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms! + Blow, winds! and bend within my reach + The fiery blossoms of the peach! + + O Life and Love! O happy throng + Of thoughts, whose only speech is song! + O heart of man! canst thou not be + Blithe as the air is, and as free? + + 1860. + + + + +SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. + + + Labor with what zeal we will, + Something still remains undone, + Something uncompleted still + Waits the rising of the sun. + + By the bedside, on the stair, + At the threshold, near the gates, + With its menace or its prayer, + Like a mendicant it waits; + + Waits, and will not go away; + Waits, and will not be gainsaid; + By the cares of yesterday + Each to-day is heavier made; + + Till at length the burden seems + Greater than our strength can bear, + Heavy as the weight of dreams, + Pressing on us everywhere. + + And we stand from day to day, + Like the dwarfs of times gone by, + Who, as Northern legends say, + On their shoulders held the sky. + + + + +WEARINESS. + + + O little feet! that such long years + Must wander on through hopes and fears, + Must ache and bleed beneath your load; + I, nearer to the wayside inn + Where toil shall cease and rest begin, + Am weary, thinking of your road! + + O little hands! that, weak or strong, + Have still to serve or rule so long, + Have still so long to give or ask; + I, who so much with book and pen + Have toiled among my fellow-men, + Am weary, thinking of your task. + + O little hearts! that throb and beat + With such impatient, feverish heat, + Such limitless and strong desires; + Mine that so long has glowed and burned, + With passions into ashes turned + Now covers and conceals its fires. + + O little souls! as pure and white + And crystalline as rays of light + Direct from heaven, their source divine; + Refracted through the mist of years, + How red my setting sun appears, + How lurid looks this soul of mine! + + +THE END. + + +Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. + + + + +[Illustration] + +135, Washington St., Boston, +NOVEMBER, 1863. + + +A List of Books + +PUBLISHED BY + +MESSRS. 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