him there

Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

INTERLUDE.

A Saga of the days of old.
AND then the blue-eyed Norseman told

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

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

THE MUSICIAN'S TALE.

THE SAGA OF KING OLAF.

I.

THE CHALLENGE OF THOR.

I AM the God Thor,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 the rapture
Of the sea-fight, and the capture,
And the life of slavery.

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

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

Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son !" Then as Queen Allogia's page, Old in honors, young in age,

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

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

And to Scilly's rocky shore;
And the hermit's cavern dismal,
Christ's great name and rites 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!"

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.

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.

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,

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 Ladé's Temple old.

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.

and swift.

She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain,

Who smiled, as they handed it back again.

66

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.

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.