And on the threshold shivering stood The King exclaimed, "O gray beard pale ! Come warm thee with this cup of ale." The foaming draught the old man quaffed, The noisy guests looked on and laughed. Then spake the King: "Be not afraid; Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. And ever, when the tale was o'er, 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, Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. Then from his lips in music rolled Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. "Do we not learn from runes and rhymes Made by the gods in elder times, Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. Smiling at this, the King replied, Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep ! Night wanes, O King! 't is time for sleep!" Then slept the King, and when he woke Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. King Olaf crossed himself and said: He loved his horses and his herds, The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, His well-filled barns, his brook with its water-cresses. Huge and cumbersome was his frame; His beard, from which he took his name, Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer the Giant. So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, On horseback, in 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, So all the Drontheim land became A Christian land in name and fame, As other kings have done in their devo- In the old gods no more believing and tion ! 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 At the fatal midnight hour, 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; SHORT of stature, large of limb, Burly face and russet beard, All the women stared at him, When in Iceland he appeared. "Look!" they said, With nodding head, In his house this malcontent To convert the heathen there, One summer day Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. There in Iceland, o'er their books Is waste of time!" Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. To the alehouse, where he sat, That they quarrelled now and then, Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest? All the folk in Altafiord Boasted of their island grand; Doth shine upon!" "There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest." Something worse they did than that; All the prayers he knew by rote, A man of mark, Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. He was quarrelsome and loud, Would drink and swear, Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. And what vexed him most of all Drawn in charcoal on the wall; "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. 66 "O, King Olaf! little hope Is there of these Iceland men!" With bending head, Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. Then King Olaf cried aloud : X. RAUD THE STRONG. "ALL the old gods are dead, But the White Christ lives and reigns, Thus swore King Olaf. But still in dreams of the night And Sigurd the Bishop said, Said Sigurd the Bishop. "Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword, Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong; To him and his heathen horde." "A warlock, a wizard is he, And lord of the wind and the sea; Here the sign of the cross |