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THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

"Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride;

They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,
No maiden was by their side!"

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THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.'

"SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,2
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,

Why dost thou haunt me?"

Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,

As when the Northern skies

Gleam in December;

1 "This ballad was suggested to me," says Mr. Longfellow, "while riding on the sea-shore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded armor; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the Old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early ancestors." It is generally conceded now that the Norsemen had nothing to do with the old mill at Newport, which is a close copy of one standing at Chesterton, in Warwickshire, England. The destruction of the armor shortly after it was found has prevented any trustworthy examination of it, to see if it was really Scandinavian or only Indian. The poet sings as one haunted by the skeleton, and able to call out its voice.

2 This old warrior was not embalmed as an Egyptian mummy.

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"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon ;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair

Tracked I the grisly bear,

While from my path the hare

Fled like a shadow;

The Vik-ings took their name from an old Norse word, vik, still used in Norway, signifying creek, because these sea-pirates made their haunts among the indentations of the coast, and sallied out thence in search of booty.

2 The Skald was the Norse chronicler and poet who sang of brave deeds at the feasts of the warriors.

The Saga was the saying or chronicle of the heroic deeds. There are many of these old sagas still preserved in Northern literature.

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1 In the fables of Northern Europe there were said to be men who could change themselves into wolves at pleasure, and they were called were-wolves.

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2 There was a famous warrior in the fabulous history of Norway who went into battle bare of armor (ber bare; særkeshirt of mail), but possessed of a terrible rage; he had twelve sons like himself, who were also called Berserks or Berserkers, and the phrase Berserker rage has come into use to express a terrible fury which makes a man fearless and strong.

Burning, yet tender;

And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,

On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;

When of old Hildebrand

I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

"She was a Prince's child,

I but a Viking wild,

And though she blushed and smiled,

I was discarded!

Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,

Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen !
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,

With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind failed us;

And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale

Round veered the flapping sail,

Death! was the helmsman's hail,

Death without quarter!

Mid-ships with iron keel

Struck we her ribs of steel;

Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water!

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