"I was a Viking old! "Far in the Northern Land, Tamed the ger-falcon ; "Oft to his frozen lair 86 Sang from the meadow. But when I older grew, With the marauders. Many a wassail-bout Set the cocks crowing, Filled to o'erflowing. Once, as I told in glee Fell their soft splendour. Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest "Bright in her father's hall When of old Hildebrand "While the brown ale he quaffed, The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, "She was a Prince's child, And though she blushed and smiled, Should not the dove so white "Scarce had I put to sea, Among the Norsemen !- With twenty horsemen. "Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, Laugh as he hailed us. "And as to catch the gale Mid-ships with iron-keel "As with his wings aslant, "Three weeks we westward bore, There for my lady's bower Stands looking seaward. "There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, "Still grew my bosom then, The sunlight hateful! Oh, death was grateful! Thus, seamed with many scars, My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr, Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailòr, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, "Last night the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see! The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have ightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronun ation. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the North-east; Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, "Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr, For I can weather the roughest gale He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, 0 say what may it be?" ""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns, 0 say, what may it be ? " 66 Some ship in distress, that cannot live "O father, I see a gleaming light, 0 say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, And fast through the midnight dark and drear, And ever the fitful gusts between It was the sound of the trampling surf, C The breakers were right beneath her bows, And a whooping billow swept the crew She struck where the white and fleecy waves But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, To see the form of a maiden fair, The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow; Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe! Miscellaneous Poems, 1841-46. IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. NO HAY PÁJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANTAÑO. THE sun is bright, the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing, It seems an outlet from the sky, Spanish Proverb. All things rejoice in youth and love, For O! it is not always May! Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest; For time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest THE RAINY DAY. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary; My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Some days must be dark and dreary. |