"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, Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, Why dost thou sorrow so? V. THE SKERRY OF SHRIKKS. Now from all King Olaf's farms Gathered on the Eve of Easter; Drinking with the royal feaster. Loudly through the wide-flung door Of the sea upon the Skerry; And it's thunder loud and near Reached the ear, Mingling with their voices merry. "Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald, "Listen to that song, and learn it! 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, Flowing and flashing in the surges!" Halfred answered: "I am called Nothing hinders me or daunts me. The great Ocean Song that haunts me.' Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, Then they sleep till day is dawning. Pacing up and down the yard, Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping Round the house where they were sleeping. It was not the fog he saw, That above the landscape brooded; With their caps of darkness hooded! Round and round the house they go, Magic circles to encumber 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, Round about with steps unsteady; And, amazed, "Who are these strange people?" said he. "Eyvind Kallda and his men!" Answered then From the yard a sturdy farmer; Busily buckling on their armor. From the gates they sallied forth, Scoured the island coast around them, 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, Of the ocean tides returning. Shrieks and cries of wild despair Growing fainter as they listened; 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 Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The door swung wide, with creak and din The King exclaimed, "O graybeard pale! 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. |