Then slept the King, and when he woke They found the doors securely barred, Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. King Olaf crossed himself and said: VII. IRON-BEARD. OLAF the King, one summer morn, Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim. And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere With their war weapons ready to confront him. Ploughing under the morning star, Old Iron-Beard in Yriar Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh. He wiped the sweat-drops from his brow, Unharnessed his horses from the plough, And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. He was the churliest of the churls; Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming passions. Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, But he loved the freedom of his farm, 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, And to King Olaf he cried aloud, That tossed about him like a stormy ocean: "Such sacrifices shalt thou bring; As other kings have done in their devotion!" King Olaf answered: "I command This land to be a Christian land; Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes! "But if you ask me to restore Your sacrifices, stained with gore, Then will I offer human sacrifices! "Not slaves and peasants shall they be, But men of note and high degree, Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting!" Then to their Temple strode he in, And loud behind him heard the din Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting. There in the Temple, carved in wood, The image of great Odin stood, And other gods, with Thor supreme among them. King Olaf smote them with the blade And downward shattered to the pavement flung them. At the same moment rose without From the contending crowd, a shout, And there upon the trampled plain King Olaf from the doorway spoke: And seeing their leader stark and dead, "O King, baptize us with thy holy water!" So all the Drontheim land became A Christian land in name and fame, 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, Is cold and keen. On the cairn are fixed her eyes What a bridal night is this? Like the drifting snow she sweeps "What is that," King Olaf said, "'Tis the bodkin that I wear When at night I bind my hair; It woke me falling on the floor; 'Tis nothing more." "Forests have ears, and fields have eyes; Often treachery lurking lies Underneath the fairest hair! Gudrun beware!" Ere the earliest peep of morn Bridegroom and bride! |