THE JUGGLER'S SONG

When the drums begin to beat

Down the street,

When the poles are fetched and guyed,

When the tight-rope's stretched and tied,
When the dance-girls make salaam,

When the snake-bag wakes alarm,
When the pipes set up their drone,
When the sharp-edged knives are thrown,
When the red-hot coals are shown,
To be swallowed by and bye-
Arré Brethren, here come I!

Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun
Search me well and watch me close!
Tell me how my tricks are done -
Tell me how the mango grows?

Give a man who is not made
To his trade

Swords to fling and catch again,
Coins to ring and snatch again,

Men to harm and cure again,
Snakes to charm and lure again
He'll be hurt by his own blade,
By his serpents disobeyed,
By his clumsiness bewrayed,
By the people laughed to scorn.
So 'tis not with juggler born!
Pinch of dust or withered flower,
Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff,
Serve his need and shore his power
Bind the spell or loose the laugh!

THORKILD'S SONG

There's no wind along these seas,
Out oars for Stavanger!

Forward all for Stavanger!

So we must wake the white-ash breeze,

Let fall for Stavanger!

A long pull for Stavanger!

Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!

(A long pull for Stavanger!)

She thinks she smells the Northland rain! (A long pull for Stavanger!)

She thinks she smells the Northland snow, And she's as glad as we to go.

She thinks she smells the Northland rime, And the dear dark nights of winter-time.

She wants to be at her own home pier,
To shift her sails and standing gear.

She wants to be in her winter-shed,

To strip herself and go to bed.

Her very bolts are sick for shore,
And we we want it ten times more!

So all you Gods that love brave men,
Send us a three-reef gale again!

Send us a gale, and watch us come,
With close-cropped canvas slashing home!

But there's no wind on all these seas, A long pull for Stavanger!

So we must wake the white-ash breeze, A long pull for Stavanger!

SONG OF THE MEN'S SIDE

(Neolithic)

Once we feared The Beast - - when he followed

us we ran,

Ran very fast though we knew

It was not right that The Beast should master Man;

But what could we Flint-workers do?

The Beast only grinned at our spears round his

ears

Grinned at the hammers that we made;

But now we will hunt him for the life with the Knife

And this is the Buyer of the Blade!

Room for his shadow on the grass - let it pass!

To left and right stand clear!

This is the Buyer of the Blade - be afraid!
This is the great god Tyr!

Tyr thought hard till he hammered out a plan, For he knew it was not right