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Nor the stalks he gave her
With a gracious gesture,
And with words as pleasant
As their own perfume.

In her hands he placed them,
And her jewelled fingers
Through the green leaves glistened
Like the dews of morn;
But she cast them from her,
Haughty and indignant,
On the floor she threw them
With a look of scorn.
"Richer presents," said she,
"Gave King Harald Gormson
To the Queen, my mother,

Than such worthless weeds;
"When he ravaged Norway,
Laying waste the kingdom,
Seizing scatt and treasure
For her royal needs.

"But thou darest not venture
Through the Sound to Vendland,
My domains to rescue

From King Burislaf;

"Lest King Svend of Denmark, Forked Beard, my brother, Scatter all thy vessels

As the wind the chaff." Then up sprang King Olaf, Like a reindeer bounding, With an oath he answered

Thus the luckless Queen: "Never yet did Olaf Fear King Svend of Denmark; This right hand shall hale him By his forked chin!" Then he left the chamber, Thundering through the doorway, Loud his steps resounded

Down the outer stair.
Smarting with the insult,
Through the streets of Drontheim
Strode he red and wrathful,

With his stately air.
All his ships he gathered,
Summoned all his forces,
Making his war levy

In the region round;
Down the coast of Norway,
Like a flock of sea-gulls,

Sailed the fleet of Olaf

Through the Danish Sound. With his own hand fearless Steered he the Long Serpent, Strained the creaking cordage, Bent each boom and gaff; Till in Vendland landing, The domains of Thyri He redeemed and rescued From King Burislaf. Then said Olaf, laughing, "Not ten yoke of oxen Have the power to draw us

Like a woman's hair! "Now will I confess it, Better things are jewels Than angelica-stalks are For a Queen to wear."

XVII.

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KING SVEND OF THE FORKED
BEARD.

LOUDLY the sailors cheered
Svend of the Forked Beard,
As with his fleet he steered

Southward to Vendland;
Where with their courses hauled
All were together called,
Under the Isle of Svald

Near to the mainland.
After Queen Gunhild's death,
So the old Saga saith,
Plighted King Svend his faith
To Sigrid the Haughty;
And to avenge his bride,
Soothing her wounded pride,
Over the waters wide

King Olaf sought he.
Still on her scornful face,
Blushing with deep disgrace,
Bore she the crimson trace

Of Olaf's gauntlet;
Like a malignant star,
Blazing in heaven afar,
Red shone the angry scar
Under her frontlet.

Oft to King Svend she spake,
"For thine own honour's sake
Shalt thou swift vengeance take
On the vile coward!"
Until the King at last,
Gusty and overcast,
Like a tempestuous blast
Threatened and lowered.

Soon as the Spring appeared,
Svend of the Forked Beard
High his red standard reared,
Eager for battle;

While every warlike Dane
Seizing his arms again,
Left all unsown the grain,

Unhoused the cattle.
Likewise the Swedish King
Summoned in haste a Thing,
Weapons and men to bring
In aid of Denmark;
Eric the Norseman, too,
As the war-tidings flew,
Sailed with a chosen crew
From Lapland and Finmark.

So upon Easter day

Sailed the three kings away,
Out of the sheltered bay,

In the bright season:
With them Earl Sigvald came,
Eager for spoil and fame;
Pity that such a name

Stooped to such treason!

Safe under Svald at last,
Now were their anchors cast,
Safe from the sea and blast,
Plotted the three kings;
While, with a base intent,
Southward Earl Sigvald went,
On a foul errand bent,

Unto the Sea-kings.
Thence to hold on his course,
Unto King Olaf's force,
Lying within the hoarse
Mouths of Stet-haven ;
Him to ensnare and bring
Unto the Danish king,

Who his dead corse would fling Forth to the raven !

XVIII.-KING OLAF AND EARL

SIGVALD.

On the gray sea-sands
King Olaf stands,
Northward and seaward
He points with his hands.

With eddy and whirl
The sea-tides curl,
Washing the sandals
Of Sigvald the Earl.

The mariners shout,
The ships swing about,
The yards are all hoisted,
The sails flutter out.

The war-horns are played,
The anchors are weighed,
Like moths in the distance
The sails flit and fade.

The sea is like lead,
The harbour lies dead,
As a corse on the sea-shore,
Whose spirit has fled!
On that fatal day,
The histories say,
Seventy vessels

Sailed out of the bay.

But soon scattered wide
O'er the billows they ride,
While Sigvald and Olaf
Sail side by side.

Cried the Earl: "Follow me!
I your pilot will be,

For I know all the channels
Where flows the deep sea!"

So into the strait

Where his foes lie in wait,
Gallant King Olaf
Sails to his fate!

Then the sea-fog veils
The ships and their sails;
Queen Sigrid the Haughty,
Thy vengeance prevails!

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And there in the mist overhead

The sun hung red

As a drop of blood.

Drifting down on the Danish fleet
Three together the ships were lashed,
So that neither should turn and retreat;
In the midst, but in front of the rest,
The burnished crest
Of the Serpent flashed.

King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck,
With bow of ash and arrows of oak,
His gilded shield was without a fleck,
His helmet inlaid with gold,
And in many a fold
Hung his crimson cloak.

On the forecastle Ulf the Red
Watched the lashing of the ships;
"If the Serpent lie so far ahead,
We shall have hard work of it here,"
Said he with a sneer

On his bearded lips.

King Olaf laid an arrow on string,
"Have I a coward on board?" said he.
Shoot it another way, O King!"
Sullenly answered Ulf,

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The old sea-wolf; "You have need of me!"

In front came Svend, the King of the

Danes,

Sweeping down with his fifty rowers; To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes;

And on board of the Iron-Beard

Earl Eric steered

On the left with his oars.

"These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King,

"At home with their wives had better stay,

Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting:

But where Eric the Norseman leads
Heroic deeds

Will be done to-day!"

Then as together the vessels crashed,
Eric severed the cables of hide,
With which King Olaf's ships were
lashed,

And left them to drive and drift

With the currents swift

Of the outward tide.

Louder the war-horns growl and snarl,
Sharper the dragons bite and sting!
Eric the son of Hakon Jarl

A death-drink salt as the sea
Pledges to thee,
Olaf the King!

XX.

EINAR TAMBERSKELVER.
IT was Einar Tamberskelver
Stood beside the mast;

From his yew bow, tipped with silver,
Flew the arrows fast!

Aimed at Eric unavailing,
As he sat concealed,

Half behind the quarter-railing,
Half behind his shield.

First an arrow struck the tiller
Just above his head;

"Šing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller,"
Then Earl Eric said,
"Sing the song of Hakon dying,
Sing his funeral wail!"
And another arrow flying

Grazed his coat of mail.
Turning to a Lapland yeoman,
As the arrow passed,

Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman
Standing by the mast."

Sooner than the word was spoken
Flew the yeoman's shaft;
Einar's bow in twain was broken,
Einar only laughed.

"What was that?" said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck.

"Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck."

Einar then, the arrow taking

From the loosened string, Answered, "That was Norway breaking

From thy hand, O King!" "Thou art but a poor diviner," Straightway Olaf said;

"Take my bow, and swifter, Einar,
Let thy shafts be sped."

Of his bows the fairest choosing,
Reached he from above;
Einar saw the blood-drops oozing
Through his iron glove.

But the bow was thin and narrow;
At the first assay,

O'er its head he drew the arrow,
Flung the bow away;

Said, with hot and angry temper
Flushing in his cheek,
"Olaf! for so great a Kämper
Are thy bows too weak!"

Then, with smile of joy defiant
On his beardless lip
Scaled he, light and self-reliant,
Eric's dragon-ship.

Loose his golden locks were flowing,
Bright his armour gleamed:
Like Saint Michael overthrowing
Lucifer he seemed.

XXI. KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK.
ALL day has the battle raged,
All day have the ships engaged,
But not yet is assuaged

The vengeance of Eric the Earl.
The decks with blood are red,
The arrows of death are sped,
The ships are filled with the dead,
And the spears the champions hurl.
They drift as wrecks on the tide,
The grappling-irons are plied,
The boarders climb up the side,

The shouts are feeble and few.

Ah! never shall Norway again See her sailors come back o'er the main;

They all lie wounded or slain,

Or asleep in the billows blue!
On the deck stands Olaf the King,
Around him whistle and sing
The spears that the foemen fling,

And the stones they hurl with their
hands.

In the midst of the stones and the spears,

Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears,
His shield in the air he uprears,
By the side of King Olaf he stands.
Over the slippery wreck
Of the Long Serpent's deck
Sweeps Eric with hardly a check,

His lips with anger are pale ;
He hews with his axe at the mast,
Till it falls, with the sails overcast,
Like a snow-covered pine in the vast
Dim forests of Orkadale.
Seeking King Olaf then,
He rushes aft with his men,

As a hunter into the den

Of the bear, when he stands at bay. "Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries; When lo! on his wondering eyes, Two kingly figures arise,

Two Olafs in warlike array! Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear Of King Olaf a word of cheer, In a whisper that none may hear, With a smile on his tremulous lip; Two shields raised high in the air, Two flashes of golden hair, Two scarlet meteors' glare,

And both have leaped from the ship.

Earl Eric's men in the boats
Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats,
And cry,
from their hairy throats,
"See! it is Olaf the King!"
While far on the opposite side,
Floats another shield on the tide,
Like a jewel set in the wide
Sea-current's eddying ring.
There is told a wonderful tale,
How the King stripped off his mail,
Like leaves of the brown sea-kale,

As he swam beneath the main ;
But the young grew old and gray,
And never, by night or by day,
In his kingdom of Norroway
Was King Olaf seen again!

XXII THE NUN OF NIDAROS.
IN the convent of Drontheim,
Alone in her chamber
Knelt Astrid the Abbess,
At midnight, adoring,
Beseeching, entreating
The Virgin and Mother.

She heard in the silence
The voice of one speaking,
Without in the darkness,
In gusts of the night-wind,
Now louder, now nearer,
Now lost in the distance.

The voice of a stranger
It seemed as she listened,
Of some one who answered,
Beseeching, imploring,
A cry from afar off

She could not distinguish.

The voice of Saint John,
The beloved disciple,
Who wandered and waited
The Master's appearance,
Alone in the darkness,
Unsheltered and friendless.
"It is accepted,
The angry defiance,
The challenge of battle!
It is accepted, ̧

But not with the weapons
Of war that thou wieldest !
"Cross against corslet,
Love against hatred,
Peace-cry for war-cry!
Patience is powerful;
He that o'ercometh
Hath power o'er the nations!

"As torrents in summer,
Half dried in their channels,
Suddenly rise, though the
Sky is still cloudless,
For rain has been falling
Far off at their fountains;
"So hearts that are fainting
Grow full to o'erflowing,
And they that behold it
Marvel, and know not
That God at their fountains
Far off has been raining!
"Stronger than steel
Is the sword of the Spirit ;
Swifter than arrows
The life of the truth is;
Greater than anger
Is love, and subdueth!
"Thou art a phantom,
A shape of the sea-mist,
A shape of the brumal
Rain, and the darkness
Fearful and formless;

Day dawns and thou art not!

"The dawn is not distant, Nor is the night starless; Love is eternal !

God is still God, and

His faith shall not fail us;

Christ is eternal!",

INTERLUDE.

A STRAIN of music closed the tale,
A low, monotonous funeral wail,
That with its cadence, wild and sweet,
Made the long Saga more complete.
"Thank God," the Theologian said,
"The reign of violence is dead,
Or dying surely from the world;
While Love triumphant reigns instead,
And in a brighter sky o'erhead
His blessed banners are unfurled.
And most of all thank God for this:
The war and waste of clashing creeds
Now end in words, and not in deeds,
And no one suffers loss, or bleeds,
For thoughts that men call heresies.
"I stand without here in the porch,
I hear the bell's melodious din,
I hear the organ peal within,

I hear the prayer, with words that scorch

Like sparks from an inverted torch,
I hear the sermon upon sin,
With threatenings of the last account.
And all, translated in the air,

Reach me but as our dear Lord's

Prayer,

And as the Sermon on the Mount.
"Must it be Calvin, and not Christ?
Must it be Athanasian creeds,
Or holy water, books, and beads?
Must struggling souls remain content
With councils and decrees of Trent?
And can it be enough for these
The Christian Church the year em-
balms

With evergreens and boughs of palms,
And fills the air with litanies?

"I know that yonder Pharisee
Thanks God that he is not like me;
In my humiliation dressed,
I only stand and beat my breast,
And pray for human charity.
"Not to one church alone, but seven,
The voice prophetic spake from heaven;
And unto each the promise came,
Diversified, but still the same;

For him that overcometh are

The new name written on the stone, The raiment white, the crown, the

throne,

And I will give him the Morning Star!

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