"O, King Olaf! little hope Is there of these Iceland men !" Meekly said, With bending head, Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. Then King Olaf cried aloud: X. RAUD THE STRONG. "ALL the old gods are dead, But the White Christ lives and reigns, Thus swore King Olaf. But still in dreams of the night And Sigurd the Bishop said, Said Sigurd the Bishop. "Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword, Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong; To him and his heathen horde." "A warlock, a wizard is he, And lord of the wind and the sea; Here the sign of the cross XI. BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD LOUD the angry wind was wailing As King Olaf's ships came sailing Northward out of Drontheim haven To the mouth of Salten Fiord. Though the flying sea-spray drenches Of the champions there on board. All without the Fiord was quiet, Raud the Strong was wont to ride. And the sea through all its tide-ways "'T is the warlock! 't is the demon To the ship's bow he ascended, On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, High amid the rain and mist. As into the Fiord they darted, Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships; Near him lay the Dragon stranded, Built of old by Raud the Strong, Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, Twice the Dragon's size. Round him busily hewed and hammered Mallet huge and heavy axe; Workmen laughed and sang and clamored; Whirred the wheels, that into rigging All this tumult heard the master, Fancy whispered all the faster, Workmen sweating at the forges Fashioned iron bolt and bar, Like a warlock's midnight orgies Smoked and bubbled the black caldron With the boiling tar. Did the warlocks mingle in it, Thorberg Skafting, any curse? Could you not be gone a minute But some mischief must be doing, Turning bad to worse? 'T was an ill wind that came wafting, After long delays returning Came the master back by night. To his ship-yard longing, yearning, Hurried he, and did not leave it Till the morning's light. "Come and see my ship, my darling On the morrow said the King; "Finished now from keel to carling; Never yet was seen in Norway Such a wondrous thing! In the ship-yard, idly talking, At the ship the workmen stared: Some one, all their labor balking, Down her sides had cut deep gashes, Not a plank was spared! "Death be to the evil-doer! With an oath King Olaf spoke ; "But rewards to his pursuer ! And with wrath his face grew redder Than his scarlet cloak. Straight the master-builder, smiling, Answered thus the angry King: "Cease blaspheming and reviling, Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting Who has done this thing!" Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, Till the King, delighted, swore, With much lauding and much thanking, "Handsomer is now my Dragon Than she was before!" Seventy ells and four extended On the grass the vessel's keel; High above it, gilt and splendid, Rose the figure-head ferocious With its crest of steel. Then they launched her from the tressels, She was the grandest of all vessels, The Long Serpent was she christened, XIV. THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT. SAFE at anchor in Drontheim bay And, striped with white and blue, Downward fluttered sail and banner, As alights the screaming lanner; Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, The Long Serpent's crew Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, His teeth as large and white; His beard, of gray and russet blended, Round as a swallow's nest descended; As standard-bearer he defended Olaf's flag in the fight. Near him Kolbiorn had his place, By the bulkhead, tall and dark, Einar Tamberskelver, bare By the mainmast stood; Of her maidenhood. In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork Heavens how they swore! These, and many more like these, With King Olaf sailed the seas, Till the waters vast Filled them with a vague devotion, With the freedom and the motion, With the roll and roar of ocean And the sounding blast. When they landed from the fleet, How they roared through Drontheim's street, Boisterous as the gale! How they laughed and stamped and pounded, Till the tavern roof resounded, Never saw the wild North Sea XVI. Such a gallant company Sail its billows blue ! Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, Owned a ship so well apparelled, Boasted such a crew! XV. A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR. A LITTLE bird in the air Is singing of Thyri the fair, The sister of Svend the Dane; Hoist up your sails of silk, To King Burislaf, it is said, And a sorrowful bride went she; They say, that through heat and through By day and by night, they say, It is whispered King Olaf has seen, Hoist up your sails of silk, O, greatest wonder of all ! It roars like a flame that is fanned! The King yes, Olaf the King Has wedded her with his ring, And Thyri is Queen in the land! Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other. QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS. NORTHWARD Over Drontheim, Weeping in her chamber, In at all the windows Softly cooed the dove; But the sound she heard not, Were not thoughts of love. Then King Olaf entered, Beautiful as morning, Like the sun at Easter Shone his happy face; In his hand he carried Like a rainy midnight Could not cheer her gloom; 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, But she cast them from her, "Richer presents," said she, "Gave King Harald Gormson |