She has fled; and the gossips report She has come to King Olaf's court, And the town is all in dismay.

Hoist up your sails of silk,

And flee away from each other.

It is whispered King Olaf has seen,
Has talked with the beautiful queen;
And they wonder how it will end;
For surely, if here she remain,
It is war with King Svend the Dane,
And King Burislaf the Vend!

Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

O, greatest wonder of all!
It is published in hamlet and hall,
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.

XVI.

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS.

NORTHWARD over Drontheim Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, Sang the lark and linnet

From the meadows green;

Weeping in her chamber,
Lonely and unhappy,
Sat the Drottning Thyri,
Sat King Olaf's Queen.

In at all the windows
Streamed the pleasant sunshine,
On the roof above her

Softly cooed the dove;

But the sound she heard not,
Nor the sunshine heeded,
For the thoughts of Thyri
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 Angelicas uprooted, With delicious fragrance Filling all the place.

Like a rainy midnight
Sat the Drottning Thyri,
Even the smile of Olaf

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,
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.

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

66

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 armor 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;

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 corselet,
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!

46 Stronger than steel

Is the sword of the Spirit ;
Swifter than arrows
The light 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!"

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 embalms
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.

64 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!

"Ah! to how many Faith has been
No evidence of things unseen,
But a dim shadow, that recasts
The creed of the Phantasiasts,
For whom no Man of Sorrows died,
For whom the Tragedy Divine
Was but a symbol and a sign,
And Christ a phantom crucified!

"For others a diviner creed
Is living in the life they lead.
The passing of their beautiful feet
Blesses the pavement of the street,
And all their looks and words repeat
Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet,
Not as a vulture, but a dove,

The Holy Ghost came from above.

"And this brings back to me a tale
So sad the hearer well may quail,
And question if such things can be;
Yet in the chronicles of Spain
Down the dark pages runs this stain,
And naught can wash them white again,
So fearful is the tragedy."

203

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,