University of Virginia Library

THE SEA-KING.

CANTO I. The Legend of Otlauga.

CANTO II. The Scald.

I.

But now Otlauga sat in her hall,
And many a guest sat silent there;—
The lamps were lit, the fires were bright,—
Outside the clouds formed a funeral pall
For the moon as it slept in the frozen air,
And the stars that hung in the chambers of night
Were wan as ghosts in the pale moonlight;
Mountains of ice, and frozen snow
Were here,—were there,—above and below.

II.

The wind came whistling loud and chill,
Down many a glen, o'er many a hill,
But in the hall the guests were still;
They moved not a limb, they breathed not a breath,
As though they sat in the chambers of death:
And yet each bright enquiring eye
Is fixed on one object,—ask ye why?

III.

An aged man standeth silent there,
With brow so noble and head so bare,
Deserted by the last white hair
That used to speak of times gone by,
A tear stood in his melting eye,
And that old man sighed full well I ween
When the last lock went from his aged brow,
For it told of joys that once have been
And recalled full many an early scene
That must be forgotten now.
Dissevered from the past he stands,
And holds a harp in his trembling hands.

IV.

For he was one of the tuneful train,
And he would sing of beauty's power,
And that old man knew I ween right well
To wile away the weary hour
With many a wild and fervid strain.
And he could sing of magic spell,
And well he loved I ween to tell
The glorious deeds of arms;
And he could picture to the sight,
The bloody field, the fearful fight
With non-intrinsic charms.
Such power belongs alone to those
Whom genius favors with her woes.

V.

And now he struck the sounding strings,
Forth came a soft and plaintive strain,
Wild, sweet unearthly murmurings
That rose and fell and rose again,
Like the wind sweeping o'er the main.
The old man then inclined his head
His life seemed gone,—his spirit fled,—
So deeply was attention hung
On the notes that from his harp-strings rung.
The strain the old man faultless found,
His ear could catch no jarring sound.
A deeper, nobler prelude ran,
Ere thus the Scald his tale began.

THE SCALD'S TALE.

THE SCALD'S TALE, continued.

The Valkyries' Chorus.

THE SCALD'S TALE concluded.

CANTO III. The Legend of Ragnar Lodbrog.

I.

'Tis strange how o'er the most obdurate breast
Fell Superstition holdeth magic sway,
Producing causeless care, and sad unrest,
Chasing the better feelings all away,
And bringing apprehension strong alway.—
And e'en to those who fear not danger near,
There is a horror in those things that lay
In doubt and mystery; superstition here
Raiseth his hoary head, and worketh woe and fear.

II.

And in that goodly company
Each thought his neighbour ill at rest,
While from the plague himself not free,—
He bore a burthen in his breast:
And aye for fear scarce drew his breath
Through lips as ashy-pale as death.
But he, the cause of these alarms,
Knew not fear, nor thought of harms,
But like a spectre from the tomb
He slowly glided down the room,
And gazing carefully around,
He sought for one he had not found.

III.

His gaze at last met the stranger's glance,
And then athwart his countenance
There came a ghastly smile,—
That passed away the while,
As swiftly as the meteors dance
Across heaven's darkened countenance,
Illuming yonder isle.
And his features wore their wonted gloom
As hopeless, as cheerless, as dark as the tomb.

IV.

O who can this aged wanderer be?
He seemeth a man of mysterye,
And his beard is as white as the foam of the sea.
His visage is wan, his vigour hath fled,
And he seemeth like one who hath once been dead!
Oh! his figure is gaunt, and his skin seemeth thrown
Like a mantle to cover the naked bone,
And his eyes are as lifeless as circles of stone;
And he who looks on them shivereth still,
And feeleth I ween his life blood chill;
And he is by a fearful sense oppressed,
For a slimy snake seemeth coiled in his breast.

V.

Otlauga,—what aileth her?—pale as death,
Without a motion, without a breath,
Resteth there silent and alone,
As cold and as chill as a marble-stone!
For when that old man passed the door,
She knew his figure I ween of yore:
She had seen that form by the pale moonlight,
Wrapped in the mists of the chilly night.

VI.

She had seen him stand on those rocks so bare,
Beside the silent sea of blood;
She had heard his voice on the nightly air
When he spake to the being who sailed on the flood.
And still when the night winds sighed and sung,
Those words in her ears forever rung,—
“I have found where she dwelleth, that child of the sea,
Thou shalt see her I ween right speedily.”
She had heard that voice when the night bird screams,
She had seen that form in her midnight dreams.

VII.

But still the guests in silent horror stood,
Till with a sudden start
They felt the kindly long congealed blood
Rush round their heart,
And in its proper channels flow,
With a pleasurable glow.
For that old man had spoken
In accents so kind,
That the ice was all broken,
As if with a token,
That thrilled through their body, and thrilled through their mind.
“'Tis strange how such a power should dwell
With any breathing mortal breath,”
“Hush! be silent! how canst thou tell
That he cometh not up from the palace of death.
But whether he be a man or no
Time will show,—time will show!”

VIII.

“Say why hath all this fear,
This horror thus come o'er ye?
My messenger was here,
I sent him on before me.
He told you I ween with whoop and with cry”
That his aged master was drawing nigh.—”
The old man spake with a leer and a smile,
And the owlet with its eye of fire,
Sat perching all the while
Upon his master's golden lyre.
That was a wondrous harp I ween,
And aye men say that it had been
In many a strange and dreadful scene!

IX.

He turned him to the company,—
That aged man of mystery,
There was something in his glance,
And something in his countenance
Of pity and of tenderness,
When his steady eye fell on the drooping form,
The form of the lovely shepherdess.
And as though the long, long gathering storm
That dwelt about his gloomy brow
Had quite evanished now,
There came from his eye so cold and dead
A bright, but momentary gleam,—
Alas! alas! too soon it fled;
Why hath it gone, did it give him pain?
'Tis quenched, 'tis quenched, it vanished
Like the sun's departing beam,
And all too soon alas! is night again ysped.

X.

The old man sighed, and then he spake again,
“Thou aged son of song,
I heard thy plaintive strain
When it came floating the wild winds along;
Though between me and you there lay
Many a mile of weary way;
Though there were mountains, hills, and vales,
Flint-frozen streams, and ice and snow,
Above, about, below,—
Despite of these the swift wing'd gales.—
But it were vain to tell you what you cannot know,—
What if you hear you cannot understand,
How the slight forms of air,
To me their message bring,
To me their wonders show
And own me as their king.
How through their watchful care
I know the secrets of each distant land,—
And have but to wave my wand
And am transported there.
To tell you this I say again,
Would be a waste of words in vain.

XI.

“'Twas not for this I left my sea-girt cave,
Where the winds and wild-waves sing,
And voices numberless,
On the rapt sense their music press
Till the crystal arches ring,
And dizzy, dance in wild excess
Of harmony, and happiness.
'Twas not for this I trod the cheerless shore,
And breathed the air of this unhappy earth;
And not for this to those of mortal birth
My golden harp I bore.
Lovely maid I came for this,—
To cheer thy soul with harmony;
For this I left my bower of bliss,
For this I came to visit thee;
If thou wilt listen I will sing,
About a wondrous man, Ragnar the dread Sea-King.”

XII.

The maiden started at the name,
And the blood came rushing red like flame
From her heart to her features fair.
What causeth this? is it maidenly shame,
Or some deep feeling without a name?
It matters not,—the red blood came
To her cheek, and rested there.
Brightly her brow so bold and bare,
Beamed in the lamplight's lurid glare,
All red as the glowing evening air,
When the flaming sun descends in flare
In the bright and glorious west:
Emotion thus painted her features fair,
And fluttered in her dove-like breast.
Until for shame or causeless care,
She hid her beaming face, behind her golden hair.

XIII.

And two alone in that large company
Marked the maiden's strange emotion.—
Have you ne'er seen upon the stormy sea,
How, when the waves and waters of the ocean
Are dancing and prancing in endless commotion,
A vessel answereth every changeful motion?
And when the waves each other crossing
Leap and fall in tumult tossing
Dancing to the dazzled view,
The bark,—whene'er the waters upward bending
Are flashing, splashing, and descending
Riseth still, and falleth too.—
As though it had no motion of its own,
But was ordained to undulation still,
And bow obsequious to the tyrant will
Of the wild waves alone.

XIV.

Not less obsequious, did the stranger's view
Transfer from that fair maiden's countenance
Unto his own, each blush to that fair image true.
And aye it seemed as if he grew
Out of her image; and as if he drew
His sense of being from that fervent glance.
But the aged wanderer watched these two,
Until a feeling came again
That had too long been fled.
It came, it came, did it give him pain?
For he seemeth like one who hath once been dead.
Or was it the excess of joy
That gave his too full heart alloy?

XV.

It swiftly passed away,—and then he gave
The handsome stranger one much-meaning glance,
Which like a chilling wave
Aroused him from his trance.
He knew that glance I ween of yore,
Shivering he gazed full wistfully about,
Till through the open door
He quickly issued out.
Fear urged him not, nor was it ought like flight,
But yea he knew that old man's meaning well,—
That wanderer of the night,
That man of the mystic spell.

XVI.

The night was fair, yet from the vault of heaven
The stars looked dimly on the world beneath,
The stranger gazed around—
It seemed as though the monster death
Had set his foot upon the frozen ground,
And with his noxious breath
Had blighted all beneath the deep blue sky.—
Around was one congealed expanse
Of dazzling snow, save where the waters dance,
And fling their ever foamy crest on high;—
The stranger slowly took his way
Along the margin of a deep ravine,
Ice-rocks in wild confusion round him lay
Like monuments of things that once have been,
Around, above him, and below,
Was nought but ice and frozen snow.

XVII.

And still the traveller his way pursued,
Approaching nearer to the shore;
Which in a small cape bending
Revealed the waters nearer than before,—
And still he heard the ceaseless roar
Of the winds and waves, while from a cliff decending.
Nearer, and nearer still he drew,
Until the welcome spot
Burst full upon his view.
It was a lovely little grot,
A wild fantastick cave,
Round which the winds and waters rave.
And from the sea there stole a little stream,
Which filled the basement of the cell,—
That might have answered well,
As a home or a shell
Where the sea nymphs might revel, and happily dwell.

XVIII.

Here, stooping down he entered, and unloosed
From all its fastenings a small fragile boat,
Which soon was set afloat.
A push from the oar, and a spring—
And he and the frail boat swing
Right out on the restless sea;
Merrily, merrily, merrily
They dance on the dancing wave,
They speed away together,
Despite of wind and weather
Far away from the stormy cave.
Round them still the wild waves sing,
Round them still the waters ring
And ever restless, roar;
Till they two can scarce be seen,
Through the thin spray bright and sheen,—
Moving from the distant shore,
And sunk behind the waves, they can be seen no more.

XIX.

But in the hall the aged wanderer stood,
His harp already sounding,
And all in silence was that multitude
The aged man surrounding.
The sounds of his wild harp, too wild for earthly strain,
Made a soul-touching harmony;
Bold they were and full and free,
Not like mortal minstrelsy,
For they went further than the sense,
And thrilled the heart and soul, with a passion most intense:
Purging the very thoughts from base desire,
And wrapping feeling up in latent fire.
They were burning sounds I ween,—
Not a human being stirred,
Such a harp was never seen,
Such like sounds were never heard.
And never will so wild a strain,
Break on mortal ear again.

XX.

Otlauga with a burning breast
Betrayed her strong emotion;
Her soul was by strange cares opprest,
Her eye beamed fire in sad unrest,
Yet past all sign of motion.
She felt those sounds but she heeded them not,
All sense, and feeling were forgot
In one o'erwhelming interest,
One strange involved commotion.
'Twas fixed, intense attention that thus made
The maiden hold her very vital breath,
'Twas fixed attention that thus made
Her hang her head, and droop and fade,
Like the bloodless form of death.—
And while the sounding harpstrings rung
He pitched his thrilling voice, and thus the wanderer sung.

I. PART I.—The Journey.

II. PART II.—The Shipwreck.

CANTO IV. The Tomb of Orvar.

I.

The aged man had paused, and gazing round
Marked the deep interest of the lady fair;
How without any motion, sight, or sound,
Her eyes seemed fixed upon the steady glare
Of that bright lamp, that hung depending there.
He saw the cold sweat trickling all along
Beneath the curtain of her golden hair;—
And smiling faintly on the anxious throng
He struck his harp again, and thus renewed his song.

III. PART III.

II.

Long time the Sea-King tranced lay,
Till starting up as from a rapturous dream,
“And she, alas! hath fled,”
Ragnar bewildered said;
“And with that strange unearthly scream,
Swift as the sun's departing beam
Hath vanished away.”
And, as he spake he gazed around,
And on his wondering sight,
Burst a bright flood of light;
And on his ear there broke a tide of mingled sound.

III

Then through his doubting soul,
Strange thoughts, and speculations roll,
When glancing back on his past history;
And to his inward eye
Appear again the raging sea,
The ship, the men, their destiny,
That man of wonder, and the threatening sky.
And then the Maël-Strom and his passage down;
The dreadful waters whirling high;
Their fearful frown;
And his own gradual stupor; and the cry
That roused him from it;—to his inward sense
Were vividly revealed, as with a light intense.

IV.

“And am I then a spirit?” Ragnar said,
“And did I hear that oft repeated cry?
Thrice happy thus, if numbered with the dead,
I may behold, with an unclouded eye,
That beauteous spirit ever hovering nigh.”
Farewell ye smiling scenes; thou pictured earth;
My faithful warriors; region of my birth;—
All, all that once was dear I could forego,
If to be near her were my happy lot:
Come pain, or pleasure, happiness or woe,
Her presence is my bliss,—it matters not.”
He said, and gazing once again around,
There burst again upon his dazzled sight,
That glorious, and transcendent light,
And once again his ear drank in that liquid sound.

V.

Never before had human vision seen
Such bright unmingled splendour, as the scene
Which Ragnar gazed upon presented to his view.
Not like your paltry palaces of wood
That glorious fabric stood;—
Far, far above him there was reared
A lofty ceiling, that appeared
A roof of silver, glittering, bright, and sheen;
Reflecting beams of light,
Upon the wondering sight,
In such continued and resplendent streams,
That the fair queen of night,
And sun more glorious, and more bright,
Would in that fabric hide their darkened beams,
Lost in transcendent light.

VI.

From blazing basements all of burnished gold,
Thin spiral shafts of inwrought gems arise:
What rich devices rare and old
Break on the Sea-King's feeble eyes!
The wond'rous capitals defy his gaze,
And pour a stream of ever varying rays.
The bright entablature, the cornice gay,
Bask in the beams of one eternal day.
The erubescent garnet, there is seen,
The azure sapphire, and the jasper green;
The yellow topaz, with its golden glare,
And purple amethyst, all beaming there.
But from the lucent roof, the pendant lights
Diffused a radiance glorious to behold;
Revealing strange unwonted sights
Which never could be told.—
Those lights, no earthly power could raise;
No earthly power could quench their blaze!

VII.

“Where am I then?” at last the Sea-King said,
“And if the boiling waters with their gloom
Ushered me from the living to the dead,—
This is my tomb!
Where then if it be even so
Are all death's terrors, and the land of woe?
Perchance this is Valhallah? and yet here
No feasting heroes, no bright arms appear.—
Ye Gods where am I? hath my spirit fled,
Or am I yet unnumbered with the dead?”
He spoke; and shortly all around
Seemed animate with music; and a sound
As of ten thousand choral voices chaunting near
Broke on his listening ear;
Anon, the ambient air
Throbb'd with a thrill of music, while he grew
Faint with excess of rapture; and his view
Presented to his mind a thousand figures fair,
That seemed to flit before his dazzled eye,
Chaunting this song, to their sweet melody.

THE SONG.

XII.

Just as this song died on the listening ear,
There came a mighty rushing sound
Drawing nearer and more near;
Until at last the golden gates
Of that fair submarine palace open stood;
And then that bright and gorgeous light
Became extinguished; and the deepest night
Wrapt all the hall around.
Ragnar started to his feet
Prepared his coming fate to meet,
When on his wondering sight
Burst the red and glaring light:—
And he beheld the roaring sea
Flinging at him its foaming spray,
And dashing round the gates impatiently,
Like a fierce monster gloating o'er its prey.

XIII.

And while that red and boding light advanced,
And on the angry waters glanced,
The doors self-moving closed again,—
For ever shutting out the raging main.
And as the light approached, Ragnar beheld
The aged wanderer of the watery plain;
And he might view
That old man's features, sickly blue,
And of a pale and deathly hue,
When the red glare
Of that mysterious lamp fell on them. And his hair
Seemed like a stream of silver on the wind,
Curling, and floating far behind.

XIV.

At last before the fierce Sea-King he stood.
“Thrice welcome to these halls” he said;
“These halls that lay beneath the surging flood,
Are open to the living and the dead.
Living and dead, have both been here ere now,
Yet none so welcome, brave Sea-King, as thou!
But follow me,—mayhap that I can show
Thy feeble sense, what thou mayest wish to know.”

XV.

He led him on through many a gloomy vault,
Until at length they came
Where twice five thousand steps descended,
And polished marble was their frame:
Above, the flickering flame
Revealed the damp and dripping roof:
It was a reeking rock of darkest gloom,
Against the inroads of the sea scarce proof.
And as they downward wended,
It seemed that they descended
Into the bowels of a yawning tomb;
For damp and noxious steams came through the air,
And hung like halos round the lamp-light's lurid glare.

XVI.

For hours, the two pursued their downward way,
Threading the windings of this vault of night;
When on the startled sense there sprang a light
Issuing from the dreary vaults below,
Like scathing lightning, blue and bright
Upstarting from the world of woe.

XVII.

Now the last step they reach, and now they tread
The echoing pavement of the marble floor.
The Sea-King starts, oh sight of dread!
Oh sight of horror, and of woe!
A thousand skeletons of human dead
Stand in a ghastly row:
Each side as far as eye can reach they stand,
The red torch glaring in their fleshless hand!
“What meaneth this?” the Sea-King cried,
“O heed them not” the old man said,
“These harmless stand on either side,
And wait upon the mighty dead.
Between these lifeless ranks we go
To reach the vaults that lie below.”

XVIII.

And so they passed between those ghastly ranks;
It was a hideous sight
To see the red and glaring light
Dancing upon their naked bones,
All bleached, and bare, and bright!
But still they onward pass'd
Towards the vaults beneath;
And suddenly, there came a cold and chilling blast,
Which met them like the noxious breath,
Sent from the humid lungs of death,
To poison those on whom it may be cast.
On,—on,—and ever on they go,—
Until at last
The farthest of the skeletons is past,
And they descend into the vaults below.

XIX.

The glaring light was but a spark
In that vast chamber, that tremendous tomb;
The space just round it was illumed,
But all beside was dark,
A vast, a limitless expanse of gloom.
Above, could nought be seen, but a thick air
Hung like a funeral mantle there;
And all around
Was inessential night,
A weary void unto the sight
A dreary dark profound.
Still on they went, until at last
They came unto a door, well barred and fast.

XX.

The old man drew the bolt,—a lofty dome
Brighter than jasper, blazed upon the dazzled sight.
The vaulted arches rang
To Ragnar's martial clang:—
And from the roof there hung a silver light,
That shed soft beams
In silent streams
For ever burning bright.
But the place was chill and cold, and the busy air
Swept through the vault with a doleful sound;
And ever, as he wondering gazed around,
Ragnar beheld the steady glare
Of the lamp, reflected in the shining niches there.

XXI.

It was a wondrous place I ween;
And the roof, and floor, and walls, were sparkling sheen.
Not brighter blaze the fields
Of those renowned and golden shields
That hang in Asgard's ever glistening halls,
Than, burst upon the sight
With a clear crystalline light
Those icy, lucent, and transparent walls.

XXII.

“What meaneth this?” the hero said,
“I can behold with an unflinching eye
That fearful land, of horror and of dread,
The darksome regions of the ignoble dead,
Where spirits mean, in Hela's palace lie.
And aye uncurtained
Are things of deep and dreadful mystery,
And aye the scroll of destiny
Is by mine eye,—by far too daring, read.”

XXIII.

The old man spake;—“these walls through which are seen
The dreary regions of the poor and mean,
Are formed of purest crystal, by no power
That may exist but for an hour!
Look round thee Ragnar,—say is not thy breath
Tainted with charnel airs, and damps of death?
Where now thou art, this blazing room
Is now,—nay rather was,—the wizard Orvar's tomb.”

XXIV.

“Two hundred years ensepulchred he lay,
Yet was his body free from all decay.
Two hundred years were past,—and he arose
From his deep slumber, and his long repose;
For his spirit had fled
From the house of the dead,
Despite of threats, despite of pains,
Despite of Hela's threefold chains.
For that wondrous wizard knew right well,
A direful and tremendous spell,
Which, were he but to name,
The vap'rous halls of Niflheim fell,
And all in heaven, or earth, or hell
Would be consumed in flame.
He told them this, and they let him go
From that silent land of weary woe.”

XXV.

“His spirit swifter in its flight
Than a beam shot through the depth of night,
Rejoined the body sleeping in this tomb;
Life thus infused,—upon his sight
Burst the clear translucent light
That, quenchless, blazed within this room.
Proudly he gazed around;—
And through the dark profound
Ascended to his ancient halls:—
No foot had in his absence dared to tread
The mansion of the mighty dead;
But, dome, and column, arch and walls,
Were just as when his spirit fled!”

XXVI.

“He yielded up his vital breath,
And trod the path of woe,
And sought the dreary realms of death,—
The dreary realms below,—
That he might add fresh knowledge to his store;
That he might search and know,
The secrets of that hidden shore;
And well, right well were all his toils repaid,
He pondered well those mysteries o'er and o'er
While in the land of shade.”

XXVII.

“He wandered here, he wandered there,
And aye he wandered everywhere;
He sought the ever-blest abodes
Of mighty heroes, and of Gods.”

XXVIII.

“Asgard, Vingolf, and Valhalla,
Each bright inviting, happy bower,
With all the dreary cells below
Were open to his searching eye,
That read their every mystery;
When from the world of woe
Th' obedient Demons let him go,
For aye they knew his might, they feared the wizard's power.

XXIX.

“He knew too of thy coming here,
He sees the fate that hangeth o'er thee;
He gives thee now a welcome cheer,—
For Orvar stands before thee.”
The Sea-King started, “art thou he?”
In troublous accents then he said,
“Who triumphed o'er mortality,
Obeyed by powers of air, and sea,
The living and the dead?”
He straightway answered “I am he.”
“But not for this I brought thee here,
Look round thee Ragnar far and near,—
For now the veil is rent, and thou mayest see
Th' uncurtained picture of futurity!”

CANTO V. The Mysteries.

IV. PART IV. THE LEGEND OF RAGNAR CONTINUED.

I.

Ragnar looked round him, and beheld
(Strange sights!) the wondrous scenes of eld.
He saw the two eternal elements,
The vap'rous Niflheim, and the Muspiel fire,
And that strange drop, the primal cause of things,
That wondrous fount, whence life forever springs;
That had its being ere the Gods had birth,
Ere sun or moon was formed, or heaven or earth.—
He saw the ancient Ymer from whom sprang
The Giants of the Frost;
Ædumla too, whose offspring Bore, became
The father of the Gods, whose ancient name
Will never more be lost.—
He saw the world created, and the seas,
And other things which time has rendered mysteries.

II.

All these he saw and many more,
And then his anxious eye
Scanned the dark things of destiny,
And viewed them o'er and o'er.
Presented to his gaze was every clime
Through the thin curtain faint and blue,
The rise and fall of nations he might view
That had outlived their prime.
There tottering states, there empires new,
Came in procession strange, but true,
And last of all the end of time.

III.

That was a scene of devastation dire.
Snow mantles with its dazzling robe,
The east, the west, the universal globe;
And from the land of fire
Issue the sons of Muspeil.
See how the mighty ocean swells,
And in his ship fierce Hrymer proud,
Whose towering head can pierce the cloud,
Against the holy Gods rebels.—
Man slaughters man, and brothers brethren slay,
Sons kill their sires, by fathers children fall,
Thousands, on thousands press the downward way
And one destruction sinks, one ruin whelms them all.

IV.

The ash Ygdrasil trembles, and the Gods
Make ready for the contest; the alarms
Have reached the holiest abodes,
And Odin buckles on his arms:
Thor grasps his mace, and now on either hand
The holy deities determined stand.
Strong whirlwinds sweep the earth, and from their base
Huge mountains are uptorn; the quaking world
Like a mad drunkard reels;
While lowering heaven like a scroll unfurled
Black with dark destiny, in ruin hurled,
Strange signs, and wondrous sights reveals.

V.

The moon is swallowed up in night;
The sun is blotted from the face of heaven;
And swift as arrows in their flight,
Leaving a glittering trail of light,—
The half extinguished stars fall down.
The ocean tumbles on the trembling land;
And Midgard, that fell serpent, he
Who scatters pestilence and death,
And poisons with his noxious breath
The earth, the heavens, the sea,
Now drags his giant form along.—
The seas pervade the earth,
And the dire vessel floats.

VI.

Fenris is loosed from the fetters that bound him,
Hate gleams in his eye, and terror is round him;
Lo! his mighty jaws expand,
And now unfold on high;
One rests upon the solid land,
And one upon the sky.
See darkling in ire,
From the region of fire,
The demons of Muspeil rush forth;—
The dreaded Surtur leads them on,
His flaming brand
Gleams in his hand,
And radiates the south and north.
The bridge of heaven is broken in their course,
So vast their numbers, and so great their force.

VII.

At length they linger on the fated plain;
And from afar
The hosts of war
Following the Prince of Evil they survey.
Loke leads them on apace,
And Hrymer follows near;
Midgard, and Fenris join them on the way.
And now the hellish host unite,
To slay the Gods these fiends aspire;
Loke with the sons of night,
And Surtur with the sons of fire.
And now th' united band
Fierce and expectant stand,
And hope to view the Gods appear,
Yet hoping, feel a pang, a thrill of bitter fear.

VIII.

Meanwhile Heimdallar sounds his horn,
And, echoing with the sound,
Those halls that glitter like the morn,
Reverberate around.
The Gods and summon'd heroes stand,
A brave intrepid and undaunted band,
Till Odin gives the word; then on they move
To try their courage, and their strength to prove.
On, on they headlong rush to prove their might,
They meet the sons of fire, they charge the sons of night.

IX.

Odin with his helm of gold
Moves against the mighty Fenris;
Surtur with his sword of flame
Smites down Frey; alas! too bold,
He, who Bela slew of old
Lies now on the battle plain,
By the mightier Surtur slain.—
See Thor and Midgard meet,—
That monster that had wrapped the earth
Within his mighty folds,
As though it was an hazel nut,
A thing to play with, and of puny birth,
Now bows to power superior to his own;
And pressed by that strong iron hand
That scatters thunders o'er the land,
Life issues with a groan.

X.

But yet the poison of his heated breath
Drank up the soul of Thor; and night
Came swimming o'er the orbs of sight,
That closed themselves in death!
Odin now wages ineffectual war
With Fenris, the fierce wolf.
Alas! the hour is come,—the hour of death;
Fall'n and o'erpowered by hellish might,
His soul is quenched in deepest night,
And Odin yields his life, out-issuing with his breath.
The Demon Dog, that chained to Gniper's cave,
Howled like a shrieking spectre o'er a grave,—
The fierce dog Garmer, gnaws the plain,
By Tyr's superior strength subdued;
But he too falls, one sanguine stain
Proves the dread issue of their feud.

XI.

Fierce Vidar, Odin's wondrous son,
Now seizes with tremendous power
The blood insatiate Fenris.
Vidar, than whom no stronger treads the field,
Grasps with terrific might the monster's jaws.
The strife was fearful, but a cloud
Wrapped them in its humid shroud
And veiled them in from sight;
Yet one tremendous groan,
Told that the work was done;
That Fenris was o'erthrown,
Subdued by Odin's son.
And when the cloud had pass'd away,
And given the contest to the light of day,
The fallen Fenris met the sight;
His jaws were rent asunder,
And wrapped in flame, and clothed in thunder,
The unclean spirit fled, to seek the realms of night.

XII.

See Loke, and Heimdal, with ungoverned hate,
Give wound for wound, and work the will of fate.
Both strive in vain, to gain the equal strife,
Groan answers groan, and life is given for life.
Prone on the plain the two together lay,
And now forever seal, their eyes unto the day.
They mingle blood with blood,
And with a single start
Their life comes rushing through their wounds,—
Their lingering souls depart!
Darkness mantles all around,
And silence reigns without a sound.

XIII.

Then Surtur grimly smiled upon the scene;—
The strife was ended,
The struggle was o'er,
Gods' with demons' blood had blended
Where it should boil with life no more!
Darkly he turned around,
And called upon his native element;—
Straight at the sound,
The ignited heavens curl in flame,
The thirsty fire laps up the swollen sea
And drains the ocean dry!
The mountains crackle, and the world takes fire,
Thick smoke ascends, the greedy flames aspire.
Flame comes from the east, flame comes from the west,
Flame comes from the north, flame comes from the south,
In flame is all creation drest,
Hell greedy opens wide its mouth.
The hot earth rushes o'er the fields of space
A blazing ball, a lurid mass of flame.

XIV.

Ragnar turned away his sight,
Yet when he closed his eyes,
He viewed the ardent flame of light,
And saw the blazing skies.
The glittering element with power intense,
Shone through the folds, that veiled the orb of sense:
Yet when he turned once more his gaze
Upon the vision dire,
And thought to view the spreading blaze
And see the world on fire,—
How was he astonished! an emerald isle
Bright as its rival gem,
In a kingly diadem,
Answered the sunbeam's glorious smile;
And a swelling and ebbing sea was there,
And mingling sound in which was a calm,
And fragrance from blossom buds, blushing and fair,
Tempered the current of odorous air,
Till it rushed on the spirit, a full tide of balm.

XV.

Here he saw a palace stand,
Far brighter than the sun;
Covered with the purest gold
That blazed in many a glorious sold
In Gimli's happy land.
The Gods and ancient heroes meet;—
This is the seat, the very fount of bliss.
The virtuous here shall dwell,
And bathe their souls in joy;
And, robed in immortality,
Forever sing
The praise of Thor and Odin;
They shall be
From painful apprehension free,
And joy to all eternity
Shall clothe them like a robe.
And ever they
Through one eternal day
Shall drink fresh pleasure in;—
This is the seat, the very fount of bliss.

XVI.

He saw a dreadful hall
Wrapped in the robe of night,
Woe! Woe!
To all who go
Within its ebon wall!
Dark streams of searching poison flow
Around, within, throughout this fatal hall.
And here is torture for the soul,
And for the body pain.—
Woe! woe! to all eternity.
This is the seat, the very fount of woe:—
The senses here are inlets, not of joy,
But channels through which ceaseless flow
Torture and misery to the deluged soul.—
Here dwell all evil doers, and here dwell
The direful demons, and the sons of hell.
And here alas! must be their stay,
A long, long night without a day,—
The long night of eternity.

XVII.

This hall stands in Nastrondum;—
Through its windows flow
Torrents of bitter poison.
Tossing to and fro,
The accursed ever go,
Drinking in fresh woe
To that accumulated store,
Which, like a serpent, gnaws their vitals.
Terror without, and pain within,
Grief and torture evermore,—
Thus ends a life of sin!
But surely they shall know
Some respite from their pain?
Hope has not left them quite,—
Day ever follows night
So joy shall follow woe?
But hark! th' eternal fiat
Responds in thunder—“No!
Joy shall not follow woe;
And they shall respite know
Never! never! never!
But woe shall follow woe
Forever! and forever!”
This is indeed the seat, the very fount of woe.

XVIII.

Then Ragnar turned away,—this dreadful sight
Was more than he could bear:
And something like the mists of night
Gathered about his brow; and he might view
(Through the vapour thin and blue,)
An ever restless sea:
And in this sea an isle,
Fair Britain's lonely isle:—
And on its rocks he saw a huge ship stranded,
The crew meanwhile,
Upon the shore had landed.
And oh! what folly! sought with hostile arms
To tempt their fate, by spreading war's alarms.
Then came the scene of strife,
While terror spread around
Blood crimsoned all the ground,—
A sea of wasted life.—
But soon the strife was o'er,
How could that little band,
Against such numbers stand,
As lined the hostile shore?
Drowned in their blood, they darken all the plain,
Cut off from life, like bearded shocks of grain.

XIX.

The warriors of that lovely land
Are from the scene of warfare gone,
And of that brave invading band
One man is left,—and only one!
They lead him on to bear the storm
Of their dire vengeance, all alone;
And Ragnar in that bleeding form,
Beholds no stranger's,—'tis his own!
He turned a keen enquiring eye
Upon that aged man
Who still beside him stood;
Yet nought was said, till with a sigh
Orvar the old began;—
“Yes thou art right, yon is thy bleeding form,
And those who wallow in their blood,
Thy poor, misguided band.
Ragnar hear the voice of warning,
Hear, and be not madly bold,—
Shun that strong, that dangerous land,
Few that harm her ever prosper;
Hear my counsel, profit by it,
Hear me Ragnar,—I am old!—

XX.

“Perchance thy soul is satisfied
With what thou now hast seen,
If so let us depart.”
Then Ragnar thoughtful sought the entrance door,
But with a wondering start,
He saw nought but the crystal floor,
And eke the walls where the door had been.
And when he touched them they were cold,
And they shone bright, and sparkled sheen
Upon his aching eye;
But place of egress could be seen,
Here, nor there, nor anywhere
Right wonderly I ween!
“And so old man thou mockest me,”
The furious Sea-King said;—
“But if I lose my liberty
Thou too shalt lose thy head.”—
Nought said the aged man,
But from his cold grey eye
A wond'rous beam, was seen to gleam,
And suddenly to start;
And fire shot through the Sea-King's brain,
And ice shot through his heart.

XXI.

“Restrain thy rage,” at length the old man said,
“O'er me thou hast no power;
But if thou hadst, and I had bled,
Mayhap had come the hour
When thou hadst known contrition; and felt shame
To blot thy yet-untarnished name
For smiting an old man!
One passage leads down to these vaults,
And one leads up above,
Yet are they not the same:
But if thou wouldst thy courage prove,
And win the maid thou feign'st to love
As well as deathless fame,
Then, Sea-King, follow me!

XXII.

“I know the maiden that in dreams
Appears to thee so fair;
Than Nossa's form more beautiful,
And lighter than the air.
And aye she knew me once right well,
And oft upon my knee
She watched the framing of the spell,
To guard her infancy.
Her mother is in realms above,
Her father too is there,
Yet oft in tenderness and love
They eased me of my care;
And, hovering round their lovely child,
Sighed when she sighed, smiled when she smiled.
These days are gone, for in playful glee,
She took my magic harp, and sailed across the sea.

XXIII.

“My harp returned to me again,
But its burthen was not there;
And many an art I tried in vain
To find that maiden fair;
Until I framed a potent spell
And drew her tender soul away;
I questioned it,—it answered well
And told me where her body lay.
And then her spirit fled again,
A life inspiring beam,
And joined the body, free from pain;—
She thought it was a dream.

XXIV.

“And as upon thy visions
There breaks a maiden fair;
So that fair maiden sees thy form
As light as fluid air.
And, Ragnar, if thou lov'st that maid,
The cause of all thy pain,
I tell thee that Otlauga fair
Returns thy love again.
Let this suffice thee now, if thou canst prove
That thou art worthy of the maiden's love
Right soon she shall be thine;
For I may give that maid away;
I am the father of her line,
And I am her's and she is mine
Until her bridal day.
If thou wouldst view the world above
That lies beyond the sea;
And gain thy life and liberty,
And join the ranks of love,—
Then, Sea-King, follow me!”

XXV.

Then Ragnar with a faltering voice replied,
“Forgive me wond'rous man,
If aught in anger I have said
Thy bosom to offend,
For curses light upon the head
Of him who wounds his friend.
Such thou hast been to me,
And yet I knew it not;
But pardon my infirmity
And let it be forgot.
I love thee thou old man!
May blessings light upon thy head,
Thy head of silvery hair;
For by thy strong assurance now I know
I love no child of air,
Nor one of Elfin birth;
But a maiden bright and fair,
A lovely child of earth.

XXVI.

“Oh! surely this is bliss to know,
Yet thou hast told me more;
Hast deigned the maiden's name to show,
That sent to my heart a thrilling glow,
That shall burn there evermore!
And thou hast told me more than this,
And if the other moves me
This overpowers me; bliss! oh bliss!
That lovely maiden loves me.

XXVII.

“O thou old man, whom my suspicions branded with my shame,
Forgive me; and if gifts or aught
Can buy thy friendship, it is bought
At any cost, save that of fame—
Nay frown not,—gifts thou dost despise,
And what to feeble mortals' eyes
Is gain, to thine is loss?
Thou countest all beneath the skies
As worthless, and as dross?
'Tis even so, and yet I knew it not,
Thou art a wond'rous man!
Yet with such love as children show
To that kind parent whom they know,—
Henceforth, in happiness or woe,
In earth above, or here below,
I love thee thou old man!”

XXVIII.

Old Orvar was affected,—and his eye
Emitted wond'rous beams;
As though a tender soul
Dwelt in a cold exterior; and a sigh
Or something like it, from his bosom came;
And round his changing eye
That sparkled like a ball of flame,
A mist seemed gathering, and a drop fell down,
A scalding drop, as though it was a tear.

XXIX.

This quickly passed away; and then he said
“Thy love, thy gratitude, may all be vain,
For on thy raptured eye,
The azure arching sky,
May never break again.
There is but one, one only way,
Between this vault, and upper day,
And that is full of danger;—
Many have entered in these vaults,
But none e'er issued out!
And didst thou not behold that ghastly band,
Who, fixed forever, naked stand
The red torch glaring in their hand?
And these are they;
Who, issuing from these gloomy vaults,
Have perished on the way.
'Twas fear that ruined them, and it was fear
That tore the living flesh from off their bones,
And placed them where they stand.
I tell thee now what thou knewest not before,
Their dreadful suffering ended not with death,
Well had it been for them if it were so;—
But ah! their last, their quivering vital breath
Was but a prelude of their future woe!
And know'st thou what it is that in their hand
Blazes an ever flaming brand?
Thou canst not tell,—it is their deathless soul!

XXX.

“Nay frown thou not on me;—
Vainly I would prevent,
As vainly I lament,
Their direful misery.
For mortal fear was that strong power,
Which robbed them of their peace;
And human fortitude alone,
Can bring them their release.
A dreadful monster lurks below,
Whose terrors caused their lasting woe:
And vain is magic power,
Against that monster fell;—
Had he been open to a spell,
He, long ere this good hour,
Had howled a tortured fiend in hell.”

XXXI.

“Our way lays through the cavern drear,
Where this fell monster lies,
Th' unwary to surprise!
And damnify with fear.
Oh! Ragnar, have a care!
Let not his fierce, his angry gaze,
Work fear within thy soul;
For, if it should be so,
Oh! then tremendous woe
Will, Sea-King, rest on thee;—
Thine arm a torch, thy soul a blaze
To all eternity!
Remember much depends,
Upon thy fortitude;
If thou canst put to flight,
This baneful son of night,
Thou gainest life, thou gainest friends,
And every earthly good.”

XXXII.

“And oh! remember, that to thee,
A thousand tortured spirits look;
And hope their liberty to gain,
And be set free from scorching pain.
Be bold, be brave, but be not rash;—
For if thou gains't the coming strife
Then all is gained, and thou hast life,
And those tormented souls are free
From torture, and from misery:
But if thy soul give place to fear,
The strife is lost, and all are lost,—
Those tortured souls and thee.
And thou art doomed to stand,
With yonder ghastly band;
And ever share, their deep despair,
Their endless misery.
The blazing torch will glow and glare
Within thy fleshless hand;
With a quenchless light the torch will flare,
But thy soul will be the brand.
Ragnar beware, beware, again I say beware!”

XXXIII.

Thus having said, the old man turned his eye
(Oh! wondrous orb of sense!)
Upon the tablets of the Sea-King's soul.
He looked, and looked again,
But he read there
Nought like fear, nought like despair;
But stern undaunted confidence,
Unmixed with aught of care.
“My soul delights in danger” Ragnar said,
“Point out the hidden way.”
Then Orvar ope'd an arched door,
And having bowed his head
He left the shining vaults;—
For there the passage lay.

XXXIV.

But as he went, he cried
“Take down that sword and shield
That hang against the wall,
For they have oft been tried;—
All that they need is strength to wield,
And fortitude to guide.”
“Then they shall have all that they crave,
Or I ne'er danced upon the wave,”
The brave Sea-King replied.—
He took the sword and shield, and leapt to Orvar's side.

XXXV.

The way was narrow, and the lamp burnt dim,
As down the gloomy vault the couple wended;
Broader and broader, now the passage grew,
As farther they descended.
Until a hissing on the shocked ear breaks
As though proceeding from a hundred snakes.
Louder and louder still it grew,
Until the vault in strange accordance shakes,
And on the astonished view
The wondrous cavern breaks.

XXXVI.

It was a gloomy vault, no human eye
Might scan its vast dimensions; and on high
And on the right, and left, and here, and there,
Was universal darkness; save the glare,
The faint and feeble glare that issued from the lamp.
The cave that hitherto was cold and damp,
Became illumined with a sudden fire,
And then a hot and parching air
Drank up the moisture; a sulphureous flare
Seemed towards the cavern's summit to aspire,
And gave a ghastly light, and scorched the Sea-King's hair.

XXXVII.

And by the help of this strange light,
Ragnar beheld the monster whence it came;
Its dragon wings were black as ebon night,—
Its eyes the sources of this ghastly flame.
A dozen serpent heads, came sailing on the air,
Some floating here, some floating there;
And, ere the undaunted Sea-King was aware,
They were erected round him; void of care
He saw one larger than the rest
Starting, advance its scaly crest,
And fix on him a hideous stare.—
He knew not that each glaring eye
Had robbed a thousand men of breath,
Had doomed a thousand souls to die
A ceaseless, sentient, burning death.
Nor knew he from those balls that roll,
Two fiends gazed at him; and did wait
To make him share their dreadful fate,
And pour their torture on his soul!

XXXVIII.

He knew it not, yet it was even so.
They tried his heart, but his heart was stone,—
They could not find one fear of woe
To let their deadly purpose in;
And so they were forced to leave alone
That heart that knew not fear nor sin.—
Then wonder came on those demons dire,
But wonder soon gave place to fear;—
For Ragnar clove that head in twain,
Then what with the fire that raged within,
And what with anguish, fear and pain
That followed their foiled attempt to sin;—
That hideous monster black and fell
Uttered a ghastly groan,
That reached the deepest vault of hell,
And shook its firmest stone.
The monster's wings are spread
To reach the land of woe,
“Haste, haste, thou craven haste to go
And nestle with the dead.”
The monster clapped its wings, its dragon wings and fled.

XXXIX.

A moment, all was silence;—then a sound,
A mighty, fluttering sound broke on the ear;
And through the dark profound
A thousand souls drew near.
On rapid wings they urged their devious way,
From realms of endless night, to realms of ceaseless day.
And as they sped from pain set free
They sang;—while long vibrations roll
There rushed upon the raptured soul
A flood of sweetest song,—a tide of melody.

THE SONG.

XLIV.

XLV.

Then he who from his country was expelled,
In silent rapture followed the old man;
And oh! if human eye had power to scan
The pictures of the soul, it had beheld
A sainted image in the Sea-King's mind;
A lovely vision, kept and treasured there,
That, like a diamond shed a chastened glare,
Throughout the casket where it was enshrined.
It was thy lovely form, Otlauga fair,
That, like the struggling beams of rising day,
Tinged with a golden glow the dusky air,—
And from his gloomy soul, chased all the night away.

XLVI.

And still the two pursued their downward course,
Yet Ragnar heeded not the wondrous way,
Till starting, when the wind with boisterous force
Rushed up the cavern where their passage lay,—
He gazed around;—and on his wondering sight
Burst wild confusion; combinations new;
And like old chaos and eternal night,
Ere elements were joined, or parts their province knew.
He stood now on the fearful brink
Of a vast rock, that crunched beneath his feet;
Should it give way, I ween that he would sink
Till time should be no more, and soul and body meet.

XLVII.

Upward he turned his eye; then gazing down
He saw nought but a wondrous element;
It was not air, but air and water blent;
And when the light stole through it seemed a dusky brown.
Around were huge and wondrous masses thrown,
Which were eternal, or of unknown birth;
These seemed the world's materials whence had grown
The milder forms of the exterior earth.
Now on the rocky ridge old Orvar stood,
And waved a wand athwart the airy flood;
When up the dread abyss a shallop flew,
Slight was its texture, and an ethery hue
Its feeble colour; Orvar with his wand
Smote the Sea-King; then motioning with his hand,
He bade him enter in and prostrate lay;—
And as thin phantoms light, they then pursued their way.

XLVIII.

Up, up the wond'rous void they now aspire,
Swifter than the flashing fire
Across the arch of heaven;
Up, up they mount, still higher, and higher,
Swifter than the whistling wind,
When the world is left behind,
And the clouds are riven:
All is motion, motion, motion,
One fierce continuous rush; and ne'er before
Was Ragnar stunned with such a roar,—
No, not when on the stormy ocean;
As with the rapid speed of thought, they went
Right through the strong, resisting element.

XLIX.

Up, up with a roar, and a tear,
Through the infinite abyss they flew;
With a whiz through the thick humid air,
Went the shallop of ethery hue.
The motion now subsiding, grew more slow,
Now gently on the element they ride;
As though a power from the abyss below,
Upheld and urged them, on a placid tide.
Then Ragnar started up; and to his gaze,
Two brazen gates were given; that seemed to hide
Themselves in their own magnitude; their blaze
Was such as human eye could scarce abide.—
Against these wondrous gates, the labouring tide
Waged an incessant war; wave following wave,
As though a hundred giants strove with pain
To break the eternal barrier, but in vain.

L.

“These gates thou erst hast pass'd”
Old Orvar cried;
“But let thine eye be cast
On every side.
What see'st thou now?”
Not veiling his surprise,
Ragnar beheld a wondrous palace rise,
Stupendous as the fabric of the skies.
Its swelling towers, and spiral spires were lost
In their own loftiness; from east to west
This palace stretched, in one continuous line;
Its glittering front, with glowing gold embost,
Enroofed with silver, and in glory drest,
Its grand aspiring towers, with gems and crystal shine.
Upon no pillars was it placed;
Foundations? none were there,
But like the pendent earth it hung
In the unyielding air.

LI.

Then Orvar leapt upon th' apparent land;
And, stretching out his helping hand,
He bade the Sea-King do the same.
Scarce had he left the fragile boat,
That on an ocean seemed to float,
When down the deep it shot, to darkness, whence it came,
Then Orvar with a look of majesty,
Thrice waved his wand athwart the airy sea,
When in a moment all was motion:
From east to west as far as eye might see,
The curling mist assumed a thousand forms,
Forms faint, and fragile, beautiful, and fair.
Spontaneous music shortly 'gan to rise,
As though proceeding from th' impassioned air,
Or stolen from the skies.
Orvar surveyed th' enraptured king with eyes
Laughing in latent joy; and cried “arise
And quickly follow me, those maids the feast prepare.”

LII.

Then Ragnar trod again th' enchanted hall
Where he before had roused him from his trance;
Here heavenly voices on each other call,
And forms half seen, half hid, before his vision dance.
And these are they, who at the banquet wait,
And thrill with music all the neighbouring air;
While as they sing, upon the soul, a state
Of bliss steals, like a dream, when joy is present there.
All is enchantment, music, feast, and hall,
Those flitting forms;—all is enchantment;—all!

LIII.

Soon were the wants of nature well supplied,
And sleep came o'er him like a cooling tide
Upon a feverish frame; absorbed he lay
And dreamed dreams, as most men do beside.
Sweet were his slumbers, till his soul began
The arduous toil of the preceding day;
Again in dreams his whirling course he ran,
And toiled and struggled in his upward way.
His labouring soul, forced out from every pore,
The painful sweat; and now that ceaseless roar
Seemed dinning in his ears, as on the day before,
Stunning alike each avenue of sense;
But see the change! his painful toil is o'er,
And what a smile of winning eloquence
Rests on his features now. 'Tis as a scene
Grand in itself, but by thick clouds obscured,
And curtained o'er by night; where nought is seen
Of grandeur or of beauty, till the sun
Rides forth in majesty; and with his beams
Converging in their strength, pours forth in streams
A glorious tide, a flood of golden light,
Dispelling darkness, and the mists of night,
And chasing every cloud, and blot, away;
Giving each beauty to the light of day.

LIV.

'Tis she he loves, who visits him in dreams;
His good, his blessed genius that appears
As if to check the current of those streams,
Of turbulential passion, or of fears,
That rush throughout his soul; and it would seem
Th' approach of that fair vision was not new,
For, oft when dreaming the appearance true,
He trembling had awoke, and sighed “it was a dream.”

LV.

But see! although the vision leaves him now,
A smile plays o'er his features; and his brow
Is placid and serene; for hope is there,
Low nestling in his breast; and consciousness
Dreamy although it be in sleep, can bless
The ever active soul, and draw the sting of care.
Oh! he is happy now, a still sweet voice
In whispering accents, bids his heart rejoice,
“Because he loves no child of air,
Nor one of Elfin birth;
But a maiden bright and fair,
A lovely child of earth.”

LVI.

Long in the arms of sleep the Sea-King lay,
Until a chill came over every part;
Yea through his very soul it seemed to stray,
And, like an ice drop, nestle in his heart.
A potent power it was, a wondrous feeling,
That searched his actions, and mixed with each thought,
And through the soul's dark avenues wandered, stealing
Back to the motives, whence they all are brought.
Mad with the pain, upstarting from his sleep,
He saw old Orvar's calm, and cold grey eye
Fixed motionless upon him; as to keep
Strict watch and ward, and bid all danger fly.

LVII.

Pale were his features, but a tranquil smile,
Transient and brief, illumined them the while;
Like a pale, mellow beam of sickly light,
On a cold marble statue in the night.
For aye the hand of Death had rested there,
And left those marks which he must ever bear.
The eye that has been quenched in dayless night,
Must still be dim, or beam with borrowed light.
He that has ever trod the dreary way
Down to Death's empire, and has risen again,
Must, like a subject, own the monarch's sway,
And still acknowledge his tyrannic reign:—
And in his person, stamped by pain and care,
Bear like a coin, death's ghastly image there.

LVIII.

“Look up above thee Ragnar;” Orvar cried;
And as he spake, he wandered from his side.
Ragnar who long in agony had striven,
Upturned his gaze, and viewed the arch of heaven.
The night-winds gambled in his curling hair,
And joy seemed mingling with the balmy air.
He saw the placid moon enthroned on high,
And the pale stars gaze at him from the sky.
“And is this too enchantment?” Ragnar cried;
“Nay, nay not so, look thou on every side.—
There is a power in nature, I confess,
Surpassing all that art has ever tried,
A power to soothe, to sanctify, and bless.
That power is present here if e'er it be,
'Tis seen,—'tis felt,—upon this silent sea!”

LIX.

It was a scene where solace might be found;
The deep blue ocean slumbering all around,
Save where the chill, and ever playful wind
Skimming the surface with fantastic bound,
Awoke a sudden low, deep dreamy sound.—
And then the argent sky;—one soft serene
Of placitude and peace; the shimmering sheen
Of the pale moon, and silent host of stars,
All sent unto the soul a sense of joy,
Of peace and quietude without alloy,
For to the ear attuned, fair nature's harp ne'er jars.

LX.

“How came we here?” at length the Sea-King said;
Old Orvar answered not, but shook his head;
Then holding forth his aged withered hand,
“Now gaze thou forward, let thy vision roam;
Canst thou not see yon snowy tract of land,
Bathed in the moonlight, like a streak of foam?
That land is Norway:—thither is our way,
I promise thee thou shalt behold her soon;
Ere the bright sun shall quit the coming day,
Before another night has reached its noon.
That is the shore, and that the happy strand,
Where from a troublous sea, thou and thy hopes may land.”

LXI.

Here ended then the old man's lengthened song,
And round him still was grouped, that listening throng.
But she, whom it had interested most,
Seemed in a maze of recollections lost.
Nor knew she that the wondrous tale was done,
Till the old man prepared to haste away:
And pointing to the rising orient sun,
He cried “lo! yonder mounts the source of day;
And ere two daily rounds he shall have run,
The finish of my tale ye all shall know,
Joy often ends what sorrow has begun;
As past events, and coming time will show.”

LXII.

But when the wanderer reached the open door,
The maid recovering called on him to stay:
“Thou wondrous man, thy patience I implore,
Nor be so hasty now, to speed away.
Thou knowest not the interest I share
In this thy strange narration; for I bear
The name of her, the subject of thy lay,
And I have felt the magic of thy song,
Oh! had it lasted through the coming day,
I should have blamed thee not; nor thought the tale too long.
Little knew'st thou to whom thy tale was told,
Nor that I was the subject of thy strain;—”
Here paused she, for the wanderer's eye grew cold
As if tormented with some inward pain.
Yet was there wondrous majesty in that old man,
Though ghastlier grew his features, and more wan;
Till with a voice, deep as a funeral knell,
He bowed his head and said, “maiden I knew it well.”

CANTO VI. The Recognition.