Poems By William Bell Scott. Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, etc. Illustrated by Seventeen Etchings by the Author and L. Alma Tadema |
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THE INCANTATION OF HERVOR.
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231
THE INCANTATION OF HERVOR.
(1833.)
At moonrise, Hervor left her couch
Clad and tired and armed, the while
She ceased not muttering magic runes.
The sail was spread, the strenuous oar
Whitened the dark blue waters,
Still she muttered the magic runes;
In one night more they gained the strand,
And she ran forth to the battle-ground
Muttering still the magic runes.
Clad and tired and armed, the while
She ceased not muttering magic runes.
The sail was spread, the strenuous oar
Whitened the dark blue waters,
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In one night more they gained the strand,
And she ran forth to the battle-ground
Muttering still the magic runes.
‘Father Angantyr, wake, awake!
Thine only daughter, Suafa's child,
Doth charge thee to wake up again,
And give her the gold-hilted sword
Forged by the Dwarves for Suafarla!’
Her right fore-finger pointed like a spear
To the corse-kernel'd mound; no voice replied.
Thine only daughter, Suafa's child,
Doth charge thee to wake up again,
And give her the gold-hilted sword
Forged by the Dwarves for Suafarla!’
Her right fore-finger pointed like a spear
To the corse-kernel'd mound; no voice replied.
‘Ye of the iron shrouds, and shirts of brass,
Ye of the mast-like lance and glaive,
From beneath the stones I stir ye,
From beneath the roots of trees;
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She darkened her eyes with her long fair hands,
She listened and listened, no answer came.
Ye of the mast-like lance and glaive,
From beneath the stones I stir ye,
From beneath the roots of trees;
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She darkened her eyes with her long fair hands,
She listened and listened, no answer came.
‘Are the sons of Angrim wholly dust?
Are they who gloried in blood now ashes?
Ha, ha! can none of the strong dead speak?
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She thrust her arms abroad, with quivering tongue
She cursed, she cursed them in their rottenness.
Are they who gloried in blood now ashes?
Ha, ha! can none of the strong dead speak?
Hervordur, Hiorvardur!
Hrani, Angantyr! hear!’
She thrust her arms abroad, with quivering tongue
She cursed, she cursed them in their rottenness.
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‘Dust, ashes, worms! so may ye ever be,
Dust, ashes, worms! within your ribs
May the vermin lodge for ever!
It shall be so, unless ye hear me,
And yield up the charmèd sword!’
Here paused she again, and her eyes were seen
Burning out through the dark brown night.
Slowly a dreadful wailing rose;
A white light oozed from out the mould,
She seemed to stand i' the salt sea foam:
The turf was rent, and the black earth yawned.
ANGANTYR.Dust, ashes, worms! within your ribs
May the vermin lodge for ever!
It shall be so, unless ye hear me,
And yield up the charmèd sword!’
Here paused she again, and her eyes were seen
Burning out through the dark brown night.
Slowly a dreadful wailing rose;
A white light oozed from out the mould,
She seemed to stand i' the salt sea foam:
The turf was rent, and the black earth yawned.
O, daughter Hervor, raker among dead bones,
Speaker unto the sealed-up ears of Death,
Why call'st thou? wilt thou rush to hell?
Is sense departed and Odin's gift lost,
That thou art here thus desperately tongued?
Nor father, nor brother, nor friend,
Did cut the turf for me—
Two men escaped-and one still holds
Tirsing, the sword thou seekest,
Tirsing, the incurable wounder.
HERVOR.
Tell'st thou a lie! oh father, so may'st thou
For evermore within flame-chains be bound,
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If Tirsing be not given me!
ANGANTYR.
And if so, Hervor, hear!
The dead can prophesy, thy race
One by one by this sword shall bleed!
At one of thy sons, O Hervor!
Men shall point and cry, ‘Lo there!
The mother-murderer!’ if this sword shakes
Against his thigh, O Hervor!
HERVOR.
Angantyr! never may'st thou frighten me,
I care not what the dead man's voice can tell.
Angantyr, spells are mine, thou shalt not rest
Until that sword be mine also:
I thought thee brave, but I have found thy hall,
And thou dost quail: it is not good to rust
The sword of heroes;—give it forth!
ANGANTYR.
Stalwart in courage, youngling maid,
Who speakest the runes at midnight,
Powerful in herbs; who holdest the spear
Rune-graven, and standest in helmet and shoe,
Before the blackness and brightness of graves,
The brand thou seekest beneath me lies,
Wrapt in fire thou darest not touch.
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Lo! how I shall wrench it from thee!
I shall hold its edge unhurt;
The white fire of tombs cannot burn me,
I dread not the white light of death.
ANGANTYR.
Horrible suffering!
Hold thine arm
Away from me:
Perish not yet,
Cover thine eyes
If thou canst not endure it.
HERVOR.
Nothing I see
But what I before knew.
ANGANTYR.
What seest thou now?
HERVOR.
Father! strange things!
ANGANTYR.
Now I ask thee again.
HERVOR.
I see a hand, but it is not that
Of mortal living or dead, and a sword
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Tirsing is mine! thou hast done well!
Greater triumph now is mine
Than if all Norway bowed to me.
ANGANTYR.
Woman, thou dost not understand,
Rash speech is thine, that sword's thy bane,
Even as 'twas king Hialmar's bane
When in my hand it clove him down:
Hold it thou and hoard it well,
But touch not its two charmèd edges.
Farewell, daughter, all my lands,
Men and ships, arms, gold, and gods,
With this devouring sword are thine.
HERVOR.
Well I shall hold it, I shall lift it,
Till all eyes have seen and feared it,
And my unborn sons shall wield it!
I return now to my bold men,
Where the waves vex the rocking helm:
No wish is mine to lie beside ye
In the hall that burns with death;
No joy is mine to wait morn here
Where the adder is fat and strong,
Or keep thy tomb from closing now.
Sleep then, sires of warriors, sleep!
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