 | Idyls of Norway and other poems |  |
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LITTLE SIGRID.
Little Sigrid, fresh and rosy, was a bonny maid indeed,
Like a blossom fair and fragile, peeping from the dewy mead.
Like a blossom fair and fragile, peeping from the dewy mead.
Little Sigrid, fresh and rosy, stood before her father bold;
Blue her eyes were as the heavens, bright her hair as marigold:
Blue her eyes were as the heavens, bright her hair as marigold:
“Father dear, 'tis drear and lonely for a maid as fair as I,
Here, unsought by gallant wooers, as a maid to live and die.
Here, unsought by gallant wooers, as a maid to live and die.
“Saddle then thy fleetest chargers, whether good or ill betide,
For a twelvemonth I must leave thee, and in haste to court will ride.”
For a twelvemonth I must leave thee, and in haste to court will ride.”
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So they saddled steed and palfrey; glad in heart young Sigrid rode,
By her merry train attended, to the gallant king's abode.
By her merry train attended, to the gallant king's abode.
“Little Sigrid,” so the king spake, “here by Christ the white I swear,
Never yet mine eyes have rested on a maid so wondrous fair.”
Never yet mine eyes have rested on a maid so wondrous fair.”
Little Sigrid, laughing gaily at the young king as he swore,
Blushed the while a deeper crimson than she e'er had blushed before.
Blushed the while a deeper crimson than she e'er had blushed before.
Flushed with joy each day ascended from the sea and westward waned,
And in little Sigrid's bosom happiness and gladness reigned;
And in little Sigrid's bosom happiness and gladness reigned;
For she rode with knights and ladies to the chase at peep of morn,
While the merry woods resounded with the blare of fife and horn.
While the merry woods resounded with the blare of fife and horn.
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And the night was bright with splendor, music, dance, and feast and play,
Like a golden trail that follows in the wake of parting day.
Like a golden trail that follows in the wake of parting day.
Quoth the king to little Sigrid,—hot was he with wine and glee:
“I do love thee, little Sigrid; thou must e'er abide with me.”
“I do love thee, little Sigrid; thou must e'er abide with me.”
And the foolish little Sigrid to the king made answer so:
“I'll abide with thee and love thee, share thy joy and share thy woe.”
“I'll abide with thee and love thee, share thy joy and share thy woe.”
“And the day,” the gay king whispered, “that to thee I break my troth,
May'st thou claim my soul, my life-blood, to appease God's righteous wrath.”
May'st thou claim my soul, my life-blood, to appease God's righteous wrath.”
And long days, from eastward rising, sank in blood beneath the west,
And the maid, once merry-hearted, bore a secret 'neath her breast.
And the maid, once merry-hearted, bore a secret 'neath her breast.
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“Hast not heard the merry tidings—how the king, whom weal betide,
Rode abroad through seven kingdoms, rode abroad to seek a bride?—
Rode abroad through seven kingdoms, rode abroad to seek a bride?—
“How in baking and in brewing they more malt and meal have spent,
Than from Michaelmas to Christmas well might feed a continent?”
Than from Michaelmas to Christmas well might feed a continent?”
Sigrid heard the merry tidings; with a tearless, dimmed amaze
She beheld the young bride coming, saw the halls with lights ablaze,
She beheld the young bride coming, saw the halls with lights ablaze,
And with hurried steps and breathless to the riverbank she sped,
Leaped into the silent billows, closing dumbly o'er her head.
Leaped into the silent billows, closing dumbly o'er her head.
Winter blew his icy breath and silvered all the earth with frost:
Spring arose warm-checked and blushing, followed by his flowery host,
Spring arose warm-checked and blushing, followed by his flowery host,
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And Sir Alfred, Sigrid's brother, straight bestrode his charger gray,—
Harp in hand, wild ditties singing, rode he to the court away.
Harp in hand, wild ditties singing, rode he to the court away.
Far and wide renowned that harp was for its strength and rich design;
It was wrought with strange devices from the earth and air and brine.
It was wrought with strange devices from the earth and air and brine.
But the seventh night the weary charger at the river's side
Stumbled, and the harp fell moaning down upon the darkling tide.
Stumbled, and the harp fell moaning down upon the darkling tide.
And the soul of little Sigrid, wandering homeless, seeking rest,
Slipped into its hollow chamber, hiding in its sounding breast.
Slipped into its hollow chamber, hiding in its sounding breast.
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But Sir Alfred clasped it fiercely, and its tone rose on the breeze
Like the voice of one that vainly would his wakeful woe appease.
Like the voice of one that vainly would his wakeful woe appease.
And the king, with court assembled, heard the weird lamenting tone:
“Summon swift that goodly harper to the threshold of my throne.”
“Summon swift that goodly harper to the threshold of my throne.”
Then they summoned young Sir Alfred; fair to see and tall was he,
As he stood with head uplifted in that gallant company.
As he stood with head uplifted in that gallant company.
And he touched the harp with cunning; gently rose its tuneful breath.
But the king sat mute and shivered, and his cheeks were pale as death.
But the king sat mute and shivered, and his cheeks were pale as death.
Alfred smote the harp with fervor; wildly rang its wail of grief—
On his throne the young king quivered,—quivered like an aspen leaf.
On his throne the young king quivered,—quivered like an aspen leaf.
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As the third time o'er the metal with a wary touch he sped
Snapt each string with loud resounding—on his throne the king lay dead.
Snapt each string with loud resounding—on his throne the king lay dead.
Through the courtiers' ranks a shuddering, terror-haunted whisper stole:
“It is little Sigrid coming back to claim his faithless soul.”
“It is little Sigrid coming back to claim his faithless soul.”
| Idyls of Norway and other poems | |