 | Idyls of Norway and other poems |  |
77
EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE., Etc.
79
EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE.
I.
Earl Sigurd, he rides o'er the foam-crested brine,
And he heeds not the billowy brawl,
For he yearns to behold gentle Swanwhite, the maid
Who abides in Sir Burislav's hall.
And he heeds not the billowy brawl,
For he yearns to behold gentle Swanwhite, the maid
Who abides in Sir Burislav's hall.
“Earl Sigurd, the viking, he comes, he is near!
Earl Sigurd, the scourge of the sea;
Among the wild rovers who dwell on the deep,
There is none that is dreaded as he.
Earl Sigurd, the scourge of the sea;
Among the wild rovers who dwell on the deep,
There is none that is dreaded as he.
“Oh, hie ye, ye maidens, and hide where ye can,
Ere the clang of his war-ax ye hear,
For the wolf of the woods has more pity than he,
And his heart is as grim as his spear.”
Ere the clang of his war-ax ye hear,
For the wolf of the woods has more pity than he,
And his heart is as grim as his spear.”
80
Thus ran the dread tidings, from castle to hut,
Through the length of Sir Burislav's land,
As they spied the red pennon unfurled to the breeze,
And the galleys that steered for the strand.
Through the length of Sir Burislav's land,
As they spied the red pennon unfurled to the breeze,
And the galleys that steered for the strand.
II.
But with menacing brow, looming high in his prow
Stood Earl Sigurd, and fair to behold
Was his bright, yellow hair, as it waved in the air,
'Neath the glittering helmet of gold.
Stood Earl Sigurd, and fair to behold
Was his bright, yellow hair, as it waved in the air,
'Neath the glittering helmet of gold.
“Up, my comrades, and stand with your broad-swords in hand,
For the war is great Odin's delight;
And the Thunderer proud, how he laughs in his cloud
When the Norsemen prepare for the fight!”
For the war is great Odin's delight;
And the Thunderer proud, how he laughs in his cloud
When the Norsemen prepare for the fight!”
And the light galleys bore the fierce crew to the shore,
And naught good did their coming forebode,
And a wail rose on high to the storm-riven sky
As to Burislav's castle they strode.
And naught good did their coming forebode,
And a wail rose on high to the storm-riven sky
As to Burislav's castle they strode.
81
Then the stout-hearted men of Sir Burislav's train
To the gate-way came thronging full fast,
And the battle-blade rang with a murderous clang,
Borne aloft on the wings of the blast.
To the gate-way came thronging full fast,
And the battle-blade rang with a murderous clang,
Borne aloft on the wings of the blast.
And they hewed and they thrust, till each man bit the dust,
Their fierce valor availing them naught.
But the Thunderer proud, how he laughed in his cloud,
When he saw how the Norsemen had fought!
Their fierce valor availing them naught.
But the Thunderer proud, how he laughed in his cloud,
When he saw how the Norsemen had fought!
Then came Burislav forth; to the men of the North
Thus in quivering accents spake he:
“O, ye warriors, name me the ransom ye claim,
Or in gold, or in robes, or in fee.”
Thus in quivering accents spake he:
“O, ye warriors, name me the ransom ye claim,
Or in gold, or in robes, or in fee.”
“Oh, what reck I thy gold?” quoth Earl Sigurd, the bold;
“Has not Thor laid it all in my hand?
Give me Swanwhite, the fair, and by Balder I swear
I shall never revisit thy land.
“Has not Thor laid it all in my hand?
Give me Swanwhite, the fair, and by Balder I swear
I shall never revisit thy land.
82
“For my vengeance speeds fast, and I come like the blast
Of the night o'er the billowy brine;
I forget not thy scorn and thy laugh on that morn
When I wooed me the maid that was mine.”
Of the night o'er the billowy brine;
I forget not thy scorn and thy laugh on that morn
When I wooed me the maid that was mine.”
Then the chief, sore afraid, brought the lily-white maid
To the edge of the blood-sprinkled field,
And they bore her aloft o'er the sward of the croft
On the vault of the glittering shield.
To the edge of the blood-sprinkled field,
And they bore her aloft o'er the sward of the croft
On the vault of the glittering shield.
But amain in their path, in a whirlwind of wrath
Came young Harold, Sir Burislav's son;
With a great voice he cried, while the echoes replied:
“Lo, my vengeance, it cometh anon!”
Came young Harold, Sir Burislav's son;
With a great voice he cried, while the echoes replied:
“Lo, my vengeance, it cometh anon!”
III.
“Hark ye, Norsemen, hear great tidings: Odin, Thor, and Frey are dead,
And white Christ, the strong and gentle, standeth peace-crowned in their stead.
Lo, the blood-stained day of vengeance to the ancient night is hurled,
And the dawn of Christ is beaming blessings o'er the new-born world.
And white Christ, the strong and gentle, standeth peace-crowned in their stead.
83
And the dawn of Christ is beaming blessings o'er the new-born world.
“See the Cross in splendor gleaming far and wide o'er pine-clad heath,
While the flaming blade of battle slumbers in its golden sheath.
And before the lowly Savior, e'en the rider of the sea,
Sigurd, tamer of the billow, he hath bent the stubborn knee.”
While the flaming blade of battle slumbers in its golden sheath.
And before the lowly Savior, e'en the rider of the sea,
Sigurd, tamer of the billow, he hath bent the stubborn knee.”
Now at Yule-tide sat he feasting on the shore of Drontheim fiord,
And his stalwart swains about him watched the bidding of their lord.
Huge his strength was, but his visage, it was mild and fair to see;
Ne'er old Norway, heroes' mother, bore a mightier son than he.
And his stalwart swains about him watched the bidding of their lord.
Huge his strength was, but his visage, it was mild and fair to see;
Ne'er old Norway, heroes' mother, bore a mightier son than he.
84
With her maids sat gentle Swanwhite 'neath a roof of gleaming shields,
As the rarer lily blossoms 'mid the green herbs of the fields;
To and fro their merry words flew lightly through the torch-lit room,
Like a shuttle deftly skipping through the mazes of the loom.
As the rarer lily blossoms 'mid the green herbs of the fields;
To and fro their merry words flew lightly through the torch-lit room,
Like a shuttle deftly skipping through the mazes of the loom.
And the scalds with nimble fingers o'er the sounding harp-strings swept;
Now the strain in laughter rippled, now with hidden woe it wept,
For they sang of Time's beginning, ere the sun the day brought forth—
Sang as sing the ocean breezes through the pinewoods of the North.
Now the strain in laughter rippled, now with hidden woe it wept,
For they sang of Time's beginning, ere the sun the day brought forth—
Sang as sing the ocean breezes through the pinewoods of the North.
Bolder beat the breasts of Norsemen—when amid the tuneful din
Open sprang the heavy hall-doors, and a stranger entered in.
Tall his growth, though low he bended o'er a twisted staff of oak,
And his stalwart shape was folded in a dun, unseemly cloak.
Open sprang the heavy hall-doors, and a stranger entered in.
85
And his stalwart shape was folded in a dun, unseemly cloak.
Straight the Earl his voice uplifted: “Hail to thee, my guest austere!
Drain with me this cup of welcome: thou shalt share our Yule-tide cheer.
Thou shalt sit next to my high-seat e'en though lowly be thy birth,
For to-night our Lord, the Savior, came a stranger to his earth.”
Drain with me this cup of welcome: thou shalt share our Yule-tide cheer.
Thou shalt sit next to my high-seat e'en though lowly be thy birth,
For to-night our Lord, the Savior, came a stranger to his earth.”
Up then rose the gentle Swanwhite, and her eyes with fear grew bright;
Down the dusky hall she drifted, as a shadow drifts by night.
“If my lord would hold me worthy,” low she spake, “then grant me leave
To abide between the stranger and my lord, this Christmas eve.”
Down the dusky hall she drifted, as a shadow drifts by night.
86
To abide between the stranger and my lord, this Christmas eve.”
“Strange, O guest, is women's counsel, still their folly is the staff
Upon which our wisdom leaneth,” and he laughed a burly laugh;
Lifted up her lissome body with a husband's tender pride,
Kissed her brow, and placed her gently in the high-seat at his side.
Upon which our wisdom leaneth,” and he laughed a burly laugh;
Lifted up her lissome body with a husband's tender pride,
Kissed her brow, and placed her gently in the high-seat at his side.
But the guest stood pale and quivered, where the red flames roofward rose,
And he clenched the brimming goblet in his fingers, fierce and close,
Then he spake: “All hail, Earl Sigurd, mightiest of the Norsemen, hail!
Ere I name to thee my tidings, I will taste thy flesh and ale.”
And he clenched the brimming goblet in his fingers, fierce and close,
Then he spake: “All hail, Earl Sigurd, mightiest of the Norsemen, hail!
Ere I name to thee my tidings, I will taste thy flesh and ale.”
87
Quoth the merry Earl with fervor: “Courteous is thy speech and free:
While thy worn soul thou refreshest, I will sing a song to thee;
For beneath that dusky garment thou mayst hide a hero's heart,
And my hand, though stiff, hath scarcely yet unlearned the singer's art.”
While thy worn soul thou refreshest, I will sing a song to thee;
For beneath that dusky garment thou mayst hide a hero's heart,
And my hand, though stiff, hath scarcely yet unlearned the singer's art.”
Then the arms so tightly folded round his neck the Earl unclasped,
And his heart was stirred within him as the silvern strings he grasped,
But with eyes of meek entreaty, closely to his side she clung,
While his mighty soul rose upward on the billows of the song.
And his heart was stirred within him as the silvern strings he grasped,
But with eyes of meek entreaty, closely to his side she clung,
While his mighty soul rose upward on the billows of the song.
For he sang, in tones impassioned, of the death of Æsir
bright,
Sang the song of Christ the glorious, who was born a babe to-night,
How the hosts of heaven victorious joined the anthem of his birth,
Of the kings the starlight guided from the far lands of the earth.
Sang the song of Christ the glorious, who was born a babe to-night,
88
Of the kings the starlight guided from the far lands of the earth.
And anon, with bodeful glamour fraught, the hurrying strain sped on,
As he sang the law of vengeance and the wrath forever gone,
Sang of gods with murder sated, who had laid the fair earth waste,
Who had whetted swords of Norsemen, plunged them into Norsemen's breast.
As he sang the law of vengeance and the wrath forever gone,
Sang of gods with murder sated, who had laid the fair earth waste,
Who had whetted swords of Norsemen, plunged them into Norsemen's breast.
But he shook a shower of music, rippling from the silver strings,
And bright visions rose of angels and of fair and shining things
As he sang of heaven's rejoicing at the mild and bloodless reign
Of the gentle Christ who bringeth peace and goodwill unto men!
And bright visions rose of angels and of fair and shining things
As he sang of heaven's rejoicing at the mild and bloodless reign
Of the gentle Christ who bringeth peace and goodwill unto men!
89
But the guest sat dumb and hearkened, staring at the brimming bowl,
While the lay with mighty wing-beats swept the darkness of his soul.
For the Christ who worketh wonders as of old, so e'en to-day
Sent his angel downward gliding on the ladder of the lay.
While the lay with mighty wing-beats swept the darkness of his soul.
For the Christ who worketh wonders as of old, so e'en to-day
Sent his angel downward gliding on the ladder of the lay.
As the host his song had ended with a last resounding twang,
And within the harp's dumb chambers murmurous echoes faintly rang,
Up then sprang the guest, and straightway downward rolled his garment dun—
There stood Harold, the avenger, Burislav's undaunted son.
And within the harp's dumb chambers murmurous echoes faintly rang,
Up then sprang the guest, and straightway downward rolled his garment dun—
There stood Harold, the avenger, Burislav's undaunted son.
High he loomed above the feasters in the torch-light dim and weird,
From his eyes hot tears were streaming, sparkling in his tawny beard;
Shining in his sea-blue mantle stood he 'mid that wondering throng,
And each maiden thought him fairest, and each warrior vowed him strong.
From his eyes hot tears were streaming, sparkling in his tawny beard;
90
And each maiden thought him fairest, and each warrior vowed him strong.
Swift he bared his blade of battle, flung it quivering on the board:
“Lo!” he cried, “I came to bid thee baleful greeting with my sword;
Thou hast dulled the edge that never shrank from battle's fiercest test—
Now I come, as comes a brother, swordless unto brother's breast.
“Lo!” he cried, “I came to bid thee baleful greeting with my sword;
Thou hast dulled the edge that never shrank from battle's fiercest test—
Now I come, as comes a brother, swordless unto brother's breast.
“With three hundred men I landed in the gloaming at thy shore—
Dost thou hear their axes clanking on their shields without thy door?
But a yearning woke within me my sweet sister's voice to hear,
To behold her face and whisper words of warning in her ear.
Dost thou hear their axes clanking on their shields without thy door?
But a yearning woke within me my sweet sister's voice to hear,
To behold her face and whisper words of warning in her ear.
91
“But I knew not of the new-born king, who holds the earth in sway,
And whose voice like fragrance blended in the soarings of thy lay.
This my vengeance now, O brother: foes as friends shall hands unite;
Teach me, thou, the wondrous tidings, and the law of Christ the white.”
And whose voice like fragrance blended in the soarings of thy lay.
This my vengeance now, O brother: foes as friends shall hands unite;
Teach me, thou, the wondrous tidings, and the law of Christ the white.”
Touched as by an angel's glory, strangely shone Earl Sigurd's face,
As he locked his foe, his brother, in a brotherly embrace;
And each warrior upward leaping, swung his horn with gold bedight:
“Hail to Sigurd, hail to Harold, three times hail to Christ the white!”
As he locked his foe, his brother, in a brotherly embrace;
And each warrior upward leaping, swung his horn with gold bedight:
“Hail to Sigurd, hail to Harold, three times hail to Christ the white!”
The high-seat (accent on first syllable), the Icelandic hasacto, was the seat reserved for the master of the house. It was situated in the middle of the north wall, facing south.
92
NORWAY.
Winter has its icy crown
Pressed round Norway's temples hoary;
Midnight's sun has showered down
On her head its glory.
Pressed round Norway's temples hoary;
Midnight's sun has showered down
On her head its glory.
Time's swift waves their power broke
'Gainst her ancient rocks and bowlders;
And the sea its misty cloak
Flung around her shoulders.
'Gainst her ancient rocks and bowlders;
And the sea its misty cloak
Flung around her shoulders.
But when easeful Summer sinks
O'er the gleaming fiords and valleys,
Bursts the wood-lake's wintry links
And the lily's chalice—
O'er the gleaming fiords and valleys,
Bursts the wood-lake's wintry links
And the lily's chalice—
Oh, what throbbing life aglow!
Oh, how fair the birch and willow,
And the gulls that drift like snow
O'er the rippling billow!
Oh, how fair the birch and willow,
And the gulls that drift like snow
O'er the rippling billow!
93
Giant-like the glacier looms,
Seaward throws its branches mazy;
And on Winter's bosom blooms
Fearlessly the daisy.
Seaward throws its branches mazy;
And on Winter's bosom blooms
Fearlessly the daisy.
Lo! the wild, bright peaks that shine
Through the clouds that veil their bosom,
At whose foot, 'mid birch and pine,
Fragile lilies blossom!
Through the clouds that veil their bosom,
At whose foot, 'mid birch and pine,
Fragile lilies blossom!
Here it was where Frithjof gay
Wooed King Belé's fair-haired daughter;
Here she sang the sweet, sad lay
Which her love had taught her.
Wooed King Belé's fair-haired daughter;
Here she sang the sweet, sad lay
Which her love had taught her.
Hence those vikings sprung whose sword
Waked the South from idle dalliance;
Who in Vineland's rivers moored
Dauntlessly their galleons.
Waked the South from idle dalliance;
Who in Vineland's rivers moored
Dauntlessly their galleons.
Now, alas! that age hath fled,
Fled the spirit that upbore it.
Ah, but still doth midnight shed
Flaming splendor o'er it.
Fled the spirit that upbore it.
Ah, but still doth midnight shed
Flaming splendor o'er it.
94
And the fame which curbed the sea,
Spanned the sky with runes of fire,
Now but rustles tremblingly
Through the poet's lyre.
Spanned the sky with runes of fire,
Now but rustles tremblingly
Through the poet's lyre.
95
THE NIXY.
She sat at the opened window,
And mused o'er an old romance;
And the glorious peal of the legend
Still held her soul in its trance.
And her heart was thronged with yearnings
That cried for utterance.
And mused o'er an old romance;
And the glorious peal of the legend
Still held her soul in its trance.
And her heart was thronged with yearnings
That cried for utterance.
The world seemed so pale and dreary,
A vain and inglorious play;
The thundering heroes of old time
Had left it to fade and decay;
The radiant soul had departed
And left the inanimate clay.
A vain and inglorious play;
The thundering heroes of old time
Had left it to fade and decay;
The radiant soul had departed
And left the inanimate clay.
96
She closed the dear book of her heroes,
And down from her tower she sped,
Where the shivering leaves of the birches
A lingering glamour spread.
Strange murmurs stole through the forest,
Strange voices of warning and dread.
And down from her tower she sped,
Where the shivering leaves of the birches
A lingering glamour spread.
Strange murmurs stole through the forest,
Strange voices of warning and dread.
She stood at the brink of the river,
And heard the loud waters fall;
Now rising with deafening thunder,
And wrestling with clamorous brawl;
Now breathing a quivering whisper
Adown o'er the rocky wall.
And heard the loud waters fall;
Now rising with deafening thunder,
And wrestling with clamorous brawl;
Now breathing a quivering whisper
Adown o'er the rocky wall.
Anon o'er the darksome waters
The shadows of midnight brood,
And the ghosts of a thousand legends
Flit through the shuddering wood;
But still at the brink of the river
The maiden, wondering, stood.
The shadows of midnight brood,
And the ghosts of a thousand legends
Flit through the shuddering wood;
But still at the brink of the river
The maiden, wondering, stood.
There was a strong soul in the waters,
A soul grand, noble, and free—
For the yawning abysses panted
With tremulous ecstasy—
Which rose with a misty fulness,
Then burst into melody.
A soul grand, noble, and free—
97
With tremulous ecstasy—
Which rose with a misty fulness,
Then burst into melody.
And hushed was the night-wind's murmur,
And hushed seemed the cataract's roll,
While clear and airily trembling
The tones through the forest stole.
They came like familiar voices,
That soothe the unrest of the soul.
And hushed seemed the cataract's roll,
While clear and airily trembling
The tones through the forest stole.
They came like familiar voices,
That soothe the unrest of the soul.
The hopes her young heart had cherished,
The dreams of the days gone by,
The yearnings that throbbed in her bosom,
Deep-hidden from mortal eye,
Had gained a voice in the music,
And joyfully rose to the sky.
The dreams of the days gone by,
The yearnings that throbbed in her bosom,
Deep-hidden from mortal eye,
Had gained a voice in the music,
And joyfully rose to the sky.
A tenderly luring sadness
Abode in the mellow tone.
Ah, there was love and solace
For a life that was drear and lone!
A leap in the dark, a brief flutter,—
And darkly the waves hurried on.
Abode in the mellow tone.
Ah, there was love and solace
For a life that was drear and lone!
98
And darkly the waves hurried on.
Two men at morn sought the river;
And lo! to the tree-roots clung
The form of a lifeless maiden,
So wondrously fair and young.
“'Twas the Nixy,” they said, “who allured her,
Beguiling her heart with his song.”
And lo! to the tree-roots clung
The form of a lifeless maiden,
So wondrously fair and young.
“'Twas the Nixy,” they said, “who allured her,
Beguiling her heart with his song.”
The Nixy (Necken), according to Norse superstition, is a male sprite who lives in the rivers and roaring cataracts, through whose brawl the alluring music of his harp is often heard. He frequently beguiles young maidens by his wondrous melodies, in which his longing for human love and fellowship is expressed.
99
AN EVERY-DAY TRAGEDY.
He sat in honor's seat,
And rapturous ladies gazed into his eyes.
She stood without, beneath the wintry skies,
In snow and sleet.
And rapturous ladies gazed into his eyes.
She stood without, beneath the wintry skies,
In snow and sleet.
He spoke of Faith's decay;
The ladies sighed because he spoke so true.
She hid her face in hands frost-numbed and blue,
But dared not pray.
The ladies sighed because he spoke so true.
She hid her face in hands frost-numbed and blue,
But dared not pray.
In church, in court, and street,
Men bowed and ladies smiled where'er he went.
She stole through life, by shame and hunger bent,
With bleeding feet.
Men bowed and ladies smiled where'er he went.
She stole through life, by shame and hunger bent,
With bleeding feet.
Upon his wedding-day
She stood, with burning eyes that fain would weep,
And heard the dancers' tread, the music's sweep,
Sound far away.
She stood, with burning eyes that fain would weep,
And heard the dancers' tread, the music's sweep,
Sound far away.
100
The bride so pure and true
He took unto himself in haughty mood;
And all the paltry world applauding stood,
Though well it knew;
He took unto himself in haughty mood;
And all the paltry world applauding stood,
Though well it knew;
The while in frost and snow
Half-clad she stood upon whose maiden breast
He pledged his faith, for love's supremest test,
In joy and woe.
Half-clad she stood upon whose maiden breast
He pledged his faith, for love's supremest test,
In joy and woe.
101
THE ELF-MAIDENS.
I.
And it was young Sir Hermod, in scarlet clad and gold,
Rode forth to woo fair Ragna, the maid of Kirtley Wold.
Rode forth to woo fair Ragna, the maid of Kirtley Wold.
Swift through the castle-gate rang the hoof-beat of his steed;
Then struck with muffled rhythm o'er the greensward of the mead.
Then struck with muffled rhythm o'er the greensward of the mead.
Now, hie thee, young Sir Hermod, nor pause, nor look askance,
For 'neath the misty summer moon the elf-maidens dance.
For 'neath the misty summer moon the elf-maidens dance.
And like a dream they drift o'er the silvery lakes of wheat,
The slender ears scarce dip 'neath the pressure of their feet.
The slender ears scarce dip 'neath the pressure of their feet.
102
They lightly sway and rock in their undulating flight,
With gleams of dimpling limbs and of bosoms of delight.
With gleams of dimpling limbs and of bosoms of delight.
Now from the grove they float, and across the meadow's floor,
Scarce nod the drooping blue-bells when brush their garments o'er.
Scarce nod the drooping blue-bells when brush their garments o'er.
And from beneath the mist-veils that flutter in the dance
Grave, yearning eyes flash forth with a tender radiance.
Grave, yearning eyes flash forth with a tender radiance.
O help thee God, Sir Hermod! Now spur thy goodly steed,
And list not to those sighs and the luring tones that plead.
And list not to those sighs and the luring tones that plead.
Gaze not on snowy bosoms that in the moon's pale beam
Weave subtle charms, and strangely with lustrous dimness gleam.
Weave subtle charms, and strangely with lustrous dimness gleam.
103
That hand upon thy shoulder, so slender, soft and white,
Is Death's cold hand, outstretched thy fair youth and strength to blight.
Is Death's cold hand, outstretched thy fair youth and strength to blight.
Those soft, alluring voices that hover thee around,
Delicious, languid, vague, like a poppy's breath in sound,
Delicious, languid, vague, like a poppy's breath in sound,
Would lull thy soul full gently, amid the forest's gloom,
Into a sleep more dread than the slumber of the tomb.
Into a sleep more dread than the slumber of the tomb.
Those locks that faintly glimmer—a maze of tawny gold—
Would tangle thee full swiftly in meshes manifold.
Would tangle thee full swiftly in meshes manifold.
Those lips that blush so warmly beneath the moon's dim light
Would blot from out thy soul the dear name of Christ the white.
Would blot from out thy soul the dear name of Christ the white.
104
Then hie thee, young Sir Hermod, nor pause nor look askance,
Where 'neath the misty summer moon the elf-maidens dance.
Where 'neath the misty summer moon the elf-maidens dance.
II.
The winds that sang in tree-tops, and hummed the rose new-blown
Sweet airy tales, now swelled to a wild and wondrous moan.
Sweet airy tales, now swelled to a wild and wondrous moan.
Weird clouds with horrid faces, with fierce and breathless haste,
And sable arms extended, across the heavens chased.
And sable arms extended, across the heavens chased.
The lily maid, fair Ragna, stood on the castle's height,
And watched the clouds and listened to the voices of the night.
And watched the clouds and listened to the voices of the night.
She listened to the clang of swift hoof-beats from afar;
She heard the drowsy warden the heavy gate unbar.
She heard the drowsy warden the heavy gate unbar.
105
And down the winding stairway with wingéd steps she flew—
The world was filled with music and all things fairer grew.
The world was filled with music and all things fairer grew.
She cried her eager welcome to the knight who rigid sat;
Nor stirred he in the saddle, nor raised his crested hat.
Nor stirred he in the saddle, nor raised his crested hat.
Then with a dread foreboding across the court she sped;
She seized Sir Hermod's hand—but the hand was cold and dead.
She seized Sir Hermod's hand—but the hand was cold and dead.
She started back and tottered, but grasped the bridle's ring:
“Woe! Thou hast heard, belovéd, the elf-maidens sing.
“Woe! Thou hast heard, belovéd, the elf-maidens sing.
“Now comfort Christ thy spirit, bestead in evil chance,
For thou hast seen at even-tide the elf-maidens dance.”
For thou hast seen at even-tide the elf-maidens dance.”
| Idyls of Norway and other poems | |