 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
365
CANTO V.
I
Reflected light, as if from water cast,On the Cave's vault of stone was quivering fast,
And the fresh fall and flow of water near
Was murmuring and dashing in mine ear,
When I from sleep awoke, and looking through
The screen of hazel, I beheld a view
Of sylvan sweetness. Morning's glorious beam
Was on the pool, and on the falling stream,
And, as the whitely-dashing spray it kissed,
Made shifting rainbows of the rising mist!
Each tree hung out its branches all unstirred
In the calm air; each branch sustained a bird,
That sat and sung; each green leaf in its curl
Held drops of dew—each drop a trembling pearl!
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With the blue sky o'er all, a picture made,
Which, in the faithful glass of Memory set,
Is gay and green, is fresh and sparkling yet!
II.
Brief gaze I took; then turned to rouse my guide,Who still lay fixed in slumber at my side.
A man he was, whose scanty locks of gray
Showed he had passed of life the middle day;
But whose black, piercing eye, and active frame
Advancing years had little 'vailed to tame.
I told him day appeared already high,
And asked him if it now was time to fly?
“Not yet,” the old man answered. “While we stay,
Here we are safe; for, soothly I may say,
No mortal man, except with Satan's aid,
Can ever find the place where we are laid!
I knew the cave of old, and think 'tis styled,
By the few Dwellers round these mountains wild,
The Cave of Gennet, who, they used to tell,
A Fairy was, that loved the sylvan dell,
And haunted cave and stream—till put to flight
For ever by the beams of Gospel-light.
Such tales, be sure, have little weight with me;
But when I learned thy wish was to be free,
I then at once bethought me of the place;
And hoped if—aided by St. Mary's grace—
I could persuade the Chief, though but a day,
To quit the vale, and keep the mountain way,
I might contrive to lodge thee safely here,
Until thy pathway of escape were clear.”
III.
“But how effect it?” “Even thus: As scout,Ere dawn of yestermorn was I sent out;
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In small detachments scoured the level plains.
An accidental fire, whose line of smoke
Far o'er the distant landscape faintly broke,
Gave timely colour to a specious tale
Framed to dissuade the Leader from the vale;
And here thou art in Gennet's rocky cave.”
“But this, my friend, thou didst at hazard grave?”
“Why, that is true. If taken by my lord,
A hasty shrift, a tree, and hempen cord
Were Eric's doom. But what may hap to me,
I feel as nothing—I have rescued thee!”
Moved by the old man's cunning and address,
But moved yet more by his devotedness,
“Tell me,” I said, “Whence springs the friendly zeal
Which for the safety of a man you feel,
Whose visage, but three summer days agone,
Thine eyes had, certes, never gazed upon.”
“A man,” he said, “who from the proverb learns
‘One generous deed another justly earns,’
Finds that of force sufficient to enlist
His kindly efforts—where none else exist.
But wouldst thou closer into this enquire,
Thou see'st in me a Dane, and Bertha's Sire.”
IV.
“Then,” I exclaimed, “by all the mighty godsThat crowd Valhalla's ever-bright abodes,
I thank thee not! but rather, while I live,
Must rue the liberty your efforts give,
Since it is purchased at the too high cost
Of thy poor daughter left—ay, left and lost!
Liefer would I rejoin thy Chieftain's train,
Liefer for life the Saxon's slave remain,
Than harm befell that Maid! And thou—O thou
Art that maid's sire!—I almost hate thee now!”
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Bertha is safe,” he said, “and long will live,
Ere the young Chieftain, wise and just, and mild,
Will for the guilty Father harm the Child!
O sir, the Chieftain is so good!—In me,
A man of simple, untaught mind you see;
But when I have observed him near, and when
I have compared him with the herd of men—
He, as I said, so good, a soul of light,
At once with virtue and with wisdom bright,
They uninformed and savage, dark in mind,
More like to demons than to humankind—
I've almost fancied him, at such a time,
A sinless native of a sinless clime
For some mysterious end or purpose hurled
Down thence into a base and wrong-filled world!”
V.
“Who is the Chief, whose praises thus you press,And whom, in truth, I value hardly less?”
I asked the question, but I vainly asked.
A moment's space he mused. At length, “I tasked
My brain, and risked my life,” he gravely said,
“In thy escape to lend my humble aid—
Partly because I knew thou art a Dane,
But more, and chiefly, that, in yonder fane,
You snatched my Bertha from the flames away:
For this I serve thee, but not him betray!
And if you knowledge of the Chief would seek,
Eric, be sure, can neither hear nor speak.
Talk we on other theme. The time flies on.
I judge young Hengist must be here anon.”
“Young Hengist? But it may, perhaps, offend
To ask who he is,” No—a faithful friend,
Bound to thy interest by as strong a tie
As warm and pure affection can supply.”
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He answered. “Still, his suit she disapproves.
But when of thy achieved escape from foes,
And of her lover's part therein, she knows—
He hopes to win, denied to him erewhile,
His valued meed in her assenting smile.
Now I will tell thee all! On Beaumont Side,
While men, that morn, arrayed thee for the ride,
Bertha drew him and me apart. She told
To us the story of thy daring bold,
In a few hurried words; her fears confessed
For the dark future of thy fate; impressed
On us thy rescue, as a sacred thing,
Holier than duty or to Chief or King,—
But hark! he comes.” Just then a rustling, made
By some one bursting through the hazel shade,
Announced the youthful friend of whom he spoke;
And Saxon Hengist on our converse broke.
VI.
About thine age, my son, and quite as tall,But built more strongly, and yet light withal;
Of eye quick, sparkling, keen, and glossy blue;
Of cheek that bore of health the freshest hue;
Of hair that over all his shoulders broad
In fair and yellow clusters waved and flowed
Profusely; Hengist was, in very truth,
A gay, a gallant, and a graceful Youth!
—Disposing on the Cavern's rugged floor
Of rural food an unexpected store,
Which he had purveyed, for the morn's regale,
From some lone cot in lovely Malhamdale,
He, while we sat at meat, to Eric old
His night-adventure with blunt humour told:
On missing me, th' indignant Chief, he said,
Had given command that instant search be made;
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The first to lead where I, he knew, was not—
Had managed to detach—unseen, unguessed—
The horses we had ridden, from the rest,
And stable them amid the greenwood glade;
That he had couched him, till the cavalcade,
Diminished thus, he saw resume their march,
As the first dawn-rays streaked the sky's blue arch;
That he had followed, with his eye, their way;
And only left them when, in brightening day,
They crossed the vale of Aire, and, gleaming on,
Began to vanish in the line of Colne.
VII.
The sense of freedom thus achieved at last,Gave double relish to my plain repast.
We left the Cave, our saddled steeds bestrode,
And o'er the emerald dales of Craven rode.
But let me not delay my onward Tale
By needless note of river or of dale.
Enough to say that, hurrying o'er the ground,
Impatient till the distant camp I found,
We scarce took needful rest. And O! at length
We came where lay in sight the Danish strength.
“Here Selwood Forest stretches far and wide,
And there thy Danish friends,” old Eric cried,
“Entrench them in their camp at Ethandun—
See! their tents whiten in the setting sun!
And see! aloft the pennons wave and shine
In the fair evening!—Canst distinguish thine?”
I looked, but natural emotion thrilled
My inmost soul, and joy mine eyes had filled.
Canvas and banner waved, and armour gleamed,
But blended all, and indistinct they seemed.
High o'er the rest, at length my clearing eyes
Beheld the tent of noble Guthrum rise,
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My country's flag, in many a battle known,
In whose white field appeared the Raven Black,
That soared—as if his prey he scorned to lack;
For of such stern resolve he seemed to speak
By outstretched pinion, and by open beak!
Nor, though his aim was foiled the following day,
Can it be said the Raven missed his prey:
To win Two Kingdoms—and this feat did he—
Was not discomfiture, but victory!
VIII.
And certes, Harold, not of failure spokeThe sounds that then from out th' Encampment broke!
Sounds of carousal and of boisterous mirth,
That have in young and happy hearts their birth.
We reached the trench. The posted guards, amazed,
On me, as on a spirit, wildly gazed;
But when my well-known battle-word I cried,
Their joyous recognition-shout replied.
That shout to us the nearest warriors drew:
They came, they saw; they saw me, and they knew;
And quickly thus, conveyed from man to man,
Throughout the crowded camp the tidings ran—
Exciting still, as on they passed within,
A wilder tumult, and a louder din!
O'er the rude planks that served them for a bridge,
And o'er the inner rampart's earthen ridge,
Some led our steeds to stall; my friends some bore;
While others cleared the crowded way before.
I, raised upon a shield, with shout and song,
To Guthrum's tent was proudly borne along!
IX.
My Guthrum in the royal tent I found,With all his bravest warriors seated round,
Passing from hand to hand th' accustomed horn,
Which each in turn must drain, and none might scorn!
372
Whose generous beverage bolder makes the bold.
O'erjoyed to see the warrior-friend restored,
Whom he had long believed at Woden's board,
The King, arising from his seat, made sign
To change the mead for draughts of purple wine.
Thereafter, hasty dais, by his command,
For me ascended at his own right hand;
Eric, my rescuer, and himself a Dane,
For seat beside me waited not in vain;
And youthful Hengist, though of Saxon race,
Received with us a like distinguished place.
Then rose the festal glee. Brave Guthrum called,
With joyous voice, for harper and for scald;
And scald and harper quickly came. But ere
They string could waken, or could song prepare,
Had I, aside, to noble Guthrum told
'Twas mine important message to unfold,
Which—premature as yet for others' ear—
It deeply touched his interest to hear.
X.
Retired apart, I told to Guthrum allThat had befall'n me since the Convent's fall;
Of Bertha told him, and the noble dame
Whom I had chanced to rescue from the flame
As well as of the lore which—sprung from Heaven—
To my old faith a sudden shock had given.
I then detailed to him, in terms less brief,
My conversation with the Northern Chief;
The kingly offer from his King conveyed;
And my escape by Eric's friendly aid.
Loud Guthrum laughed. “Tis very well!” he cried;
“So, thou wouldst barter for a Saxon bride
Thine ancient faith, and yet, forsooth, pretend
That true and deep conviction wrought that end!
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By far the clearest, subtlest argument!
And tell me, Aymund, were not Truth's demands
Pressed somewhat by the weight of Saxon lands?
Well, thou art prudent!” Here his banter stayed;
And grave became his manner, as he said:
XI.
“Aymund! I need not say, I am a manWho have no time deep mysteries to scan.
I worship, like my warlike sires, therefor,
The honoured names of Woden and of Thor.
Superstition did not blind all the ancient Scandinavians without exception. There were among them men wise enough to discover the folly of the received opinions, and courageous enough to condemn them without reserve. In the history of Olaf Tryggvason, a warrior fears not to say publicly, that he relies more on his own strength and on his arms, than upon Thor or Odin.—Mallet's Northern Antiquities.
Though, to confess the truth, I hold the bark
That bears me bounding o'er the ocean dark—
I hold the covering shield and trusty brand
That make, and keep me, victor on the land—
I hold these sinewy arms, by which I wield
Alike the helm, the falchion, and the shield—
As my best gods! nor do I care to sue
For help to Idols—be they old or new.
And did the changeful fate of war demand
That I must either quit this lovely land,
Or be immersed in water—stream or spring—
And rule a portion as a Christian King,—
Aymund, be sure, my choice were quickly ta'en,
And all my fathers' gods would frown in vain!
But, not thus placed, it is my part, believe,
Conditions to impose, and not receive.
No power resides in England, save in me,
From rocky Cornwall to the Eastern sea,
From Thames's bank to Tweed's. I rule alone.
E'en valiant Alfred quits his Saxon throne,
And lives—if yet the vanquished Monarch live—
A homeless Wanderer and a Fugitive,
And, doubtless, would be happy to regain
From me a portion of his wrenched domain!
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Why, let the learnèd Monarch sue to us!
This night we give to joy—this night at least!”
He said, and led me back to song and feast.
XII.
Three Minstrels swept the tuneful harp. That twoOf these were scalds of Danish race, I knew;
And understood from Guthrum that the third
A Saxon was, who had with joy been heard
By all the camp—and certes, none the less
That half the sense the hearers could but guess,
Of each quaint legend, and each old-world lay,
With which he sought to wile the time away—
Much to the fretting of the native scald,
Who eagerly arose, as soon as called,
To wake the song. The foremost, Rolfe upsprung.
The Sea-king's wild, adventurous life he sung:
Song. THE SEA-KING.
“He ne'er beneath a peaceful roofDrains the full horn; but, terror-proof,
Enjoys the peril that he braves,
And makes his serfs the winds and waves!
He bids them bear his bark along,
And knows they cannot bear it wrong,—
Since, waft him to what shore they may,
There lies the land, and there his prey!
Rung on their hollow-sounding shields applause.
XIII.
But louder rose the listeners' wild acclaim,When turned the song to Guthrum's noble name,
And told how he—their sea-king bold and stern—
Had Croyland sacked, as well as Lindisfarne:
All the able-bodied men of the community, to the number of thirty, departed, and having loaded a boat with the relies, sacred vases, and other valuables, took refuge in the neighbouring marshes. There remained in the choir only an abbot, a few infirm old men, two of whom were upwards of a hundred years old, and some children, whom their parents, according to the devotional custom of the period, were bring-up in the monastic habit. They continued to chant psalms at all the regular hours; when that of the mass arrived, the abbot placed himself at the altar in his sacerdotal robes. All present received the communion, and almost at the same moment the Danes entered the church. The chief who marched at their head killed with his own hand the abbot at the foot of the altar, and the soldiers seized the monks, young and old, whom terror had dispersed. ... As the prior fell dead, one of the children, ten years of age, who was greatly attached to him, fell on the body weeping, and asking to die with him. His voice and face struck one of the Danish chiefs; moved with pity, he drew the child out of the crowd, and taking off his frock, and throwing over him a Danish cassock, said, “Come with me, and quit not my side for a moment.” He thus saved him from the massacre, but no others were spared.—The Norman Conquest.
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Song continued.
“Assisted by his brave compeers,He sung the monks the mass of spears!
The service, with the day begun,
Was ended ere the morning sun;
When the good brethren of the place,
Charmed by his ministry and grace,
Into his hand the sacred hoard,
The shrine's uncounted treasures poured!”
Rung on their hollow-sounding shields applause.
XIV.
'Twas sung how, leading thence his victor host,Guthrum at length had reached the southern coast,
And come where, under Alfred's Saxon blade,
The force of England stood for fight arrayed:
Song continued.
“Then met the ranks, and, meeting, roseThe music of encountering foes—
Music more dear to warrior's heart,
Than Maiden's voice, or Minstrel's art!
There left the King (that music ceased)
For vultures and for wolves a feast;
And there, upon that last of fields,
'Mid shouting men, and clashing shields,
His chiefs around him formed a ring,
And hailed their Leader England's King!”
Rung on their hollow-sounding shields applause.
XV.
Then, with the bard's accustomed tact and skill,Who knows to change his flatteries at will,
The Minstrel added: “While, without a peer,
The valiant Guthrum ran his bright career
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The first to combat, and the last to yield!”
He paused. The harp of Anlave loudly rung,
And thus that scald his ready answer sung:
Song.
“I dreamed a solemn dream!The song which Anlave is here represented as singing, was suggested to me by a genuine Danish lyric, thus given by Thierry.
“I dreamt a dream. Methought I was at day-break in the hall of Walhalla, preparing all things for the reception of the men killed in battles.
“I awakened the heroes from their sleep; I asked them to rise, to arrange the seats and the drinking cups, as for the coming of a king.
“‘What means all this noise?’ cried Braghi; ‘why are so many men in motion, and why all this ordering of seats?’
“‘It is because Erik is on his way to join us,’ replied Odin; ‘I await him with joy. Let some go forth to meet him.’
“‘How is it that his coming pleases thee more than the coming of any other king?’
“Because in more battle fields has his sword been red with blood; because in more places has his ensanguined spear diffused terror.”
Methought I stood among his warriors all!
All stood in ordered ranks, and all stood dumb,
As if they waited great event to come!
Th' immortal Damsels who on heroes tend,
Had heaped the glittering boards from end to end
With store of richest viands. On his throne
The god—majestic Woden—sat alone.
After a space, ‘What King,’ aloud he cried,
‘Expect ye in Valhalla's mansion wide?’
One answered him: ‘Brave Aymund comes—the Dane.’
‘Then,’ said the god, ‘ye wait for him in vain.
That hero still survives, and long shall be
A faithful Champion of my creed and me.
A hundred warriors yet, in fight, shall feel
The deadly point of Aymund's conquering steel!’”
Rung on their hollow-sounding shields applause.
XVI.
And now, in turn, the Saxon Minstrel rose—A man of age he seemed, a man of woes;
But soon as e'er his magic harp struck he,
Age turned to youth, and woe itself to glee!
At least, as Guthrum whispered, such his wont;
But Thought sat now upon the Old Man's front—
Deep Thought and Sadness. Ere a note he sung,
His simple harp the Minstrel softly rung,
Then wakened, as a prelude, low yet strong,
A something hovering between speech and song.
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Prelude.
“Ill fares it with the Saxon bard,Who loves his country now,
He wears her fetter on his soul,
Her shame upon his brow!
Her much-loved King a fugitive,
Her bravest warriors slain,
While o'er the land, triumphant, soars
The Raven of the Dane!
Such bard, among his Country's foes,
Must veil her wrongs, suppress his woes,
Stifle each patriot thought as crime,
And frame a lay to suit the time.
Yet Guthrum hath a soul! and can
Forgive a Minstrel and a Man,
Who fain would, as he may, prolong
The high conceit of Anlave's song,
But fears to wake, 'mid weapons sharp,
The strain that hovers round his harp.”
XVII.
“I swear by Woden!” Guthrum loudly cried,“That, Minstrel, nought of harm shall thee betide,
Sing what thou wilt! Nay, farther, if thy song
Be worthy—even though our name it wrong,
By my good steel, and Denmark's Raven Black,
I swear that fitting meed thou shalt not lack!”
By these frank words the bard emboldened seemed,
And sung:
Song.
“I, too, a solemn dream have dreamed!I stood, like Anlave, in high Woden's hall;
Like Anlave, I beheld the warriors all;
The awful silence of the vast abode
I felt, like him, and saw the martial god!
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She came, as sometimes comes a summer storm,
When winds are brisk, when slender trees are bowed,
And rainbow-fragments tinge the severing cloud!
E'en so her coming stirred, enlivened all.
Half flew, half walked she, through the spacious hall,
And fronted Woden's throne. The warrior-train,
In her, beheld a Chooser of the Slain!
‘I come,’ the Damsel cried, ‘from Holy Isle,
I come from battle, and from burning pile.
Blood flowed like water. Noble Aymund there,
For breath was gasping in the smoky air.
His blade, beside him, dripped with Saxon gore.
Him I had chosen for mine own before;
And, flying where the hero bleeding lay,
I swiftly stooped to bear his soul away.
Alas, I found before me there that hour,
Th' unwelcome Spirit of a Mightier Power!’
XVIII.
Song continued.
‘Ha! Mightier Power!’ the startled god exclaimed,‘Then it was not brave Aymund that you named?
He is my son! Trained up to shed men's blood,
Since he was boy he hath in battle stood!’
‘Ay—so the Spirit told me,’ thus again
Took up the word the Chooser of the Slain,
‘But now his part, she said, that warrior brave
Shall learn, is not to slay mankind, but save!
The sense of Beauty, and the power of Love,
Sublimed in him, and hallowed from above,
Shall touch the hero's heart with feeling strange,
Shall touch, shall soften, and at last shall change!
That matchless valour which 'gainst others burned,
Shall 'gainst himself be resolutely turned,
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Stouter than e'er he quelled by weapon-blow!
And that once vanquished, his, thenceforth, shall be
A higher and a nobler destiny!
Blest shall he be in hall, and blest in bower,
Blest in his love, his offspring, and his power!
A land, made happy by his peaceful sway,
To him through life shall willing homage pay;
And to his soul shall, after death, be given
The endless rapture of the Christian Heaven!’
The Damsel ceased. On Woden fell a cloud;
A deepening shadow dimmed each visage proud;
Through the vast hall a flash of lightning broke;
And thunder, following, startled me, and woke.”
Rung not on hollow-sounding shields applause.
XIX.
You guess, my son, of all the listening throng,I understood the most of that strange song.
But what was evident to me alone,
How came it to the Saxon Minstrel known?
Had he indeed, as bard, the gifted eye,
Before whose sight both Past and Future lie?
I doubted not. How, otherwise, could he
Have any knowledge of my fate or me?
I called him to my side, that I might say
Such courteous word as Chieftain, praised, must pay
For courteous song. I bade the Minstrel take
A valued ring, and wear it for my sake;
Hinting the while, but in an under tone,
That it were wise to quit the camp anon.
He stole away, and well it was for him!
For loured had many a visage, darkly grim,
Upon the bard. I could but smile at those—
The scalds—whom rivalry had made his foes,
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In gibe malicious, and in taunting jest.
“'Tis plain,” said Anlave, “that the man hath quaffed
The pure, the genuine, bard-creating draught.”
The Danish fable of the origin of poetry may be briefly given here. Kvásir, a being formed by the gods, was murdered, and his blood being mixed up with honey, composed a liquor of such surpassing excellence, that whoever drinks of it acquires the gift of song. Odin, by a stratagem, succeeded in getting possession of it, and having swallowed the whole, transformed himself into an eagle, and flew off as fast as his wings could carry him. But Suttung, from whom he had stolen the liquor, also took on himself the form of an eagle, and flew after him. The gods, on seeing Odin approach, set out in the yard all the jars they could find, which Odin filled by discharging through his beak the wonder-working liquor he had drunk. He was, however, so near being caught by Suttung, that some of the liquor escaped by an impurer vent, and as no care was taken of this—it fell to the share of the poetasters!
“Oh, doubtless,” Rolfe replied, “the thing's of course;
But then—'twere best say nothing of the source!”
But graver character the warrior's ire
Took 'gainst the Master of the Saxon Lyre:
“The wretch,” they deeply swore, “deserves to bleed,
For doing insult to our Country's creed!”
Even on me their gloomy looks they bent,
And muttered, audibly, their discontent,
That Danish bounty should a meed supply
To vagrant Nazarene—perchance a Spy!
XX.
Their wrath which, if its object had not flown,Might into outrage instantly have grown,
Died by degrees away—the bard withdrawn—
When through the canvass gleamed the summer dawn!
To sleep's demands the revellers 'gan to yield,
Each taking for a couch his own broad shield,
Where he had sat. Now reigned but stillness o'er
The scene, where wildest mirth had reigned before.
But soon, above their slumbers, from without,
Broke other sound than song or wassail shout—
Each startled warrior caught the loud alarms,
And, half-awakened, grasped his ready arms!
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