Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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The Hammermen of Old.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
19
The Hammermen of Old.
Mimer, the hammerman—strong of arm, brawny of limb, and rugged of brow,
Stalwart to forge the Norsemen's steel, the sword, the spear, but never the plough—
Had, after years of care and thought, of heat, and sweat, and grappling pain,
Beat out a suit of close-linked mail to guard King Siegfried's heart and brain.
Stalwart to forge the Norsemen's steel, the sword, the spear, but never the plough—
Had, after years of care and thought, of heat, and sweat, and grappling pain,
Beat out a suit of close-linked mail to guard King Siegfried's heart and brain.
Massive it was and firmly knit, a horse's load at least,
Fit to resist the Saxon axe, and the fang and claw of beast;
Against it spears were bulrushes, and arrows but oat-straws;
'Twas made for men who mocked at swords, and cared not for the laws.
Fit to resist the Saxon axe, and the fang and claw of beast;
Against it spears were bulrushes, and arrows but oat-straws;
'Twas made for men who mocked at swords, and cared not for the laws.
Mimer laughed loud, in pride and scorn, as he gazed at his task,
And in the sun, a clashing heap, he threw it down to bask;
Then stretched himself beside his door, to sing (he cared for nought):
Just then Æmilias wandered by absorbed in gloomy thought.
And in the sun, a clashing heap, he threw it down to bask;
Then stretched himself beside his door, to sing (he cared for nought):
Just then Æmilias wandered by absorbed in gloomy thought.
“Behold my work,” rough Mimer roared: “it is for Odin fit;
No sword, e'en by a mine-dwarf made, could dint its links one whit.”
“I'll weld a blade,” Æmilias said, “that shall shear through this steel,
And cleave the braggart wearing it from helmet down to heel.”
No sword, e'en by a mine-dwarf made, could dint its links one whit.”
“I'll weld a blade,” Æmilias said, “that shall shear through this steel,
And cleave the braggart wearing it from helmet down to heel.”
“Go, beat away,” rough Mimer cried, wrath rising in his gorge:
“We care not what you village smiths upon your stithies forge.”
So saying, he arose and smote an anvil clean in twain,
And dashed the fire out with his foot, then dashed it in again.
“We care not what you village smiths upon your stithies forge.”
So saying, he arose and smote an anvil clean in twain,
And dashed the fire out with his foot, then dashed it in again.
Silent, but wroth, Æmilias passed, his face hid in his hood,
Striding through thorns and hemlocks tall, to where his black forge stood;
Then fanned his sleeping charcoal fires, and dragged his anvil forth,
And sorted out his choicest ore from the far-frozen North.
Striding through thorns and hemlocks tall, to where his black forge stood;
Then fanned his sleeping charcoal fires, and dragged his anvil forth,
And sorted out his choicest ore from the far-frozen North.
It was a lonely forest dell, walled in with fir-trees dark,
Paved with dead leaves and resinous cones, but lit by no star-spark;
The black bear's growl, the badger's cry, were the only sounds to cheer;
The squirrel gambolled overhead: no woodman's hut was near.
Paved with dead leaves and resinous cones, but lit by no star-spark;
The black bear's growl, the badger's cry, were the only sounds to cheer;
The squirrel gambolled overhead: no woodman's hut was near.
Three moons had passed away and gone, when to the king in state,
Æmilias brought the potent sword: glad was he and elate.
'T was smoky blue, nor polished yet, but fit for gods to wield;
He brought it with a warrior's pride, beating it on his shield.
Æmilias brought the potent sword: glad was he and elate.
'T was smoky blue, nor polished yet, but fit for gods to wield;
He brought it with a warrior's pride, beating it on his shield.
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A woollen thread that floated by upon the river's tide
He severed with a keen-drawn stroke, laughing aloud in pride.
Then, without courtesy or sign, strode off unto his den:
He was the churliest of the brood of mighty hammermen.
He severed with a keen-drawn stroke, laughing aloud in pride.
Then, without courtesy or sign, strode off unto his den:
He was the churliest of the brood of mighty hammermen.
'Mid crimson blaze and yellow gleams, and sharp keen-darting spires,
Amid the brightness and the gloom of never-quenchéd fires,
He beat and hammered, filed and ground, still tempering the blade,—
The night wolves, baying, fled away from that re-echoing glade.
Amid the brightness and the gloom of never-quenchéd fires,
He beat and hammered, filed and ground, still tempering the blade,—
The night wolves, baying, fled away from that re-echoing glade.
He sawed the trusty steel to shreds, and welded the fine ore;
He tempered it in ice and milk, and bear's and fox's gore;
Laid it in nests of scarlet coals, and in the golden blaze,
And smote it on his ringing forge for two and twenty days.
He tempered it in ice and milk, and bear's and fox's gore;
Laid it in nests of scarlet coals, and in the golden blaze,
And smote it on his ringing forge for two and twenty days.
Then with its razor's fine “fire-edge” he severed at a blow
A bale of wool that floated white on the thawed water's flow;
But, still unsatisfied, he strode back to his murky den,
More steadfast at his chosen art than all the hammermen.
A bale of wool that floated white on the thawed water's flow;
But, still unsatisfied, he strode back to his murky den,
More steadfast at his chosen art than all the hammermen.
Ten months he toiled amid the blaze of those loud-roaring fires,
Amid the flames that round him leaped with their keen wavering spires;
He then went forth, and with his blade a floating pack of wool
Carved clean in twain and at one stroke. His work was ripe and full.
Amid the flames that round him leaped with their keen wavering spires;
He then went forth, and with his blade a floating pack of wool
Carved clean in twain and at one stroke. His work was ripe and full.
Æmilias long ago had learned that in all worthy art
Patience and Wisdom must combine each in its several part:
Either away, the craftsman's work remained mere wood or stone,
And that wise Patience is to art as flesh is to our bone.
Patience and Wisdom must combine each in its several part:
Either away, the craftsman's work remained mere wood or stone,
And that wise Patience is to art as flesh is to our bone.
Now, then, at last the perfect sword he hid beneath his cloak,
And went to where the king and court, and all the warrior folk,
Had gathered, praising Mimer; then, with a stealthy smile,
Æmilias bade him meet the test, and this he said in guile.
And went to where the king and court, and all the warrior folk,
Had gathered, praising Mimer; then, with a stealthy smile,
Æmilias bade him meet the test, and this he said in guile.
King Siegfried sat upon a throne carved out of ivory;
The lords and ladies round him grouped, a goodly sight to see;
On their rich robes the emerald stones shone with eternal Spring,
Round cloth of gold the belts of gems were proudly glistening.
The lords and ladies round him grouped, a goodly sight to see;
On their rich robes the emerald stones shone with eternal Spring,
Round cloth of gold the belts of gems were proudly glistening.
Mimer, in mail undinted, scoffed, standing erect and proud,
Impatient for the trial blow: “Strike hard!” he cried aloud.
While he yet spoke the giant sword flew like a windmill round,
And smote him, keen and rude and fierce, and felled him to the ground.
Impatient for the trial blow: “Strike hard!” he cried aloud.
While he yet spoke the giant sword flew like a windmill round,
And smote him, keen and rude and fierce, and felled him to the ground.
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“Unhurt!” cried Mimer, “yet I feel a creeping kind of cold,
From brain to heart, from head to foot, stealing from fold to fold.”
“Then shake thyself!”—Æmilias cried, with a sour sturdy laugh;
And lo! the bleeding hammerman fell cloven fair in half!
From brain to heart, from head to foot, stealing from fold to fold.”
“Then shake thyself!”—Æmilias cried, with a sour sturdy laugh;
And lo! the bleeding hammerman fell cloven fair in half!
Never to swing his hammer more, at stithy or in mine,
In ponderous shirt of pliant steel no more to strut or shine;
Split like a beechen log, he fell at great King Siegfried's feet,
To sullen, bragging hammermen, a warning very meet.
In ponderous shirt of pliant steel no more to strut or shine;
Split like a beechen log, he fell at great King Siegfried's feet,
To sullen, bragging hammermen, a warning very meet.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |