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(10.)-CHAP. Xxx.

Now bid the steeple rock-she comes, she comes! Speak for us, bells! speak for us, shrill-tongued


Stand to the linstock, gunner; let thy cannon Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe

Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer if navies,

Amidst the scream of thy rage,

Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a perishing nation,

Came stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the Though the rushing of thy wings be like the roar

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of ten thousand waves,

Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste,

Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar.


Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim, Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their uprooted stems;

Thou hast met the rider of the ocean,

The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover,
And she has struck to thee the topsail
That she had not veil'd to a royal armada:
Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest among
the clouds,
The battled massive tower of the Jarl of former
And the cope-stone of the turret
Is lying upon its hospitable hearth;
But thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouds,
When thou hearest the voice of the Reim-kennar.


There are verses that can stop the stag in the forest,

Ay, and when the dark-color'd dog is opening on his track;

There are verses can make the wild hawk pause on the wing,

Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses,
And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler.
Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drown-
ing mariner,

And the crash of the ravaged forest,
And the groan of the overwhelm'd crowds,

When the church hath fallen in the moment of


There are sounds which thou also must list, When they are chanted by the voice of the Reimkennar.


Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the ocean,
The widows wring their hands on the beach;
Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land,
The husbandman folds his arms in despair;
Cease thou the waving of thy pinions,
Let the ocean repose in her dark strength;
Cease thou the flashing of thine eye,

Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory of Odin; Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north-western heaven,—

Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the Reim-kennar.





Eagle of the far north-western waters,
Thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar,
Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding,
And folded them in peace by thy side.
My blessing be on thy retiring path;
When thou stoopest from thy place on high,
Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown


Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee; Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar.

Chap. vi.



FAREWELL to Northmaven, Gray Hillswicke, farewell! To the calms of thy haven,

The storms on thy fellTo each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary! We meet not again!

Farewell the wild ferry,

Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry

Were white in the wave. There's a maid may look over These wild waves in vain,For the skiff of her loverHe comes not again!

The vows thou hast broke,

On the wild currents fling them; On the quicksand and rock

Let the mermaidens sing them. New sweetness they'll give her

Bewildering strain;

But there's one who will never
Believe them again.

O were there an island,
Though ever so wild,
Where woman could smile, and
No man be beguiled-
Too tempting a snare

To poor mortals were given; And the hope would fix there, That should anchor in heaven.


THE sun is rising dimly red,
The wind is wailing low and dread;
From his cliff the eagle sallies,
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys;
In the mist the ravens hover,
Peep the wild dogs from the cover,
Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling,
Each in his wild accents telling,
"Soon we feast on dead and dying,
Fair-hair'd Harold's flag is flying."

Many a crest on air is streaming,
Many a helmet darkly gleaming,
Many an arm the axe-uprears,
Doom'd to hew the wood of spears.
All along the crowded ranks
Horses neigh and armor clanks;
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing,
Louder still the bard is singing,
"Gather footmen, gather horsemen,
To the field, ye valiant Norsemen !

"Halt ye not for food or slumber,
View not vantage, count not number;
Jolly reapers, forward still,
Grow the crop on vale or hill,
Thick or scatter'd, stiff or lithe,
It shall down before the scythe.
Forward with your sickles bright,
Reap the harvest of the fight.-
Onward footmen, onward horsemen,
To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen !

"Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter,
O'er you hovers Odin's daughter;
Hear the choice she spreads before ye,—
Victory, and wealth, and glory;
Or old Valhalla's roaring hail,
Her ever-circling mead and ale,
Where for eternity unite

The joys of wassail and of fight.

Headlong forward, foot and horsemen,

Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen !"—

Chap. XV.



FATHOMS deep beneath the wave, Stringing beads of glistering pearl,

Chap. xii.

Singing the achievements brave
Of many an old Norwegian earl;

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Daughters of northern Magnus, hail!
The lamp is lit, the flame is clear,—
To you I come to tell my tale,
Awake, arise, my tale to hear!

Chap. xix



MOTHER darksome, Mother dread,
Dweller on the Fitful-head,

Thou canst see what deeds are done
Under the never-setting sun.

Look through sleet, and look through frost,
Look to Greenland's caves and coast,-
By the ice-berg is a sail

Chasing of the swarthy whale;
Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
us, has the good ship sped?


The thought of the aged is ever on gear,—
On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer;
But thrive may his fishing, flock, furrow, and herd,
While the aged for anguish shall tear his gray

The ship, well-laden as bark need be,
Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea;-
The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft,
And gayly the garland is fluttering aloft :
Seven good fishes have spouted their last,
And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast;
Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall,—
Three for Burgh Westra, the choicest of all

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Huzza! my brave comrades, give way for the Haaf,

We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh;

For light without mirth is a lamp without oil; Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil! Chap. xxii.

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And you shall deal my lands so wide, And deal my castles nine.

But deal not vengeance for the deed,
And deal not for the crime;

The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace,

And the rest in God's own time.

Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of trea


Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with


By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint


Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry!

If of good, go hence and hallow thee;—

If of ill, let the earth swallow thee;

If thou'rt of air, let the gray mist fold thee;-
If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee;-
If a Pixie, seek thy ring;-
If a Nixie, seek thy spring;-
If on middle earth thou'st been
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin,

Hast eat the bread of toil and strife,
And dree'd the lot which men call life;
Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is scant of

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