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(10.)-CHAP, XXX.

Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scattere & Now bid the steeple rock-she comes, she comes ! navies, Speak for us, bells I speak for us, shrill-tongued Amidst the scream of thy rage, tuckets!

Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, Stand to the linstock, gunner; let thy cannon Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a perist Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe

ing nation, Came stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the Though the rushing of thy wings be like the rear ramparts.

of ten thousand waves,
We will have pageants too; but that craves wit, Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste,
And I'm a rough-hewn soldier.

Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar.
The Virgin-Queen, a Tragi-Comedy.


Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim, The wisest sovereigns err like private men, Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword

uprooted stems; Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder,

Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, Which better had been branded by the hangman. The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover, What then? Kings do their best,—and they and we And she has struck to thee the topsail Must answer for the intent, and not the event. That she had not veild to a royal armada:

Old Play Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest among the clouds,

[days (12.)-CHAP. XXXIII.

The battled massive tower of the Jarl of former Here stands the victim—there the proud betrayer, And the cope-stone of the turret E'en as the hind pull’d down by strangling dogs Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; Lies at the hunter's feet, who courteous proffers But thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouds, To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, When thou hearest the voice of the Reim-kennar. To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, To gash the sobbing throat.

3. The Woodsman. There are verses that can stop the stag in the

forest, (13.)-CHAP. XL.

Ay, and when the dark-color'd dog is opening on High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming,

his track; And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows; There are verses can make the wild hawk pause So truth prevails o'er falsehood.

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,
from the Pirate.

And the groan of the overwhelm'd crowds,
When the church hath fallen in the inoment of


There are sounds which thon also must list,

When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim(1.)—THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST.

kennar. “A NORWEGIAN invocation, still preserved in the

4. island of Unst, under the name of the Song of the Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the ocean, Reim-kennar, though some call it the Song of the The widows wring their hands on the beach ; Tempest. The following is a free translation, it Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land, being impossible to render literally many of the The husbandman folds his arms in despair; elliptical and metaphorical terms of expression pe-Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, culiar to the ancient Northern poetry:"- Let the ocean repose in her dark strength;

Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, 1.

Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory of Odin; STERN eagle of the far north-west,

Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt,

north-western heavenThou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness, Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the Reim-kennar.

Old Play

5. 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

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

Chap. vi.


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 axesuprears,
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!



FAREWELL to Northmaven,

Gray Hillswicke, farewell! To the calms of thy haven,

The storms on thy fell To each breeze that can vary

The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary!

We meet not again !

“ 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!

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 lover

He 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.

“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 I"

Chap. xv.



O were there an island,

Though ever so wild, Where woman could smile, and

No man be beguiledToo tempting a snare

To poor mortals were given; And the hope would fix there,

That should anchor in heaven.


Fathoms deep beneath the wave,

Stringing beads of glistering pearl, Singing the achievements brave

Of many an old Norwegian earl ;

Chap. xii.

Dwelling where the tempest's raving,

Falls as light upon our ear,
As the sigh of lover, craving

Pity from his lady dear,
Children of wild Thule, we,
From the deep caves of the sea,
As the lark springs from the lea,
Hither come, to share your glee.

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. xis




From reining of the water-horse,
That bounded till the waves were foam-

Watching the infant tempest's course,

Chasing the sea-snake irf his roaming; From winding charge-notes on the shell,

When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell,

When the winds and waves are cruel;
Children of wild Thule, we
Have plough'd such furrows on the sea,
As the steer draws on the lea,
And hither we come to share your glee.

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,
Tell us, has the good ship sped ?


We heard you in our twilight caves,

A hundred fathom deep below,
For notes of joy can pierce the waves,

That drown each sound of war and woe.
Those who dwell beneath the sea

Love the song of Thule well;
Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we

Dance, and song, and sounding shell.
Children of dark Thule, know,
Those who dwell by haaf and voe,
Where your daring shallops row,
Come to share the festal show.

Chap. xvi.

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.

MAGNUS TROIL. Mother speak, and do not tarry, Here's a maiden fain would marry.


And you shall deal my lands so wide,

And deal my castles nine.

Love wakes and weeps

While Beauty sleeps !
O for Music's softest numbers,

To prompt a theme,

For Beauty's dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers !

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.

Through groves of palm

Sigh gales of balm,
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling;

While through the gloom

Comes soft perfume, The distant beds of flowers revealing.

O wake and live!

No dream can give
A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling;

No longer sleep,

From lattice peep, And list the tale that Love is telling.

Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of trea

son ; Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with

reason; 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

thee, The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want

of thee: Hence, houseless ghost ! let the earth hide thee, ! Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there

thou bide thee! Phantom, fly hence! take the Cross for a token, Hence pass till Hallowmass !—my spell is spoken.

Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear,

Has left its last soft tone with you,Its next must join the seaward cheer,

And shout among the shouting crew.

The accents which I scarce could form

Beneath your frown's controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm,

To cut the mast, and clear the wreck.

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The timid eye I dared not raise,

The hand, that shook when press'd to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase

Must bid the deadly cutlass shine.

Where corpse-light
Dances bright,
Be it by day or night,
Be it by light or dark,
There shall corpse lie stiff and stark.

To all I love, or hope, or fear,

Honor, or own, a long adieu !
To all that life has soft and dear,
Farewell! save memory of you!

Chap. xxi.

Menseful maiden ne'er should rise,
Till the first beam tinge the skies;
Silk-fringed eyelids still should close,
Till the sun has kiss'd the rose;
Maiden's foot we should not view,
Mark'd with tiny print on dew,
Till the opening flowerets spread
Carpet meet for beauty's tread.

Chap. xii.


And you shall deal the funeral dole ;

Ay, deal it, mother mine, To weary body, and to heavy soul,

The white bread and the wine.



you shall deal my horses of pride; Ay, deal them, mother mine ;

CHAMPION, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil I

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