Tales of a Wayside Inn Part 5

And the King: "O speak not of Odin to me, The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be."

Looking straight at the King, with her level brows, She said, "I keep true to my faith and my vows."

Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom, He rose in his anger and strode through the room.

"Why, then, should I care to have thee?" he said,-- "A faded old woman, a heathenish jade!"

His zeal was stronger than fear or love, And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove.

Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled, And the wooden stairway shook with his tread.

Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, "This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death!"

Heart's dearest, Why dost thou sorrow so?

V.

THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS.

Now from all King Olaf's farms His men-at-arms Gathered on the Eve of Easter; To his house at Angvalds-ness Fast they press, Drinking with the royal feaster.

Loudly through the wide-flung door Came the roar Of the sea upon the Skerry; And its thunder loud and near Reached the ear, Mingling with their voices merry.

"Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald, Halfred the Bald, "Listen to that song, and learn it!

Half my kingdom would I give, As I live, If by such songs you would earn it!

"For of all the runes and rhymes Of all times, Best I like the ocean's dirges, When the old harper heaves and rocks, His h.o.a.ry locks Flowing and flashing in the surges!"

Halfred answered: "I am called The Unappalled!

Nothing hinders me or daunts me.

Hearken to me, then, O King, While I sing The great Ocean Song that haunts me."

"I will hear your song sublime Some other time,"

Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, And retires; each laughing guest Applauds the jest; Then they sleep till day is dawning.

Pacing up and down the yard, King Olaf's guard Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping O'er the sands, and up the hill, Gathering still Round the house where they were sleeping.

It was not the fog he saw, Nor misty flaw, That above the landscape brooded; It was Eyvind Kallda's crew Of warlocks blue, With their caps of darkness hooded!

Round and round the house they go, Weaving slow Magic circles to enc.u.mber And imprison in their ring Olaf the King, As he helpless lies in slumber.

Then athwart the vapors dun The Easter sun Streamed with one broad track of splendor!

In their real forms appeared The warlocks weird, Awful as the Witch of Endor.

Blinded by the light that glared, They groped and stared Round about with steps unsteady; From his window Olaf gazed, And, amazed, "Who are these strange people?" said he.

"Eyvind Kellda and his men!"

Answered then From the yard a st.u.r.dy farmer; While the men-at-arms apace Filled the place, Busily buckling on their armor.

From the gates they sallied forth, South and north, Scoured the island coast around them, Seizing all the warlock band, Foot and hand On the Skerry's rocks they bound them.

And at eve the king again Called his train, And, with all the candles burning, Silent sat and heard once more The sullen roar Of the ocean tides returning.

Shrieks and cries of wild despair Filled the air, Growing fainter as they listened; Then the bursting surge alone Sounded on;-- Thus the sorcerers were christened!

"Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, Your ocean-rhyme,"

Cried King Olaf: "it will cheer me!"

Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, "The Skerry of Shrieks Sings too loud for you to hear me!"

VI.

THE WRAITH OF ODIN.

The guests were loud, the ale was strong, King Olaf feasted late and long; The h.o.a.ry Scalds together sang; O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The door swung wide, with creak and din; A blast of cold night-air came in, And on the threshold shivering stood A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The King exclaimed, "O graybeard pale!

Come warm thee with this cup of ale."

The foaming draught the old man quaffed, The noisy guests looked on and laughed.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

Then spake the King: "Be not afraid; Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, And, seated at the table, told Tales of the sea, and Sagas old.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

And ever, when the tale was o'er, The King demanded yet one more; Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, "'Tis late, O King, and time for bed."

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The King retired; the stranger guest Followed and entered with the rest; The lights were out, the pages gone, But still the garrulous guest spake on.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

As one who from a volume reads, He spake of heroes and their deeds, Of lands and cities he had seen, And stormy gulfs that tossed between.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

Then from his lips in music rolled The Havamal of Odin old, With sounds mysterious as the roar Of billows on a distant sh.o.r.e.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

"Do we not learn from runes and rhymes Made by the G.o.ds in elder times, And do not still the great Scalds teach That silence better is than speech?"

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

Smiling at this, the King replied, "Thy lore is by thy tongue belied; For never was I so enthralled Either by Saga-man or Scald."

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep!

Night wanes, O King! 'tis time for sleep!"

Then slept the King, and when he woke The guest was gone, the morning broke.