Tales of a Wayside Inn Part 9

When they landed from the fleet, How they roared through Drontheim's street, Boisterous as the gale!

How they laughed and stamped and pounded, Till the tavern roof resounded, And the host looked on astounded As they drank the ale!

Never saw the wild North Sea Such a gallant company Sail its billows blue!

Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, Owned a ship so well apparelled, Boasted such a crew!

XV.

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR.

A little bird in the air Is singing of Thyri the fair, The sister of Svend the Dane; And the song of the garrulous bird In the streets of the town is heard, And repeated again and again.

Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

To King Burislaf, it is said, Was the beautiful Thyri wed, And a sorrowful bride went she; And after a week and a day, She has fled away and away, From his town by the stormy sea.

Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

They say, that through heat and through cold, Through weald, they say, and through wold, By day and by night, they say, She has fled; and the gossips report She has come to King Olaf's court, And the town is all in dismay.

Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

It is whispered King Olaf has seen, Has talked with the beautiful Queen; And they wonder how it will end; For surely, if here she remain, It is war with King Svend the Dane, And King Burislaf the Vend!

Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

O, greatest wonder of all!

It is published in hamlet and hall, It roars like a flame that is fanned!

The King--yes, Olaf the King-- Has wedded her with his ring, And Thyri is Queen in the land!

Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

XVI.

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS.

Northward over Drontheim, Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, Sang the lark and linnet From the meadows green;

Weeping in her chamber, Lonely and unhappy, Sat the Drottning Thyri, Sat King Olaf's Queen.

In at all the windows Streamed the pleasant sunshine, On the roof above her Softly cooed the dove;

But the sound she heard not, Nor the sunshine heeded, For the thoughts of Thyri Were not thoughts of love.

Then King Olaf entered, Beautiful as morning, Like the sun at Easter Shone his happy face;

In his hand he carried Angelicas uprooted, With delicious fragrance Filling all the place.

Like a rainy midnight Sat the Drottning Thyri, Even the smile of Olaf Could not cheer her gloom;

Nor the stalks he gave her With a gracious gesture, And with words as pleasant As their own perfume.

In her hands he placed them, And her jewelled fingers Through the green leaves glistened Like the dews of morn;

But she cast them from her, Haughty and indignant, On the floor she threw them With a look of scorn.

"Richer presents," said she, "Gave King Harald Gormson To the Queen, my mother, Than such worthless weeds;

"When he ravaged Norway, Laying waste the kingdom, Seizing scatt and treasure For her royal needs.

"But thou darest not venture Through the Sound to Vendland, My domains to rescue From King Burislaf;

"Lest King Svend of Denmark, Forked Beard, my brother, Scatter all thy vessels As the wind the chaff."

Then up sprang King Olaf, Like a reindeer bounding, With an oath he answered Thus the luckless Queen:

"Never yet did Olaf Fear King Svend of Denmark; This right hand shall hale him By his forked chin!"

Then he left the chamber, Thundering through the doorway, Loud his steps resounded Down the outer stair.

Smarting with the insult, Through the streets of Drontheim Strode he red and wrathful, With his stately air.

All his ships he gathered, Summoned all his forces, Making his war levy In the region round;

Down the coast of Norway, Like a flock of sea-gulls, Sailed the fleet of Olaf Through the Danish Sound.

With his own hand fearless, Steered he the Long Serpent, Strained the creaking cordage, Bent each boom and gaff;

Till in Vendland landing, The domains of Thyri He redeemed and rescued From King Burislaf.

Then said Olaf, laughing, "Not ten yoke of oxen Have the power to draw us Like a woman's hair!

"Now will I confess it, Better things are jewels Than angelica stalks are For a Queen to wear."

XVII.

KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD.

Loudly the sailors cheered Svend of the Forked Beard, As with his fleet he steered Southward to Vendland; Where with their courses hauled All were together called, Under the Isle of Svald Near to the mainland.

After Queen Gunhild's death, So the old Saga saith, Plighted King Svend his faith To Sigrid the Haughty; And to avenge his bride, Soothing her wounded pride, Over the waters wide King Olaf sought he.

Still on her scornful face, Blushing with deep disgrace, Bore she the crimson trace Of Olaf's gauntlet; Like a malignant star, Blazing in heaven afar, Red shone the angry scar Under her frontlet.

Oft to King Svend she spake, "For thine own honor's sake Shalt thou swift vengeance take On the vile coward!"

Until the King at last, Gusty and overcast, Like a tempestuous blast Threatened and lowered.

Soon as the Spring appeared, Svend of the Forked Beard High his red standard reared, Eager for battle; While every warlike Dane, Seizing his arms again, Left all unsown the grain, Unhoused the cattle.

Likewise the Swedish King Summoned in haste a Thing, Weapons and men to bring In aid of Denmark; Eric the Norseman, too, As the war-tidings flew, Sailed with a chosen crew From Lapland and Finmark.