X

RAUD THE STRONG

"All the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;

But the White Christ lives and reigns,
And throughout my wide domains
His Gospel shall be spread!"
On the Evangelists

Thus swore King Olaf.

But still in dreams of the night
Beheld he the crimson light,
And heard the voice that defied
Him who was crucified,
And challenged him to the fight.
To Sigurd the Bishop
King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said,
"The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes
The old witchcraft still is spread."
Thus to King Olaf

Said Sigurd the Bishop.

"Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword,

Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;
All the Godoe Isles belong

To him and his heathen horde."
Thus went on speaking
Sigurd the Bishop.

"A warlock, a wizard is he,

And the lord of the wind and the sea;
And whichever way he sails,
He has ever favoring gales,
By his craft in sorcery.

Here the sign of the cross
Made devoutly King Olaf.

"With rites that we both abhor,
He worships Odin and Thor;
So it cannot yet be said,
That all the old gods are dead,
And the warlocks are no more,"
Flushing with anger
Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Then King Olaf cried aloud : "I will talk with this mighty Raud,

And along the Salten Fiord
Preach the Gospel with my sword,
Or be brought back in my shroud!”
So northward from Drontheim
Sailed King Olaf !

ΧΙ

BISHOP SIGURD OF SALTEN FIORD

Loud the angry wind was wailing As King Olaf's ships came sailing Northward out of Drontheim haven

To the mouth of Salten Fiord.

Though the flying sea-spray drenches
Fore and aft the rowers' benches,
Not a single heart is craven

Of the champions there on board.
All without the Fiord was quiet,
But within it storm and riot,
Such as on his Viking cruises

Raud the Strong was wont to ride. And the sea through all its tide-ways Swept the reeling vessels sideways, As the leaves are swept through sluices, When the flood-gates open wide.

""T is the warlock! 't is the demon Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen ; "But the Lord is not affrighted

By the witchcraft of his foes."

To the ship's bow he ascended,
By his choristers attended,
Round him were the tapers lighted,
And the sacred incense rose.

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd,
In his robes, as one transfigured,
And the Crucifix he planted

High amid the rain and mist.
Then with holy water sprinkled
All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled :
Loud the monks around him chanted,
Loud he read the Evangelist.

As into the Fiord they darted,
On each side the water parted;
Down a path like silver molten

Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships;

"Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, Wherewith at a stroke he hewed

The millstone through and through, And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, Were neither so broad nor so long, Nor so true."

Then the Scald took his harp and sang, And loud through the music rang

The sound of that shining word; And the harp-strings a clangor made, As if they were struck with the blade Of a sword.

And the Berserks round about
Broke forth into a shout

That made the rafters ring:

They smote with their fists on the board,
And shouted, "Long live the Sword,
And the King!"

But the King said, "O my son,
I miss the bright word in one

Of thy measures and thy rhymes."
And Halfred the Scald replied,
"In another 't was multiplied
Three times."

Then King Olaf raised the hilt
Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt,

And said, "Do not refuse; Count well the gain and the loss, Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: Choose !"

And Halfred the Scald said, "This In the name of the Lord I kiss,

Who on it was crucified! And a shout went round the board, "In the name of Christ the Lord, Who died!"

Then over the waste of snows
The noonday sun uprose,

Through the driving mists revealed,

Like the lifting of the Host,
By incense-clouds almost
Concealed.

On the shining wall a vast
And shadowy cross was cast

From the hilt of the lifted sword,
And in foaming cups of ale
The Berserks drank "Was-hael!
To the Lord!”

XIII

THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, In his ship-yard by the sea, Whistling, said, "It would bewilder Any man but Thorberg Skafting, Any man but me!"

Near him lay the Dragon stranded,
Built of old by Raud the Strong,
And King Olaf had commanded
He should build another Dragon,
Twice as large and long.

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting,
As he sat with half-closed eyes,
And his head turned sideways, drafting
That new vessel for King Olaf

Twice the Dragon's size.

Round him busily hewed and hammered Mallet huge and heavy axe;

Workmen laughed and sang and clam ored;

Whirred the wheels, that into rigging
Spun the shining flax!

All this tumult heard the master, -
It was music to his ear;
Fancy whispered all the faster,
"Men shall hear of Thorberg Skaft
ing

For a hundred year!"

Workmen sweating at the forges
Fashioned iron bolt and bar,
Like a warlock's midnight orgies
Smoked and bubbled the black caldron
With the boiling tar.

Did the warlocks mingle in it,

Thorberg Skafting, any curse? Could you not be gone a minute But some mischief must be doing, Turning bad to worse?

'T was an ill wind that came wafting

From his homestead words of woe; To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, Oft repeating to his workmen,

Build ye thus and so.

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 Ŏlaf's court,

And the town is all in dismay.

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.