With the roll and roar of ocean

And the sounding blast.

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."