"Sing the song of Hakon dying, Sing his funeral wail!" And another arrow flying Grazed his coat of mail. Turning to a Lapland yeoman, Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman Sooner than the word was spoken "What was that?" said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck. "Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck." Einar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered, "That was Norway breaking From thy hand, O King!" "Thou art but a poor diviner," Straightway Olaf said; "Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, Let thy shafts be sped." Of his bows the fairest choosing, Reached he from above; Einar saw the blood-drops oozing But the bow was thin and narrow; At the first assay, O'er its head he drew the arrow, Flung the bow away; Said, with hot and angry temper "Olaf! for so great a Kämper Then, with smile of joy defiant Scaled he, light and self-reliant, Eric's dragon-ship. Loose his golden locks were flowing, XXI. KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK ALL day has the battle raged, The vengeance of Eric the Earl. The decks with blood are red, They drift as wrecks on the tide, The shouts are feeble and few. Ah! never shall Norway again Or asleep in the billows blue! On the deck stands Olaf the King, The spears that the foemen fling, And the stones they hurl with their hands. In the midst of the stones and the spears, His shield in the air he uprears, By the side of King Olaf he stands. Over the slippery wreck Of the Long Serpent's deck Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, His lips with anger are pale ; He hews with his axe at the mast, Till it falls, with the sails overcast, Like a snow-covered pine in the vast Dim forests of Orkadale. Seeking King Olaf then, As a hunter into the den Of the bear, when he stands at bay. "Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries; When lo! on his wondering eyes, Two kingly figures arise, Two Olafs in warlike array! Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear Two shields raised high in the air, Two flashes of golden hair, Two scarlet meteors' glare, And both have leaped from the ship. Earl Eric's men in the boats "See! it is Olaf the King!" While far on the opposite side There is told a wonderful tale, But the young grew old and gray, XXII. THE NUN OF NIDAROS In the convent of Drontheim, Alone in her chamber Knelt Astrid the Abbess, She heard in the silence The voice of one speaking, |