V

80

'Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, Offspring of prophetess and bard! Take harp and greet this lovely prime With some high strain of Runic rhyme, Strong, deep, and powerful! Peal it round Like that loud bell's sonorous sound, Yet wild by fits, as when the lay Of bird and bugle hail the day. Such was my grandsire Eric's sport When dawn gleamed on his martial court. Heymar the Scald with harp's high sound Summoned the chiefs who slept around; 90 Couched on the spoils of wolf and bear, They roused like lions from their lair, Then rushed in emulation forth To enhance the glories of the north. Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, Where is thy shadowy resting-place? In wild Valhalla hast thou quaffed From foeman's skull metheglin draught, Or wanderest where thy cairn was piled To frown o'er oceans wide and wild? Or have the milder Christians given Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven? Where'er thou art, to thee are known Our toils endured, our trophies won, Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes.' He ceased, and Gunnar's song arose.

VI

SONG

'Hawk and osprey screamed for joy O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, Crimson foam the beach o'erspread, The heath was dyed with darker red, When o'er Eric, Inguar's son, Dane and Northman piled the stone, Singing wild the war-song stern, "Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn!"

Where eddying currents foam and boil By Bersa's burgh and Gremsay's isle, The seaman sees a martial form Half-mingled with the mist and storm. In anxious awe he bears away To moor his bark in Stromna's bay, And murmurs from the bounding stern, "Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn!"

What cares disturb the mighty dead? Each honored rite was duly paid; No daring hand thy helm unlaced,

100

110

120

Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee placed;

Thy flinty couch no tear profaned:
Without, with hostile blood 't was stained;
Within, 't was lined with moss and fern,—
Then rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn! 130

'He may not rest: from realms afar
Comes voice of battle and of war,
Of conquest wrought with bloody hand
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's strand,
When Odin's warlike son could daunt
The turbaned race of Termagaunt.'

VII

140

'Peace,' said the knight, the noble Scald Our warlike fathers' deeds recalled, But never strove to soothe the son With tales of what himself had done. At Odin's board the bard sits high Whose harp ne'er stooped to flattery, But highest he whose daring lay Hath dared unwelcome truths to say.' With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed His master's looks and nought replied But well that smile his master led To construe what he left unsaid. 'Is it to me, thou timid youth, Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth! My soul no more thy censure grieves Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. Say on- and yet - beware the rude And wild distemper of my blood; Loath were I that mine ire should wrong The youth that bore my shield so long, And who, in service constant still, Though weak in frame, art strong in will.' —

149

'O!' quoth the page, even there de

pends

VIII

159

170

་

And form as fair as Denmark's pine,
Who loves with purple heath to twine
Her locks of sunny glow;
And sweetly blend that shade of gold
With the cheek's rosy hue,
And Faith might for her mirror hold
That eye of matchless blue.

"T is hers the manly sports to love
That southern maidens fear,
To bend the bow by stream and grove,
And lift the hunter's spear.
She can her chosen champion's flight
With eye undazzled see,

Clasp him victorious from the strife,
Or on his corpse yield up her life,

A Danish maid for me!'

XI

270

280

Then smiled the Dane: Thou canst so well, The virtues of our maidens tell, Half could I wish my choice had been Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen, And lofty soul; - yet what of ill Hast thou to charge on Metelill?' Nothing on her,' young Gunnar said, 'But her base sire's ignoble trade. Her mother too - the general fame Hath given to Jutta evil name, And in her gray eye is a flame Art cannot hide nor fear can tame. That sordid woodman's peasant cot Twice have thine honored footsteps sought, And twice returned with such ill rede As sent thee on some desperate deed.'

XII

290

300

Thou errest; Jutta wisely said,
He that comes suitor to a maid,
Ere linked in marriage, should provide
Lands and a dwelling for his bride-
My father's by the Tyne and Wear
I have reclaimed.' 'O, all too dear
And all too dangerous the prize,
E'en were it won,' young Gunnar cries; -
And then this Jutta's fresh device,
That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane,
From Durham's priests a boon to gain
When thou hast left their vassals slain
In their own halls!'- Flashed Harold's
eye,
Thundered his voice-False page, you
lie !'

The castle, hall and tower, is mine,
Built by old Witikind on Tyne.

310

Was that the head should wear the casque In battle at the Church's task? Was it to such you gave the place Of Harold with the heavy mace? Find me between the Wear and Tyne A knight will wield this club of mine, Give him my fiefs, and I will say There's wit beneath the cowl of He raised it, rough with many a stain gray.' Caught from crushed skull and spouting brain;

110

He wheeled it that it shrilly sung
And the aisles echoed as it swung,
Then dashed it down with sheer descent
And split King Osric's monument.
'How like ye this music? How trow ye

the hand

That can wield such a mace may be reft of

its land?

No answer?-I spare ye a space to agree, And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if he be.

Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on your bell, And again I am with youfarewell.'

VII

grave fathers,

In the bounds of Saint Cuthbert there is not a knight

Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight;

Then rede me aright to his claim to

reply,

130

'Tis unlawful to grant and 't is death to deny.'

VIII

On venison and malmsie that morning had fed

6

The Cellarer Vinsauf —'t was thus that he

said:

Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's reply; Let the feast be spread fair and the wine be poured high:

If he's mortal he drinks,—if he drinks, he is ours

His bracelets of iron, - his bed in our towers.'

This man had a laughing eye,
Trust not, friends, when such you spy;
A beaker's depth he well could drain, 140
Revel, sport, and jest amain-

The haunch of the deer and the grape's bright dye

Never bard loved them better than I; But sooner than Vinsauf filled me my wine,

Passed me his jest, and laughed at mine, Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bordeaux the vine,

With the dullest hermit I'd rather dine On an oaken cake and a draught of the Tyne.

IX

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