VI. But where the work of vengeance had been done, In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight; There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, Still in the posture as to death when dight. For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright; And that, as one who struggled long in dying; One bony hand held knife, as if to smite; One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying; One lay across the door, as kill'd in act of flying. The stern Dane smiled this charnel- For his chafed thought return'd to And 'Well,' he said, 'hath woman's Empty as air, as water volatile, Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy Can show example where a woman's breath Hath made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept her faith.' VII. Firm was that faith, as diamond stone A wanderer's wayward steps could trace. All this she did, and guerdon none Required, save that her burial-stone Should make at length the secret known, "Thus hath a faithful woman done." Not in each breast such truth is laid, But Eivir was a Danish maid.' VIII. 'Thou art a wild enthusiast,' said Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd Thy master slumbers nigh.' The minstrel-boy half smiled, half Thus couch'd they in that dread abode, sigh'd, And his half-filling eyes he dried, And said, 'The theme I should but wrong Unless it were my dying song, Until the beams of dawning glow'd. IX. An alter'd man Lord Harold rose; When he beheld that dawn unclose, There's trouble in his eyes, And traces on his brow and cheek Of mingled awe and wonder speak : 'My page,' he said, 'arise; Leave we this place, my page.' No more He utter'd till the castle door Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, With hell can strive." The fiend spoke true! They cross'd, but there he paused and My inmost soul the summons knew, 'His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd The features it before conceal'd; And, Gunnar, I could find In him whose counsels strove to stay So oft my course on wilful way, My father Witikind! 'With haggard eyes and streaming Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for hair, Jutta the Sorceress was there, slain, All crush'd and foul with bloody stain. And with such sound as when at need Sable their harness, and there came Through their closed visors sparks of flame. The first proclaim'd, in sounds of fear, "Harold the Dauntless,welcome here!" The next cried, "Jubilee! we've won Count Witikind the Waster's son !" And the third rider sternly spoke, "Mount, in the name of Zernebock! From us, O Harold, were thy powers, Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are ours ; mine, A wanderer upon earth to pine I caught the meaning of his speech, brow; Then first he mark'd, that in the tower His glove was left at waking hour. XII. Trembling at first, and deadly pale, Had Gunnar heard the vision'd tale; But when he learn'd the dubious close, He blush'd like any opening rose, And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek, Hied back that glove of mail to seek; When soon a shriek of deadly dread Summon'd his master to his aid. XIII. What sees Count Harold in that bower, So late his resting-place? Adored by all his race! So flow'd his hoary beard; Such was his lance of mountain-pine, So did his sevenfold buckler shine; But when his voice he rear'd, Deep, without harshness, slow and strong, The powerful accents roll'd along, And, while he spoke, his hand was laid On captive Gunnar's shrinking head. XIV. 'Harold,' he said, 'what rage is thine, To quit the worship of thy line, To leave thy Warrior-God? With me is glory or disgrace, Mine is the onset and the chase, Embattled hosts before my face Are wither'd by a nod. Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat Victory and vengeance; only I Can give the joys for which they die, The immortal tilt, the banquet full, The brimming draught from foeman's skull. Mine art thou, witness this thy glove, The faithful pledge of vassal's love.' XV. 'Tempter,' said Harold, firm of heart, 'I charge thee, hence! whate'er thou art, I do defy thee, and resist The kindling frenzy of my breast, Waked by thy words; and of my mail, Nor glove, nor buckler, splent, nornail, Shall rest with thee-that youth release, And God, or Demon, part in peace.' Could wash that blood-red mark away? He clench'd his teeth in high disdain, XVI. Smoke roll'd above, fire flash'd around, Darken'd the sky and shook the ground; But not the artillery of hell, The bickering lightning, nor the rock Of turrets to the earthquake's shock, Could Harold's courage quell. Sternly the Dane his purpose kept, And blows on blows resistless heap'd, Till quail'd that Demon Form, And-for his power to hurt or kill Evanish'd in the storm. XVII. He placed her on a bank of moss, And tremors yet unknown across His stubborn sinews fly, The while with timid hand the dew Upon her brow and neck he threw, And mark'd how life with rosy hue On her pale cheek revived anew, And glimmer'd in her eye. Inly he said, 'That silken tress What blindness mine that could not guess! Or how could page's rugged dress That bosom's pride belie? O, dull of heart, through wild and wave In search of blood and death to rave, With such a partner nigh!' O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly, Speaks shame-facedness and hope. XIX. But vainly seems the Dane to seek For terms his new-born love to speak, For words, save those of wrath and wrong, Till now were strangers to his tongue; Heard none more soft, were all as true): That on the same morn he was christen'd and wed. CONCLUSION. AND now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid? And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow? No need to turn the page, as if 'twere lead, Or fling aside the volume till to morrow. Be cheer'd; 'tis ended-and I will not borrow, To try thy patience more, one anecdote From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote A Tale six cantos long, yet scorn'd to add a note. END OF HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. |