Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim,

Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their up-rooted stems; Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover,

And she has struck to thee the topsail That she had not veil'd to a royal armada.

Thou hast met the tower that bears its
crest among the clouds,
The battled massive tower of the Jarl
of former days,

And the cope-stone of the turret
Is lying upon its hospitable hearth;
But thou too shalt stoop, proud com.
peller of clouds,

When thou hearest the voice of the
Reim-kennar.

There are verses that can stop the stag in the forest,

Ay, and when the dark-colour'd dog is opening on his track; There are verses can make the wild hawk pause on the wing, Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses,

And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler.

Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drowning mariner,

And the crash of the ravaged forest, And the groan of the overwhelmed crowds,

When the church hath fallen in the moment of prayer;

There are sounds which thou also must list,

When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim-kennar.

Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the ocean.

The widows wring their hands on the beach;

Enough of woe hast thou wrought on

the land,

The husbandman folds his arms in despair;

Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, Let the ocean repose in her dark strength;

Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armoury of Odin;

Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north-western heaven,

Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the Reim-kennar.

Eagle of the far north-western waters, Thou hast heard the voice of the Reim

kennar,

Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding,

And folded them in peace by thy side. My blessing be on thy retiring path; When thou stoopest from thy place on high,

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown ocean,

Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee;

Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of the Reimkennar.

Chap. vi.

A LAST FAREWELL.

CLAUD HALCRO sings :

FAREWELL to Northmaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell! To the calms of thy haven,

The storms on thy fell, To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary! We meet not again!

Farewell the wild ferry,

Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave. There's a maid may look over These wild waves in vain,— For the skiff of her lover—

He comes not again!

The vows thou hast broke,

On the wild currents fling them; On the quicksand and rock

Let the mermaidens sing them; New sweetness they'll give her Bewildering strain ;

But there's one who will never
Believe them again.

O were there an island,

Though ever so wild,
Where woman could smile, and
No man be beguiled-
Too tempting a snare

To poor mortals were given;
And the hope would fix there,

That should anchor in heaven, Chap. XII.

HAROLD HARFAGER.

THE sun is rising dimly red,
The wind is wailing low and dread;
From his cliff the eagle sallies,
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys,
In the mist the ravens hover,
Peep the wild dogs from the cover,
Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling,
Each in his wild accents telling,
'Soon we feast on dead and dying,
Fair-hair'd Harold's flag is flying.'

Many a crest on air is streaming, Many a helmet darkly gleaming, Many an arm the axe uprears, Doom'd to hew the wood of spears. D d

NORNA sings :

FOR leagues along the watery way, Through gulf and stream my course

has been ;

The billows know my Runic lay,

And smooth their crests to silent

green.

The billows know my Runic lay,The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still;

But human hearts, more wild than they,

Know but the rule of wayward will.

One hour is mine, in all the year,

To tell my woes,—and one alone; When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here,

When dies the mystic light, 'tis

gone.

Daughters of northern Magnus, hail!
The lamp is lit, the flame is clear,-
To you I come to tell my tale,
Awake, arise, my tale to hear!

NORNA'S INVOCATION.

DWELLERS of the mountain, rise,
Trolld the powerful, Haims the wise!
Ye who taught weak woman's tongue
Words that sway the wise and strong;
Ye who taught weak woman's hand
How to wield the magic wand,
And wake the gales on Foŭlah's steep
Or lull wild Sumburgh's waves to
sleep!

Still live ye yet? Not yours the pow'r

Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour. What are ye now but empty names, Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims, That, lightly spoken, lightly heard, Float on the air like thistle's beard?