NORNA.

The infant loves the rattle's noise;
Age, double childhood, hath its toys;
But different far the descant rings,
As strikes a different hand the strings.
The eagle mounts the polar sky-
The Imber-goose, unskill'd to fly,
Must be content to glide along,
Where seal and sea-dog list his song.

CLAUD HALCRO.

Be mine the Imber-goose to play,
And haunt lone cave and silent bay;
The archer's aim so shall I shun-

So shall I 'scape the levell'd gun-
Content my verses' tuneless jingle,
With Thule's sounding tides to mingle,
While, to the ear of wondering wight,
Upon the distant headland's height,
Soften'd by murmur of the sea,
The rude sounds seem like harmony!
Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,

A gallant bark from far abroad,
Saint Magnus hath her in his road,
With guns and firelocks not a few-
A silken and a scarlet crew,
Deep stored with precious merchan-
dise,

Of gold, and goods of rare device-
What interest hath our comrade bold
In bark and crew, in goods and gold?
NORNA.

Gold is ruddy, fair, and free,
Blood is crimson, and dark to see ;
I look'd out on Saint Magnus Bay,
And I saw a falcon that struck her

prey,

A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore,

And talons and singles are dripping

with gore;

Let him that asks after them look on his hand,

And if there is blood on 't, he's one of their band.

CLAUD HALCRO.

Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
Well thou know'st it is thy task
To tell what Beauty will not ask;
Then steep thy words in wine and
milk,

And weave a doom of gold and silk,For we would know, shall Brenda prove

In love, and happy in her love?

NORNA.

Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast
Is like the snow on Rona's crest,
High seated in the middle sky,
In bright and barren purity;
But by the sunbeam gently kiss'd,
Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis miss'd,
Ere, down the lonely valley stealing,
Fresh grass and growth its course
revealing,

It cheers the flock, revives the flower, And decks some happy shepherd's bower.

MAGNUS TROIL.

Mother speak, and do not tarry,
Here's a maiden fain would marry.
Shall she marry, ay or not?
If she marry, what's her lot?

NORNA.

Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast
Is like the snow on Rona's crest;
So pure, so free from earthy dye,
It seems, whilst leaning on the sky,
Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh;
But passion, like the wild March rain,
May soil the wreath with many a stain.
We gaze-the lovely vision's gone—
A torrent fills the bed of stone,
That hurrying to destruction's shock,
Leaps headlong from the lofty rock.

Chap. XXI.

SONG OF THE SHETLAND
FISHERS.

FAREWELL, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh,

For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the Haaf;

And we must have labour, and hunger, and pain,

Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again.

For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal,

We must dance on the waves, with the porpoise and seal;

The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high,

And the gull be our songstress whene'er she flits by.

Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee,

By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of the sea;

And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line,

Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine.

We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing while we haul

For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all:

There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle,

And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the earl.

Huzza! my brave comrades, give way for the Haaf,

We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh; For light without mirth is a lamp without oil;

Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil!

Chap. XXII.

CLEVELAND sings:

LOVE wakes and weeps While Beauty sleeps! O for Music's softest numbers, To prompt a theme, For Beauty's dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers!

Through groves of palm
Sigh gales of balm,
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling;
While through the gloom
Comes soft perfume,

The distant beds of flowers revealing.

O wake and live!

No dream can give

A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling;
No longer sleep,
From lattice peep,
And list the tale that Love is telling.

FAREWELL! Farewell! the voice you hear

Has left its last soft tone with you; Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shoutingcrew.

The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check,

Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast, and clear the wreck.

The timid eye I dared not raise,

The hand, that shook when press'd to thine,

Must point the guns upon the chaseMust bid the deadly cutlass shine.

To all I love, or hope, or fear,

Honour, or own, a long adieu ! To all that life has soft and dear,

Farewell! save memory of you!

CLAUD HALCRO sings or recites :— AND you shall deal the funeral dole; Ay, deal it, mother mine, To weary body, and to heavy soul, The white bread and the wine.

And you shall deal my horses of pride;

Ay, deal them, mother mine;
And you shall deal my lands so wide,
And deal my castles nine.

But deal not vengeance for the deed,
And deal not for the crime;
The body to its place, and the soul to
Heaven's grace,

And the rest in God's own time.

SAINT Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason;

Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason;

By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary,

Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry!

Ifofgood, go hence and hallow thee;— If of ill, let the earth swallow thee ;— If thou 'rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee;

If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee;

If a Pixie, seek thy ring;-
If a Nixie, seek thy spring;-
If on middle earth thou'st been
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin,
Hast eat the bread of toil and strife,
And dree'd the lot which men call life;
Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is

scant of thee,

The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want of thee:

Hence, houseless ghost! let the earth hide thee,

Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there thou bide thee !—

for a token,

Hence pass till Hallowmass !-my spell is spoken.

WHERE Corpse-light
Dances bright,

Be it by day or night,
Be it by light or dark,
There shall corpse lie stiff and stark.

MENSEFUL maiden ne'er should rise,
Till the first beam tinge the skies;
Silk-fringed eyelids still should close,
Till the sun has kiss'd the rose;
Maiden's foot we should not view,
Mark'd with tiny print on dew,
Till the opening flowerets spread
Carpet meet for beauty's tread.
Chap. XXIII.

NORNA sings or recites : — CHAMPION, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil? Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild bear's skin Ye slumber'd on, while life was in? A woman now, or babe, may come And cast the covering from thy tomb.

Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight! I come not, with unhallow'd tread, To wake the slumbers of the dead, Or lay thy giant reliques bare;

But what I seek thou well canst spare. Be it to my hand allow'd

Never, while thou wert in life,
Lay'st thou still for sloth or fear,
When point and edge were glittering

near;

See, the cerements now I sever-
Waken now, or sleep for ever!
Thou wilt not wake-the deed is done!
The prize I sought is fairly won.

Thanks, Ribolt, thanks; for this the

sea

Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee, And while afar its billows foam, Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. Thanks, Ribolt, thanks; for this the might

Of wild winds raging at their height,
When to thy place of slumber nigh,
Shall soften to a lullaby.

She, the dame of doubt and dread,
Norna of the Fitful-head,
Mighty in her own despite,
Miserable in her might,
In despair and frenzy great,
In her greatness desolate,
Wisest, wickedest who lives,—
Well can keep the word she gives.
Chap. xxv.

NORNA recites :

THOU, SO needful, yet so dread,
With cloudy crest, and wing of red;
Thou, without whose genial breath
The North would sleep the sleep of

death;

Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth,

Yet hurls proud palaces to earth,—

shroud;

Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough

To shield thy bones from weather rough.

Which form and rule this world of

ours,

With my rhyme of Runic, I Thank thee for thy agency

Old Reimkennar, to thy art Mother Hertha sends her part; She, whose gracious bounty gives Needful food for all that lives. From the deep mine of the North Came the mystic metal forth, Doom'd amidst disjointed stones, Long to cere a champion's bones, Disinhumed my charms to aidMother Earth, my thanks are paid.

Girdle of our islands dear,
Element of Water, hear!
Thou whose power can overwhelm
Broken mounds and ruin'd realm

On the lowly Belgian strand;
All thy fiercest rage can never
Of our soil a furlong sever

From our rock-defended land; Play then gently thou thy part, To assist old Norna's art.

Elements, each other greeting,
Gifts and power attend your meeting.

Thou, that over billows dark
Safely send'st the fisher's bark,
Giving him a path and motion
Through the wilderness of ocean;
Thou, that when the billows brave ye,
O'er the shelves canst drive the navy,-
Didst thou chafe as one neglected,
While thy brethren were respected?
To appease thee, see, I tear
This full grasp of grizzled hair;
Oft thy breath hath through it sung,
Softening to my magic tongue;
Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly
Through the wide expanse of sky,
'Mid the countless swarms to sail
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale;
Take thy portion and rejoice,-
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice!

She who sits by haunted well, Is subject to the Nixie's spell;

She who walks on lonely beach,
To the Mermaid's charmèd speech;
She who walks round ring of green,
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ;
And she who takes rest in the Dwar-
fie's cave,

A weary weird of woe shall have.

By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, Minna Troil has braved all this and more;

And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill,

A source that's more deep and more mystical still.

Thou art within a demon's hold,
More wise than Heims, more strong
than Trolld;

No siren sings so sweet as he,
No fay springs lighter on the lea;
No elfin power hath half the art

To soothe, to move, to wring the heart,—

Life-blood from the cheek to drain,
Drench the eye, and dry the vein.
Maiden, ere we farther go,
Dost thou note me, ay or no!

MINNA.

I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign; Speak on with thy riddle-to read it be mine.

NORNA.

Mark me! for the word I speak
Shall bring the colour to thy cheek.
This leaden heart, so light of cost,
The symbol of a treasure lost,
Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace,
That the cause of thy sickness and
sorrow may cease,
When crimson foot meets crimson
hand

In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney land.