III. THORA OF RIMOL.

"THORA of Rimol! hide me! hide me! Danger and shame and death betide me! For Olaf the King is hunting me down Through field and forest, through thorp and town!"

Thus cried Jarl Hakon

To Thora, the fairest of women.

"Hakon Jarl! for the love I bear thee!
Neither shall death nor shame come near thee!
But the hiding-place wherein thou must lie
Is the cave underneath the swine in the sty."
Thus to Jarl Hakon

Said Thora, the fairest of women.

So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall Karker, Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon darker, As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, Through the forest roads into Orkadale, Demanding Jarl Hakon

Of Thora, the fairest of women. "Rich and honoured shall be whoever The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever!" Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, Through the breathing-holes of the darksome

cave.

Alone in her chamber

Wept Thora, the fairest of women.

Said Karker, the crafty. "I will not slay thee! For all the King's gold I will never betray thee!"

"Then why doest thou turn so pale, O churl, And then again black as the earth?" said the Earl.

More pale and more faithful

Was Thora, the fairest of women. From a dream in the night the thrall started, saying,

"Round my neck a gold ring King Olaf was laying!"

And Hakon answered, "Beware of the King! He will lay round thy neck a blood-red ring. At the ring on her finger

Gazed Thora, the fairest of women.

At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered,

But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered;

The thrall in the darkness plunged with
knife,

And the Earl awakened no more in this life.
But wakeful and weeping

Sat Thora, the fairest of women.

his

At Nidarholm the priests are all singing,
Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging;
One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his thrall's,
And the people are shouting from windows and
walls;

While alone in her chamber

Swoons Thora, the fairest of women.

IV. QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY.

QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY sat proud and aloft In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft.

Heart's dearest,

Why dost thou sorrow so?

The floor with tassels of fir was besprent,
Filling the room with their fragrant scent.

She heard the birds sing and saw the sun shine,
The air of summer was sweeter than wine.

Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay

Between her own kingdom and Norroway,
But Olaf the King had sued for her hand,
The sword would be sheathed, the river be
spanned,

Her maidens were seated around her knee,
Working bright figures in tapestry.

And one was singing the ancient rune
Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of Gudrun.
And through it, and round it, and over it all
Sounded incessant the waterfall.

The Queen in her hand held a ring of gold,
From the door of Ladé's Temple old.

King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift,
But her thoughts as arrows were keen and
swift.

She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain,
Who smiled, as they handed it back again.
And Sigrid the Queen in her haughty way,
Said, "Why do you smile, my goldsmiths, say?"
And they answered: "O Queen! if the truth
must be told,

The ring is of copper, and not of gold?"
The lightning flashed o'er her forehead and
cheek,

She only murmured, she did not speak
"If in his gifts he can faithless be,
There will be no gold in his love to me."
A footstep was heard on the outer stair,
And in strode king Olaf with royal air.

He kissed the Queen's hand, and he whispered of love,

And swore to be true as the stars are above.

But she smiled with contempt as she answered:

"O King,

Will you swear it, as Odin once swore on the ring?"

And the King: "O speak not of Odin to me.
The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be."

Looking straight at the King, with her level

brows,

She said, "I keep true to my faith and my vows." Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom

He rose in anger and strode through the room. "Why then should I care to have thee?" he said

"A faded old woman, a heathenish jade!"

His zeal was stronger than fear or love. And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove.

Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled, And the wooden stairway shook with his tread.

Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death!"

Heart's dearest,

Why doest thou sorrow so?

V.-THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS. Now from all King Olaf's farms His men-at-arms Gathered on the Eve of Easter; To his house at Angvalds-ness Fast they press, Drinking with the royal feaster.

Loudly through the wide-flung door
Čame the roar

Of the sea upon the Skerry;
And its thunder loud and near
Reached the ear,
Mingling with the voices merry,
"Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald
Halfred the Bald,

"Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, Your ocean-rhyme,"

"Cried King Olaf: it will cheer me!" Said the Seald, with pallid cheeks, The Skerry of Shrieks

Sings too loud for you to hear me !"

VI. THE WRAITH OF ODIN.

THE guests were loud, the ale was strong,
King Olaf feasted late and long;
The hoary Scalds together sang;
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang,
The door swung wide, with creak and din;
A blast of cold night-air came in,
And on the threshold shivering stood
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The King exclaimed, "O graybeard pale! Come warm thee with this cup of ale." The foaming draught the old man quaffed, The noisy guests looked on and laughed,

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. Then spake the King: "Be not afraid; Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, And, seated at the table, told Tales of the sea, and Sagas old.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. And ever, when the tale was o'er, The King demanded yet one more; Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, ""Tis late, O King, and time for bed."

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The King retired; the stranger-guest Followed and entered with the rest; The lights were out, the pages gone, But still the garrulous guest went on.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

As one who from a volume reads,
He spake of heroes and their deeds,
Of lands and cities he had seen,
And stormy gulfs that tossed between.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Then from his lips in music rolled
The Hamaval of Odin old,

With sounds mysterious as the roar
Of billows on a distant shore.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

"Do we not learn from runes and rhymes Made by the gods in elder times,

And do not still the great Scalds teach
That silence better is than speech ?"

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

Smiling at this, the King replied,
"Thy lore is by thy tongue belied.
For never was I so enthralled
Either by Saga-man or Scald."

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep! Night wanes, O King! 'tis time for sleep!" Then slept the King, and then he woke, The guest was gone, the morning broke.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. They found the doors securely barred, They found the watch-dog in the yard, There was no footprint in the grass, And none had seen the stranger pass.

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. King Olaf crossed himself and said: "I know that Odin the Great is dead; Sure is the triumph of our Faith, The one-eyed stranger was his wraith." Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

VII.-IRON-BEARD.

OLAF the King, one summer morn, Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim.

And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere
Gathered the farmers far and near,
With their war weapons ready to confront him.

Ploughing under the morning star,
Old Iron-Beard in Yriar

Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh.

He wiped the sweat-drops from his brow, Unharnessed his horses from the plough, And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. He was the churliest of the churls; Little he cared for king or earis; Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming passions.

Hodden-gray was the garb he wore,

And by the Hammer of Thor he swore; He hated the narrow town, and all its fashions. But he loved the freedom of his farm, His ale at night, by the fireside warm, Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen tresses.

He loved his horses and his herds, The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, His well-filled barns, his brook with its water

cresses.

Huge and cumbersome was his frame;
His beard, from which he took his name,
Frosty and fierce. like that of Hymer the Giant.

So at the Hus-Ting he appeared,
The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard,

On horseback, with an attitude defiant.

And to King Olaf he cried aloud,
Out of the middle of the crowd,

That tossed about him like a stormy ocean:

"Such sacrifices shalt thou bring,
To Odin and to Thor, O King,

As other kings have done in their devotion!"

King Olaf answered: "I command
This land to be a Christian land;

Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes!

"But if you ask me to restore Your sacrifices stained with gore, Then will I offer human sacrifices!

"Not slaves and peasants shall they be,
But men of note and high degree,

Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting!"

Then to their Temple strode he in.
And loud behind him heard the din

Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting.

There in the Temple, carved in wood,
The image of great Odin stood,

And other gods, with Thor supreme among

them.

King Olaf smote them with the blade
Of his huge war-axe, gold-inlaid,

And downward shattered to the pavement flung them.

At the same moment rose without,
From the contending crowd, a shout,

A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing.

And there upon the trampled plain The farmer fron-Beard lay slain, Midway between the assailed and the assailing.

King Olaf from the doorway spoke: "Choose ye between two things, my folk, To be baptized or given up to slaughter!"

"Forests have ears, and fields have eyes, Often treachery lurking lies Underneath the fairest hair!

Gudrun beware!"

Ere the earliest peep of morn
Blew King Olaf's bugle-horn;
And forever sundered ride
Bridegroom and bride!

IX.-THANGBRAND THE PRIEST.
SHORT of stature, large of limb,
Burly face and russet beard,
All the women stared at him,
When in Iceland he apeared.
"Look!" they said,
With nodding head,

"There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest." All the prayers he knew by rote,

He could preach like Chrysostome,
From the Fathers he could quote,
He had even been at Rome.
A learned clerk,
A man of mark,

Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
He was quarrelsome and loud,
And impatient of control,
Boisterous in the market-crowd,
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl,
Everywhere

Would drink and sweer, Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Satires scrawled

On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
Something worse they did than that;
And what vexed him most of all
Was a figure in shovel hat,

Drawn in charcoal on the wall;
With words that go
Sprawling below,

"This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

Hardly knowing what he did,

Then he smote them might and main, Thorvald Veile and Veterlid

Lay there in the alehouse slain.

"To-day we are gold,
To-morrow mould!"

Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest

Much in fear of axe and rope,

Back to Norway sailed he then, "O King Olaf! little hope

Is there of these Iceland men !"
Meekly said,

With bending head,

Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

X.-RAUD THE STRONG.

"ALL the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;

But the White Christ lives and reigns,
And throughout my wide domains"
His Gospel shall be spread!"

On the Evangelists
Thus swore King Olaf.

But still in dreams of the night
Beheld he the crimson light,
And heard the voice that defied
Him who was crucified,
And challenged him to the fight.
To Sigurd the Bishop
King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said,
"The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes

The old witchcraft still is spread."
Thus to King Olaf

Said Sigurd the Bishop.

"Far north in the Salten Fiord,

By rapine, fire, and sword,

Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;
All the Godoe Isles belong

To him and his heathen horde."
Thus went on speaking
Sigurd the Bishop.

"A warlock, a wizard was he,
And lord of the wind and the sea;
And whichever way he sails,
He has ever favouring gales,
By his craft in sorcery."

Here the sign of the cross made
Devoutly King Olaf.

"With rites that we both abhur,
He worships Odin and Thor;
So it cannot yet be said,
That all the old gods are dead,
And the warlocks are no more,"
Flushing with anger

Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Then King Olaf cried aloud:

"I will talk with this mighty Raud,
And along the Salten Fiord
Preach the Gospel with my sword,
Or be brought back in my shroud!"
So northward from Drontheim
Sail King Olaf!"

XI.--BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD.

LOUD the angry wind was wailing
As King Olaf's ships dame sailing
Northward out of Drontheim haven

To the mouth of Salten Fiord.
Though the flying sea-spray drenches
Fore and aft the rowers' benches,
Not a single heart is craven

Of the champions there on board.
All without the Fiord was quiet,
But within it storm and riot,
Such as on his Viking cruises

Raud the Strong was wont to ride.
And the sea through all its tide-ways,
Swept the reeling vessels sideways,
As the leaves are swept through sluices,
When the flood-gates open wide.
"'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demon
Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen;
"But the Lord is not affrighted

By the witchcraft of his foes."
To the ship's bow he ascended,
By his choristers attended,
Round him were the tapers lighted,
And the sacred incense rose.
On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd,
In his robes, as one transfigured,
And the Crucifix he planted

High amid the rain and mist.
Then with holy water sprinkled
All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled;
Loud the monks around him chanted,
Loud he read the Evangelist.

As into the Fiord they darted,
Off each side the water parted,
Down a path like silver molten

Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships;
Steadily burned all night the tapers,
And the White Christ through the vapours
Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten,
As through John's Apocalypse,-
Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling
On the little isle of Gelling

Not a guard was at the doorway,

Nor a glimmer of light was seen.
But at anchor, carved and gilded,
Lay the dragon-ship he builded;
"Twas the grandest ship in Norway,

With its crest and scales of green.
Up the stairway, softly creeping,
To the loft where Raud was sleeping,
With their fists they burst asunder

Bolt and bar that held the door.

Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, Dragged him from his bed and bound him While he stared with stupid wonder,

At the look and garb they wore. Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King! Little time have we for speaking, Choose between the good and evil;

Be baptized, or thou shalt die!" But in scorn the heathen scoffer Answered: "I disdain thine offer; Neither fear I God nor Devil;

Thee and thy Gospel 1 defy!"
Then between his jaws distended,
When his frantic struggles ended,
Through King Olaf's horn and adder,
Touched by fire, they forced to glide.
Sharp his tooth was as an arrow,
As he gnawed through bone and marrow;
But without a groan or shudder,

Raud the Strong blaspheming died.
Then baptized they all that region,
Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian,
Far as swims the salmon, leaping,

Up the streams of Salten Fiord.
In their temples Thor and Odin
Lay in dust and ashes trodden,
As King Olaf, onward sweeping,

Preached the Gospel with his sword.
Then he took the carved and gilded
Dragon-ship that Raud had builded,
And the tiller single-handed,

Grasping, steered into the main.
Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him.
Southward sailed the ship that bore him,
Till at Drontheim haven landed

Olaf and his crew again.

XII.-KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS.
AT Drontheim, Olaf the King
Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring,
As he sat in his banquet-hall,
Drinking his nut-brown ale,
With his bearded Berserks hale
And tall.

Three days his Yule-tide feasts
He held with Bishops and Priests,

And his horn filled up to the brim;
But the ale was never too strong,
Nor the Saga-man's tale too long,
For him.

O'er his drinking-horn the sign
He made of the Cross divine,

As he drank and muttered his prayers:
But the Berserks evermore
Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor

And this shall be thy reward." And he loosened the belt at his waist, And in front of the singer placed His sword.

"Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, Wherewith at a stroke he hewed

The millstone through and through, And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, Were neither so broad nor so long,

Nor so true."

Then the Sca'd took his harp and sang,
And loud through the music rang
The sound of that shining word;
And the harp-strings a clangour made,
As if they were struck with the blade
Of a sword.

And the Berserks round about
Broke forth into a shout

That made the rafters ring;

They smote with their fists on the board,
And shouted, "Long live the Sword,
And the King!"

But the King said, "O my son,

I miss the bright word in one

Of thy measures and thy rhymes."
And Halfred the Scald replied,
"In another 'twas multiplied"
Three times."

Then King Olaf raised the hilt
Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt,

And said, "Do not refuse;
Count well the gain and the loss,
Thor's hammer or Christ's cross:
Choose!"

And Halfred the Scald said, "This
In the name of the Lord I kiss,
Who on it was crucified!"
And a shout went round the board,
"In the name of Christ the Lord,
Who died!"

Then over the waste of snows
The noonday sun uprose,

Through the driving mists revealed.
Like the lifting of the Host,
By incense-clouds almost
Concealed.

On the shining wall a vast
And shadowy cross was cast

From the hilt of the lifted sword,
And in foaming cups of ale

The Berserks drank "Was-hacl

To the Lord!"

XIII.-THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT.

THOBBERG SKAFTING, master-builder,
In his ship-yard by the sea,

Whistled, saying, "Twould bewilder
Any man but Thorberg Skafting,
Any man but me!'

Near him lay the Dragon stranded,

Built of old by Raud the Strong,
And King Olaf had commanded
He should build another Dragon,
Twice as large and long.

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting,
As he sat with half-closed eyes,
And his head turned sideways, drafting
That new vessel for King Olaf

Twice the Dragon's size.

Round him busily hewed and hammered
Mallet huge and heavy axe;
Workmen laughed and sang and clamoured.
Whirred the wheels, that into rigging
Spun the shining flax!