All this tumult heard the master,

It was music to his ear,
Fancy whispered all the faster,
"Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting
For a hundred year!"

Workmen sweating at the forges

Fashioned iron bolt and bar,
Like a warlock's midnight orgies
Smoked and bubbled the black cauldron
With the boiling tar.

Did the warlocks mingle in it,

Thorberg Skafting, any curse?
Could you not be gone a minute
But some mischief must be doing,
Turning bad to worse?"

'Twas an ill wind that came wafting,
From his homestead words of woe,
To his farm went Thorberg Skafting,
Oft repeating to his workinen,

Build ye thus and so.

After long delays returning

Came the master back by night; To his ship-yard longing, yearning, Hurried he, and did not leave it

Till the morning's light.

"Come and see my ship, my darling!"
On the morrow said the King;
"Finished now from keel to carling;
Never yet was seen in Norway

Such a wondrous thing!"
In the ship-yard, idly talking,

At the ship the workmen stared;
Some one all their labour baulking,
Down her side had cut deep gashes,
Not a plank was spared!
"Death be to the evil-doer!"

With an oath King Olaf spoke;
"But rewards to his pursuer!"
And with wrath his face grew redder
Than his scarlet cloak.

Straight the master-builder, smiling,
Answered thus the angry King:
"Cease blaspheming and reviling,
Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting

Who has done this thing!'

Then he chipped and smoothed the planking,

Till the King delighted, swore,

With much lauding and much thanking, "Handsomer is now my Dragon

Than she was before!"

Seventy ells and four extended

On the grass the vessel's keel, High above it, gilt and splended, Rose the figure-head ferocious

With its crest of steel.

Then they launched her from the tressels,
In the ship-yard by the sea:

She was the grandest of all vessels,
Never ship was built in Norway

Half so fine as she;

The Long Serpent was she christened,
'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer!

They who to the Saga listened
Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting
For a hundred year!

XIV. THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT.

SAFE at anchor at Drontheim bay
King Olaf's fleet assembled lay,

And, striped with white and blue,
Downward fluttered sail and banner,
As alights the screaming lanner;
Lustily, cheered, in their wild manner,
The Long Serpent's crew.

Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red;
Like a wolf was his shaggy head,

His teeth as large and white;
His beard, of gray and russet blended,
Round as a swallow's nest descended;
As standard-bearer he defended
Olaf's flag in the fight.

Near him Kolbiorn had his place,
Like the King in garb and face,
So gallant and so hale;
Every cabin-boy and varlet
Wondered at his cloak of scarlet;
Like a river, frozen and star-lit,
Gleamed his coat of mail.

By the bulkhead, tall and dark,
Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark,
A figure gaunt and grand;
On his hairy arm imprinted
Was an anchor, azure-tinted;
Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted
Was his brawny hand.
Einar Tamberskelver, bare
To the winds his golden hair,
By the mainmast stood;
Graceful was his form, and slender,
And his eyes were deep and tender
As a woman's, in the splendour
Of her maidenhood.

In the fore-bold Biorn and Bork
Watched the sailors at their work;
Heavens! how they swore!
Thirty men they each commanded,
Iron-sinewed, horny-handed,

Shoulders broad, and chests expanded,
Tugging at the oar.

These, and many more like these,
With King Olaf sailed the seas,

Till the waters vast

Filled them with a vague devotion,
With the freedom and the motion,
With the roll and roar of ocean

And the sounding blast.

When they landed from the fleet,

How they roared through Drontheim's street, Boisterous as the gale!

How they laughed and stamped and pounded,

Till the tavern roof resounded.

And the host looked on astounded

As they drank the ale!

Never saw the wild North Sea

Such a gallant company

Sail its billows blue!

Never, while they cruised and quarrelled,
Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald,
Owned a ship so well apparelled,
Boasted such a crew!

XV. A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR.

A LITTLE bird in the air

Is singing of Thyri the fair,
The sister of Svend the Dane:
And the song of the garrulous bird
In the streets of the town is heard,
And repeated again and again,

Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

To King Burislaf, it is said,
Was the beautiful Thyri wed,
And a sorrowful bride went she;

And after a week and a day,
She has fled away and away.
From this town by the stormy sea.
Hoist up your sails of silk.

And flee away from each other.

They say, that through heat and through cold, Through weald, they say, and through wold,

By day and by night, they say, She has fled; and the gossips report She has come to King Olaf's court, And the town is all in dismay. Hoist up your sails of silk,

And flee away from each other.
It is whispered King Olaf has seen
Has talked with the beautiful Queen;
And they wonder how it will end;
For surely, if here she remain,

It is war with King Svend the Dane,
And King Burislaf the Vend;
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.
O, greatest wonder of all!
It is published in hamlet and hall,
It roars like a flame that is fanned!
The King-yes, Olaf the King-
Has wedded her with his ring,
And Thyri is Queen in the land!
Hoist up your sails of silk,

And flee away from each other.

XVI.-QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA-STALKS.

NORTHWARD over Drontheim
Flew the clamorous sea-gulls,
Sang the lark and linnet

From the meadows green;

Weeping in her chamber,
Lonely and unhappy,
Sat the Drottning Thyri,
Sat King Olaf's Queen.
In at all the windows
Streamed the pleasant sunshine,
On the roof above her

Softly cooed the dove.

But the sound she heard not,
Nor the sunshine heeded,
For the thoughts of Thyri
Were not thoughts of love.
Then King Olaf entered,
Beautiful as morning,
Like the sun at Easter

Shone his happy face;

In his hand he carried,
Angelicas uprooted,
With delicious fragrance
Filling all the place.
Like a rainy midnight
Sat the Drottning Thyri;
Even the smile of Olaf

Could not cheer her gloom;
Nor the stalks he gave her
With a gracious gesture,
And with words as pleasant
As their own perfume.

In her hands he placed them,
And her jewelled fingers

Through the green leaves glistened

Like the dews of morn;

But she cast them from her
Haughty and indignant,
On the floor she threw them
With a look of scorn.
"Richer presents," said she,
"Gave King Harald Gormson
To the Queen, my mother,

Than such worthless weeds;
"When he ravaged Norway,
Laying waste the kingdom,
Seizing scatt and treasure

For her royal needs.

"But thou darest not venture
Through the Sound to Vendland,

My domains to rescue

From King Burislaf;

"Lest King Svend of Denmark, Forked Beard, my brother, Scatter all thy vessels

As the wind the chaff."

Then up sprang King Olaf,
Like a reindeer bounding,
With an oath he answered

Thus the luckless Queen: "Never yet did Olaf

Fear King Svend of Denmark;
This right hand shall hale him
By his forked chin!"

Then he left the chamber,
Thundering through the doorway,
Loud his steps resounded
Down the outer stair.

Smarting with the insult,

Through the streets of Drontheim
Strode he red and wrathful

With his stately air.

All his ships he gathered,
Summoned all his forces,
Making his war levy

In the region round;
Down the coast of Norway,
Like a flock of sea-gulls,
Sailed the fleet of Olaf

Through the Danish Sound.
With his own hand fearless
Steered he the Long Serpent,
Strained the creeking cordage,

Bent each boom and gaff;
Till in Vendland landing,
The domains of Thyri
He redeemed and rescued
From King Burislaf.
Then said Olaf, laughing,
"Not ten yoke of oxen
Have the power to draw
Like a woman's hair!

"Now will I confesss it.
Better things are jewels
Than angelica-stalks are

For a Queen to wear."

XVII.-KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD.
LOUDLY the sailors cheered
Svend the Forked Beard,
As with his fleet he steered

Southward to Vendland;

Where with their courses hauled
All were together called,
Under the Isle of Svald

Near to the mainland.

After Queen Gunhild's death,
So the old Saga saith,

Plighted King Svend his faith.
To Sigrid the Haughty;
And to avenge his bride,
Soothing her wounded pride,
Over the waters wide
King Olaf sought he.

Still on her scornful face,
Blushing with deep disgrace,
Bore she the crimson trace
Of Olaf's gauntlet;
Like a malignant star,
Blazing in heaven afar,
Red shone the angry scar
Under her frontlet.

Oft to King Svend she spake
"For thine own honour's sake
Shalt they swift vengeance take

On the vile coward!"
Until the King at last,
Gusty and overcast,
Like a tempestuous blast
Threatened and lowered.
Soon as the Spring appeared,
Svand of the Forked Beard
High his red standard reared,
Eager for battle;

While every warlike Dane
Seizing his arms again,
Left all unsown the grain,
Unhoused the cattle.

Likewise the Swedish King
Summoned in haste a Thing,
Weapons and men to bring
In aid of Denmark;
Eric the Norseman, too,
As the war-tidings flew,
Sailed with a chosen crew
From Lapland and Finmark.

So upon Easter day

Sailed the three kings away,
Out of the sheltered bay,

In the bright season;
With them Earl Sigvald came,
Eager for spoil and fame;
Pity that such a name

Stooped to such treason!

Safe under Svald at last,
Now were their anchors cast,
Safe from the sea and blast,
Plotted the three kings;
While, with a base intent,
Southward Earl Sigvald went,
On a foul errand bent,

Unto the Sea-kings.

Thence to hold on his course,
Unto King Olaf's force,
Lying within the hoarse
Mouths of Stet-haven;

Him to ensnare and bring

Unto the Danish king,

Who his dead corse would fling

Forth to the raven!

XVIII.-KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD.

ON the gray sea-sands,

King Olaf stands,
Northward and seaward
He points with his hands.

With eddy and whirl
The sea-tides curl.
Washing the sandals
Of Sigvald the Earl.

The mariners shout
The ships swing about,
The yards are all hoisted,
The sails flutter out.

The war-horns are played,
The anchors are weighed,
Like moths in the distance
The sails flit and fade.

The sea is like lead,
The harbour lies dead,

As a corse on the sea-shore,
Whose spirit has filed!

On that fatal day,
The histories say,
Seventy vessels
Sailed out of the bay.

But soon scattered wide
O'er the billows they ride,
While Sigvald and Ólaf
Sail side by side.

The sun hung red

As a drop of blood.

Drifting down on the Danish fleet
Three together the ships were lashed,
So that neither should turn and retreat;
In the midst, but in front of the rest,
The burnished crest
Of the serpent flashed.

King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck,
With bows of ash and arrows of oak,
His gilded shield was without a fleck,
His helmet inlaid with gold,

And in many a fold
Hung his crimson cloak.

On the forecastle Ulf the Red
Watched the lashing of the ships;

"If the Serpent lie so far ahead,

We shall have hard work of it here,"

Said he with a sneer

On his bearded lips.

King Olaf laid an arrow on string, "Have I a coward on board?" said he, "Shoot it another way, O King!" Sullenly answered Ulf,

The old sea-wolf;

"You have need of me!"

In front came Svend, the King of the Danes,
Sweeping down with his fifty rowers;
To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes
And on board the Iron-Beard

Earl Eric steered

On the left with his oars.

Louder the war-horns growl and snarl,
Sharper the dragons bite and sting!
Eric the son of Hakon Jarl

A death-drink salt as the sea
Pledges to thee,

Olaf the King!

XX.-EINAR TAMBERSKELVER.

IT was Einar Tamberskelver

Stood beside the mast;

From his yew bow, tipped with silver,
Flew the arrows fast!

Aimed at Eric unavailing,

As he sat concealed,

Half behind the quarter-railing,
Half behind his shield.

First an arrow struck the tiller
Just above his head :
"Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller,"
Then Earl Eric said,
"Sing the song of Hakon dying,
Sing his funeral wail!'
And another arrow flying
Grazed his coat of mail.

Turning to a Lapland yeoman,
As the arrow passed,

Said Earl Eric, Shoot that bowman
Standing by the mast."

Sooner than the word was spoken
Flew the yeoman's shaft:
Einar's bow in twain was broken,
Einar only laughed.

"What was that?" said Olaf, standing
On the quarter-deck.

"Something heard I like the stranding
Of a shattered wreck."
Einan then, the arrow taking
From the loosened string,
Answered,That was Norway breaking
From thy hand, O King!"
"Thou art but a poor diviner,"
Straightway Olaf said;

"Take my bow, and swifter, Einar,
Let the shafts be speed."
Of his bows the fairest choosing
Reached he from above;
Einar saw the blood-drops oozing
Through his iron glove.

But the bow was thin and narrow;
At his first assay,

O'er its head he threw the arrow,
Flung the bow away;
Said, with hot and angry temper
Flushing in his cheek,
"Olaf! for so great a Kämper
Are thy bows too weak!'

Then with a smile of joy defiant
On his beardless lip
Scaled he, light and self-reliant,
Eric's dragon-ship.

Loose his golden locks were flowing,
Bright his armour gleamed;
Like Saint Michael overthrowing
Lucifer, he seemed.

XXI.-KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK.
ALL day has the battle raged.
All day have the ships engaged,
But not yet is assuaged

The vengeance of Eric the Earl.

The decks with blood are red,
The arrows of death are sped,
The ships are filled with the dead,

And the spears the champions hurl.
They drift as wrecks of the tide,
The grappling-irons are plied,
The boarders climb up the side,

The shouts are feeble and few.

Ah! never shall Norway again

See her sailors come back o'er the main;
They all lie wounded or slain,

Or asleep in the billows blue.

On the deck stands Olaf the King,
Around him whistle and sing
The spears that the foemen fling,

And the stones they hurl with their hands. In the midst of the stones and the spears, Kolbiorn, the marshal appears,

His shield in the air he uprears,

By the side of King Olaf he stands.
Over the slippery wreck
Of the Long Serpent's deck
Sweeps Eric with hardly a check,
His lips with anger are pale;

He hews with his axe at the mast,
Till it falls, with the sails overcast,
Like a snow-covered pine in the vast
Dim forest of Orkadale.
Seeking King Olaf then,
He rushes aft with his men,
As a hunter into the den

Of the bear, when he stands at bay:
"Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries;
When lo! on his wondering eyes,
Two kingly figures arise,

Two Olafs in warlike array!
Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear
Of King Olaf a word of cheer,
In a whisper that none can hear,
With a smile on his tremulous lip;

Two shields raised high in the air,
Two flashes of golden hair,
Two scarlet meteors' glare,

And both have leaped from the ship.

Earl Eric's men in the boats
Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats,
And, cry from their hairy throats,
"See! it is Olaf the King!"

While far on the opposite side
Floats another shield on the tide,
Like a jewel set in the wide
Sea-current's eddying ring.

There is told a wonderful tale,
How the King stripped off his mail,
Like leaves of the brown sea-kale,

As he swam across the main;

But the young grew old and gray,
And never, by night or by day,
In his kingdom of Norroway
Was King Olaf seen again!

XXII. THE NUN OF NIDAROS.
IN the convent of Drontheim,
Alone in her chamber
Knelt Astrid the Abbess,
At midnight, adoring,
Beseeching, entreating,
The Virgin and Mother.

She heard in the silence
The voice of one speaking
Without in the darkness,
In gusts of the night-wind,
Now louce, now nearer,
Now lost in the distance.

The voice of a stranger
It seemed as she listened,
Of some one who answered,
Beseeching, imploring,
A cry from afar off
She could not distinguish.

The voice of Saint John,
The beloved disciple,
Who wandered and waited
The Master's appearance,
Alone in the darkness,
Unsheltered and friendless.

It is accepted,
The angry defiance,
The challenge of battle!
It is accepted,

But not with the weapons
Of war that thou wieldest!

"Cross against corslet,
Love against hatred,
Peace-cry for war-cry!
Patience is powerful;
He that o'ercometh

Hath power o'er the nations!
"As torrents in summer,
Half dried in their channels,
Suddenly rise, though the
Sky is still cloudless,
For rain has been falling
Far off at their fountains;
"So hearts that are fainting
Grow full to o'erflowing,
And they that behold it
Marvel, and know not
That God at their fountains
Far off has been raining!
"Stronger than steel
Is the sword of the Spirit;
Swifter than arrows
The light of the truth is;
Greater than anger
Is love, and subdueth!
"Thou art a phantom,
A shape of the sea-mist,
A shape of the brumal
Rain, and the darkness
Fearful and formless;

Day dawns and thou art not!

"The dawn is not distant, Nor is the night starless; Love is cternal!

God is still God, and

His faith shall not fail us;
Christ is eternal!"

INTERLUDE.

A STRAIN of music closed the tale,
A low, monotonous funeral wail,
That with its cadence, wild and sweet,
Made the long Saga more complete.
"Thank God," the Theologian said,
"The reign of violence is dead,
Or dying surely from the worid;
While Love triumphant reigns instead,
And in a brighter sky o'erhead
His blessed banners are unfurled.
And most of all thank God for this:
The war and waste of clashing creeds
Now end in words, not in deeds,
And no one suffers loss, or bleeds,
For thoughts that men call heresies.

"I stand without here in the porch,

I hear the bell's melodious din,

I hear the organ peal within,

I hear the prayer, with words that scorch Like sparks from an inverted torch,

I hear the sermon upon sin,

With threatenings of the last account.
And all, translated in the air,

Reach me but as our dear Lord's Prayer,
And as the Sermon on the Mount.

"Must it be Calvin, and not Christ?
Must it be Athanasian creeds,
Or holy water, books and beads?
Must struggling souls remain content
With councils and decrees of Trent?
And can it be enough for these

The Christian Church the year embalms
With evergreens and boughs of palms,
And fills the air with litanies ?

"I know that yonder Pharisee
Thanks God that he is not like me;
In my humiliation dressed,

I only stand and beat my breast
And pray for human charity.

"Not to one church alone, but seven,
The voice prophetic spake from heaven;
And unto each the promise came,
Diversified, but still the same;

For him that overcometh are

The new name written on the stone,
The raiment white, the crown, the throne,
And I will give him the Morning Star!
"Ah! to how many Faith has been
No evidence of things unseen,
But a dim shadow, that recasts
The creed of the Phantasiasts,
For whom no Man of Sorrows died,
For whom the Tragedy Divine
Was but a symbol and a sign,
And Christ a phantom crucified.
"For others a diviner creed
Is living in the life they lead.
The passing of their beautiful feet
Blesses the pavement of the street.
And all their looks and words repeat
Old Fuller's saying wise and sweet,
Not as a vulture, but a dove,

The Holy Ghost came from above.
"And this brings back to me a tale
So sad the hearer well may quail,
And question if such thing can be;
Yet in the chronicles of Spain

Down the dark pages run this stain,
And nought can wash them white again.
So fearful is the tragedy."

stone,

And all his actions save this one alone;
This one, so terrible, perhaps 'twere best
If it, too, were forgotten with the rest;
Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein
The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin!
A double picture, with its gloom and glow,
The splendour overhead, and death below.
This sombre man counted each day as lost
On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed;
And when he chanced the passing Host to meet.
He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street;
Oft he confessed; and with each mutinous

thought,

As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought.
In deep contrition scourged himself in Lent,
Walked in processions, with his head down bent,
At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen,
And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green.
His only pastime was to hunt the boar
Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar,