The Skeleton in Armor

ByHenry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!Who, with thy hollow breastStill in rude armor drest,Comest to daunt me!Wrapt not in Eastern balms,But with thy fleshless palmsStretched, as if asking alms,Why dost thou haunt me?”Then, from those cavernous eyesPale flashes seem to rise,As when the Northern skiesGleam in December;And, like the water’s flowUnder December’s snow,Came a dull voice of woeFrom the heart’s chamber.“I was a Viking old!My deeds, though manifold,No Skald in song has told,No Saga taught thee!Take heed, that in thy verseThou dost the tale rehearse,Else dread a dead man’s curse;For this I sought thee.“Far in the Northern Land,By the wild Baltic strand,I, with my childish hand,Tamed the gerfalcon;And, with my skates fast-bound,Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,That the poor whimpering houndTrembled to walk on.“Oft to his frozen lairTracked I the grisly bear,While from my path the hareFled like a shadow;Oft through the forest darkFollowed the were-wolf’s bark,Until the soaring larkSang from the meadow.“But when I older grew,Joining a corsair’s crew,O’er the dark sea I flewWith the marauders.Wild was the life we led;Many the souls that sped;Many the hearts that bled,By our stern orders.“Many a wassail-boutWore the long winter out;Often our midnight shoutSet the cocks crowing,As we the Berserk’s taleMeasured in cups of ale,Draining the oaken pail,Filled to o’erflowing.“Once as I told in gleeTales of the stormy sea,Soft eyes did gaze on me,Burning yet tender;And as the white stars shineOn the dark Norway pine,On that dark heart of mineFell their soft splendor.“I wooed the blue-eyed maid,Yielding, yet half afraid,And in the forest’s shade,Our vows were plighted.Under its loosened vestFluttered her little breast,Like birds within their nestBy the hawk frighted.“Bright in her father’s hallShield gleamed upon the wall,Loud sang the minstrels all,Chanting his glory;When of old HildebrandI asked his daughter’s hand,Mute did the minstrels standTo hear my story.“While the brown ale he quaffed,Loud then the champion laughed,And as the wind-gusts waftThe sea-foam brightly,So the loud laugh of scorn,Out of those lips unshorn,From the deep drinking-hornBlew the foam lightly.“She was a Prince’s child,I but a Viking wild,And though she blushed and smiled,I was discarded!Should not the dove so whiteFollow the sea-mew’s flight,Why did they leave that nightHer nest unguarded?“Scarce had I put to sea,Bearing the maid with me,—Fairest of all was sheAmong the Norsemen!—When on the white sea-strand,Waving his armed hand,Saw we old Hildebrand,With twenty horsemen.“Then launched they to the blast,Bent like a reed each mast,Yet we were gaining fast,When the wind failed us;And with a sudden flawCame round the gusty SkawSo that our foe we sawLaugh as he hailed us.“And as to catch the galeRound veered the flapping sail,Death! was the helmsman’s hail,Death without quarter!’Midships with iron keelStruck we her ribs of steel;Down her black hulk did reelThrough the black water!“As with his wings aslant,Sails the fierce cormorant,Seeking some rocky haunt,With his prey laden,So toward the open main,Beating to sea again,Through the wild hurricane,Bore I the maiden.“Three weeks we westward boreAnd when the storm was o’er,Cloud-like we saw the shoreStretching to leeward;There for my lady’s bowerBuilt I the lofty tower,Which, to this very hour,Stands looking seaward.“There lived we many years;Time dried the maiden’s tears;She had forgot her fears,She was a mother;Death closed her mild blue eyes,Under that tower she lies;Ne’er shall the sun ariseOn such another!“Still grew my bosom then,Still as a stagnant fen!Hateful to me were men,The sunlight hateful!In the vast forest here,Clad in my warlike gear,Fell I upon my spear,O, death was grateful!“Thus, seamed with many scarsBursting these prison barsUp to its native starsMy soul ascended!There from the flowing bowlDeep drinks the warrior’s soul,Skoal!to the Northland!SKOAL!”Thus the tale ended.

“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!

Who, with thy hollow breast

Still in rude armor drest,

Comest to daunt me!

Wrapt not in Eastern balms,

But with thy fleshless palms

Stretched, as if asking alms,

Why dost thou haunt me?”

Then, from those cavernous eyesPale flashes seem to rise,As when the Northern skiesGleam in December;And, like the water’s flowUnder December’s snow,Came a dull voice of woeFrom the heart’s chamber.

Then, from those cavernous eyes

Pale flashes seem to rise,

As when the Northern skies

Gleam in December;

And, like the water’s flow

Under December’s snow,

Came a dull voice of woe

From the heart’s chamber.

“I was a Viking old!My deeds, though manifold,No Skald in song has told,No Saga taught thee!Take heed, that in thy verseThou dost the tale rehearse,Else dread a dead man’s curse;For this I sought thee.

“I was a Viking old!

My deeds, though manifold,

No Skald in song has told,

No Saga taught thee!

Take heed, that in thy verse

Thou dost the tale rehearse,

Else dread a dead man’s curse;

For this I sought thee.

“Far in the Northern Land,By the wild Baltic strand,I, with my childish hand,Tamed the gerfalcon;And, with my skates fast-bound,Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,That the poor whimpering houndTrembled to walk on.

“Far in the Northern Land,

By the wild Baltic strand,

I, with my childish hand,

Tamed the gerfalcon;

And, with my skates fast-bound,

Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,

That the poor whimpering hound

Trembled to walk on.

“Oft to his frozen lairTracked I the grisly bear,While from my path the hareFled like a shadow;Oft through the forest darkFollowed the were-wolf’s bark,Until the soaring larkSang from the meadow.

“Oft to his frozen lair

Tracked I the grisly bear,

While from my path the hare

Fled like a shadow;

Oft through the forest dark

Followed the were-wolf’s bark,

Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

“But when I older grew,Joining a corsair’s crew,O’er the dark sea I flewWith the marauders.Wild was the life we led;Many the souls that sped;Many the hearts that bled,By our stern orders.

“But when I older grew,

Joining a corsair’s crew,

O’er the dark sea I flew

With the marauders.

Wild was the life we led;

Many the souls that sped;

Many the hearts that bled,

By our stern orders.

“Many a wassail-boutWore the long winter out;Often our midnight shoutSet the cocks crowing,As we the Berserk’s taleMeasured in cups of ale,Draining the oaken pail,Filled to o’erflowing.

“Many a wassail-bout

Wore the long winter out;

Often our midnight shout

Set the cocks crowing,

As we the Berserk’s tale

Measured in cups of ale,

Draining the oaken pail,

Filled to o’erflowing.

“Once as I told in gleeTales of the stormy sea,Soft eyes did gaze on me,Burning yet tender;And as the white stars shineOn the dark Norway pine,On that dark heart of mineFell their soft splendor.

“Once as I told in glee

Tales of the stormy sea,

Soft eyes did gaze on me,

Burning yet tender;

And as the white stars shine

On the dark Norway pine,

On that dark heart of mine

Fell their soft splendor.

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid,Yielding, yet half afraid,And in the forest’s shade,Our vows were plighted.Under its loosened vestFluttered her little breast,Like birds within their nestBy the hawk frighted.

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid,

Yielding, yet half afraid,

And in the forest’s shade,

Our vows were plighted.

Under its loosened vest

Fluttered her little breast,

Like birds within their nest

By the hawk frighted.

“Bright in her father’s hallShield gleamed upon the wall,Loud sang the minstrels all,Chanting his glory;When of old HildebrandI asked his daughter’s hand,Mute did the minstrels standTo hear my story.

“Bright in her father’s hall

Shield gleamed upon the wall,

Loud sang the minstrels all,

Chanting his glory;

When of old Hildebrand

I asked his daughter’s hand,

Mute did the minstrels stand

To hear my story.

“While the brown ale he quaffed,Loud then the champion laughed,And as the wind-gusts waftThe sea-foam brightly,So the loud laugh of scorn,Out of those lips unshorn,From the deep drinking-hornBlew the foam lightly.

“While the brown ale he quaffed,

Loud then the champion laughed,

And as the wind-gusts waft

The sea-foam brightly,

So the loud laugh of scorn,

Out of those lips unshorn,

From the deep drinking-horn

Blew the foam lightly.

“She was a Prince’s child,I but a Viking wild,And though she blushed and smiled,I was discarded!Should not the dove so whiteFollow the sea-mew’s flight,Why did they leave that nightHer nest unguarded?

“She was a Prince’s child,

I but a Viking wild,

And though she blushed and smiled,

I was discarded!

Should not the dove so white

Follow the sea-mew’s flight,

Why did they leave that night

Her nest unguarded?

“Scarce had I put to sea,Bearing the maid with me,—Fairest of all was sheAmong the Norsemen!—When on the white sea-strand,Waving his armed hand,Saw we old Hildebrand,With twenty horsemen.

“Scarce had I put to sea,

Bearing the maid with me,—

Fairest of all was she

Among the Norsemen!—

When on the white sea-strand,

Waving his armed hand,

Saw we old Hildebrand,

With twenty horsemen.

“Then launched they to the blast,Bent like a reed each mast,Yet we were gaining fast,When the wind failed us;And with a sudden flawCame round the gusty SkawSo that our foe we sawLaugh as he hailed us.

“Then launched they to the blast,

Bent like a reed each mast,

Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind failed us;

And with a sudden flaw

Came round the gusty Skaw

So that our foe we saw

Laugh as he hailed us.

“And as to catch the galeRound veered the flapping sail,Death! was the helmsman’s hail,Death without quarter!’Midships with iron keelStruck we her ribs of steel;Down her black hulk did reelThrough the black water!

“And as to catch the gale

Round veered the flapping sail,

Death! was the helmsman’s hail,

Death without quarter!

’Midships with iron keel

Struck we her ribs of steel;

Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water!

“As with his wings aslant,Sails the fierce cormorant,Seeking some rocky haunt,With his prey laden,So toward the open main,Beating to sea again,Through the wild hurricane,Bore I the maiden.

“As with his wings aslant,

Sails the fierce cormorant,

Seeking some rocky haunt,

With his prey laden,

So toward the open main,

Beating to sea again,

Through the wild hurricane,

Bore I the maiden.

“Three weeks we westward boreAnd when the storm was o’er,Cloud-like we saw the shoreStretching to leeward;There for my lady’s bowerBuilt I the lofty tower,Which, to this very hour,Stands looking seaward.

“Three weeks we westward bore

And when the storm was o’er,

Cloud-like we saw the shore

Stretching to leeward;

There for my lady’s bower

Built I the lofty tower,

Which, to this very hour,

Stands looking seaward.

“There lived we many years;Time dried the maiden’s tears;She had forgot her fears,She was a mother;Death closed her mild blue eyes,Under that tower she lies;Ne’er shall the sun ariseOn such another!

“There lived we many years;

Time dried the maiden’s tears;

She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother;

Death closed her mild blue eyes,

Under that tower she lies;

Ne’er shall the sun arise

On such another!

“Still grew my bosom then,Still as a stagnant fen!Hateful to me were men,The sunlight hateful!In the vast forest here,Clad in my warlike gear,Fell I upon my spear,O, death was grateful!

“Still grew my bosom then,

Still as a stagnant fen!

Hateful to me were men,

The sunlight hateful!

In the vast forest here,

Clad in my warlike gear,

Fell I upon my spear,

O, death was grateful!

“Thus, seamed with many scarsBursting these prison barsUp to its native starsMy soul ascended!There from the flowing bowlDeep drinks the warrior’s soul,Skoal!to the Northland!SKOAL!”Thus the tale ended.

“Thus, seamed with many scars

Bursting these prison bars

Up to its native stars

My soul ascended!

There from the flowing bowl

Deep drinks the warrior’s soul,

Skoal!to the Northland!SKOAL!”

Thus the tale ended.

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