Loud the angry wind was wailingAs King Olaf's ships came sailingNorthward out of Drontheim havenTo the mouth of Salten Fiord.Though the flying sea-spray drenchesFore and aft the rowers' benches,Not a single heart is cravenOf the champions there on board.All without the Fiord was quiet,But within it storm and riot,Such as on his Viking cruisesRaud the Strong was wont to ride.And the sea through all its tide-waysSwept the reeling vessels sideways,As the leaves are swept through sluices,When the flood-gates open wide."'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demonRaud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen;"But the Lord is not affrightedBy 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 plantedHigh amid the rain and mist.Then with holy water sprinkledAll the ship; the mass-bells tinkled;Loud the monks around him chanted,Loud he read the Evangelist.As into the Fiord they darted,On each side the water parted;Down a path like silver moltenSteadily rowed King Olaf's ships;Steadily burned all night the tapers,And the White Christ through the vaporsGleamed across the Fiord of Salten,As through John's Apocalypse,—Till at last they reached Raud's dwellingOn the little isle of Gelling;Not a guard was at the doorway,Not 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 asunderBolt 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 scofferAnswered: "I disdain thine offer;Neither fear I God nor Devil;Thee and thy Gospel I defy!"Then between his jaws distended,When his frantic struggles ended,Through King Olaf's horn an 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 OdinLay in dust and ashes trodden,As King Olaf, onward sweeping,Preached the Gospel with his sword.Then he took the carved and gildedDragon-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 landedOlaf and his crew again.
Loud the angry wind was wailingAs King Olaf's ships came sailingNorthward out of Drontheim havenTo the mouth of Salten Fiord.
Though the flying sea-spray drenchesFore and aft the rowers' benches,Not a single heart is cravenOf the champions there on board.
All without the Fiord was quiet,But within it storm and riot,Such as on his Viking cruisesRaud the Strong was wont to ride.
And the sea through all its tide-waysSwept the reeling vessels sideways,As the leaves are swept through sluices,When the flood-gates open wide.
"'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demonRaud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen;"But the Lord is not affrightedBy 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 plantedHigh amid the rain and mist.
Then with holy water sprinkledAll the ship; the mass-bells tinkled;Loud the monks around him chanted,Loud he read the Evangelist.
As into the Fiord they darted,On each side the water parted;Down a path like silver moltenSteadily rowed King Olaf's ships;
Steadily burned all night the tapers,And the White Christ through the vaporsGleamed across the Fiord of Salten,As through John's Apocalypse,—
Till at last they reached Raud's dwellingOn the little isle of Gelling;Not a guard was at the doorway,Not 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 asunderBolt 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 scofferAnswered: "I disdain thine offer;Neither fear I God nor Devil;Thee and thy Gospel I defy!"
Then between his jaws distended,When his frantic struggles ended,Through King Olaf's horn an 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 OdinLay in dust and ashes trodden,As King Olaf, onward sweeping,Preached the Gospel with his sword.
Then he took the carved and gildedDragon-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 landedOlaf and his crew again.
At Drontheim, Olaf the KingHeard the bells of Yule-tide ring,As he sat in his banquet-hall,Drinking the nut-brown ale,With his bearded Berserks haleAnd tall.Three days his Yule-tide feastsHe 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 signHe made of the cross divine,As he drank, and muttered his prayers;But the Berserks evermoreMade the sign of the Hammer of ThorOver theirs.The gleams of the fire-light danceUpon helmet and hauberk and lance,And laugh in the eyes of the King;And he cries to Halfred the Scald,Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald,"Sing!""Sing me a song divine,With a sword in every line,And this shall be thy reward."And he loosened the belt at his waist,And in front of the singer placedHis sword."Quern-biter of Hakon the Good,Wherewith at a stroke he hewedThe millstone through and through,And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong,Were neither so broad nor so long,Nor so true."Then the Scald took his harp and sang,And loud through the music rangThe sound of that shining word;And the harp-strings a clangor made,As if they were struck with the bladeOf a sword.And the Berserks round aboutBroke forth into a shoutThat 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 oneOf thy measures and thy rhymes."And Halfred the Scald replied,"In another 'twas multipliedThree times."Then King Olaf raised the hiltOf 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, "ThisIn 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 snowsThe noonday sun uprose,Through the driving mists revealed,Like the lifting of the Host,By incense-clouds almostConcealed.On the shining wall a vastAnd shadowy cross was castFrom the hilt of the lifted sword,And in foaming cups of aleThe Berserks drank "Was-hael!To the Lord!"
At Drontheim, Olaf the KingHeard the bells of Yule-tide ring,As he sat in his banquet-hall,Drinking the nut-brown ale,With his bearded Berserks haleAnd tall.
Three days his Yule-tide feastsHe 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 signHe made of the cross divine,As he drank, and muttered his prayers;But the Berserks evermoreMade the sign of the Hammer of ThorOver theirs.
The gleams of the fire-light danceUpon helmet and hauberk and lance,And laugh in the eyes of the King;And he cries to Halfred the Scald,Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald,"Sing!"
"Sing me a song divine,With a sword in every line,And this shall be thy reward."And he loosened the belt at his waist,And in front of the singer placedHis sword.
"Quern-biter of Hakon the Good,Wherewith at a stroke he hewedThe millstone through and through,And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong,Were neither so broad nor so long,Nor so true."
Then the Scald took his harp and sang,And loud through the music rangThe sound of that shining word;And the harp-strings a clangor made,As if they were struck with the bladeOf a sword.
And the Berserks round aboutBroke forth into a shoutThat 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 oneOf thy measures and thy rhymes."And Halfred the Scald replied,"In another 'twas multipliedThree times."
Then King Olaf raised the hiltOf 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, "ThisIn 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 snowsThe noonday sun uprose,Through the driving mists revealed,Like the lifting of the Host,By incense-clouds almostConcealed.
On the shining wall a vastAnd shadowy cross was castFrom the hilt of the lifted sword,And in foaming cups of aleThe Berserks drank "Was-hael!To the Lord!"
Thorberg Skafting, master-builder,In his ship-yard by the sea,Whistled, saying, "'Twould bewilderAny 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 commandedHe 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, draftingThat new vessel for King OlafTwice the Dragon's size.Round him busily hewed and hammeredMallet huge and heavy axe;Workmen laughed and sang and clamored;Whirred the wheels, that into riggingSpun the shining flax!All this tumult heard the master,—It was music to his ear;Fancy whispered all the faster,"Men shall hear of Thorberg SkaftingFor a hundred year!"Workmen sweating at the forgesFashioned iron bolt and bar,Like a warlock's midnight orgiesSmoked and bubbled the black caldronWith the boiling tar.Did the warlocks mingle in it,Thorberg Skafting, any curse?Could you not be gone a minuteBut 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 workmen,Build ye thus and so.After long delays returningCame the master back by night;To his ship-yard longing, yearning,Hurried he, and did not leave itTill 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 NorwaySuch a wondrous thing!"In the ship-yard, idly talking,At the ship the workmen stared:Some one, all their labor balking,Down her sides 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 redderThan his scarlet cloak.Straight the master-builder, smiling,Answered thus the angry King:"Cease blaspheming and reviling,Olaf, it was Thorberg SkaftingWho 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 DragonThan she was before!"Seventy ells and four extendedOn the grass the vessel's keel;High above it, gilt and splendid,Rose the figure-head ferociousWith 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 NorwayHalf so fine as she!The Long Serpent was she christened,'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer!They who to the Saga listenedHeard the name of Thorberg SkaftingFor a hundred year!
Thorberg Skafting, master-builder,In his ship-yard by the sea,Whistled, saying, "'Twould bewilderAny 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 commandedHe 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, draftingThat new vessel for King OlafTwice the Dragon's size.
Round him busily hewed and hammeredMallet huge and heavy axe;Workmen laughed and sang and clamored;Whirred the wheels, that into riggingSpun the shining flax!
All this tumult heard the master,—It was music to his ear;Fancy whispered all the faster,"Men shall hear of Thorberg SkaftingFor a hundred year!"
Workmen sweating at the forgesFashioned iron bolt and bar,Like a warlock's midnight orgiesSmoked and bubbled the black caldronWith the boiling tar.
Did the warlocks mingle in it,Thorberg Skafting, any curse?Could you not be gone a minuteBut 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 workmen,Build ye thus and so.
After long delays returningCame the master back by night;To his ship-yard longing, yearning,Hurried he, and did not leave itTill 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 NorwaySuch a wondrous thing!"
In the ship-yard, idly talking,At the ship the workmen stared:Some one, all their labor balking,Down her sides 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 redderThan his scarlet cloak.
Straight the master-builder, smiling,Answered thus the angry King:"Cease blaspheming and reviling,Olaf, it was Thorberg SkaftingWho 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 DragonThan she was before!"
Seventy ells and four extendedOn the grass the vessel's keel;High above it, gilt and splendid,Rose the figure-head ferociousWith 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 NorwayHalf so fine as she!
The Long Serpent was she christened,'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer!They who to the Saga listenedHeard the name of Thorberg SkaftingFor a hundred year!
Safe at anchor in Drontheim bayKing 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's 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 defendedOlaf'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 varletWondered 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 imprintedWas an anchor, azure-tinted;Like Thor's hammer, huge and dintedWas his brawny hand.Einar Tamberskelver, bareTo the winds his golden hair,By the mainmast stood;Graceful was his form, and slender,And his eyes were deep and tenderAs a woman's, in the splendorOf her maidenhood.In the fore-hold Biorn and BorkWatched 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 vastFilled them with a vague devotion,With the freedom and the motion,With the roll and roar of oceanAnd 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 astoundedAs they drank the ale!Never saw the wild North SeaSuch a gallant companySail 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!
Safe at anchor in Drontheim bayKing 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's 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 defendedOlaf'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 varletWondered 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 imprintedWas an anchor, azure-tinted;Like Thor's hammer, huge and dintedWas his brawny hand.
Einar Tamberskelver, bareTo the winds his golden hair,By the mainmast stood;Graceful was his form, and slender,And his eyes were deep and tenderAs a woman's, in the splendorOf her maidenhood.
In the fore-hold Biorn and BorkWatched 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 vastFilled them with a vague devotion,With the freedom and the motion,With the roll and roar of oceanAnd 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 astoundedAs they drank the ale!
Never saw the wild North SeaSuch a gallant companySail 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!
A little bird in the airIs singing of Thyri the fair,The sister of Svend the Dane;And the song of the garrulous birdIn 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 his 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 reportShe 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.
A little bird in the airIs singing of Thyri the fair,The sister of Svend the Dane;And the song of the garrulous birdIn 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 his 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 reportShe 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.
Northward over Drontheim,Flew the clamorous sea-gulls,Sang the lark and linnetFrom the meadows green;Weeping in her chamber,Lonely and unhappy,Sat the Drottning Thyri,Sat King Olaf's Queen.In at all the windowsStreamed the pleasant sunshine,On the roof above herSoftly cooed the dove;But the sound she heard not,Nor the sunshine heeded,For the thoughts of ThyriWere not thoughts of love.Then King Olaf entered,Beautiful as morning,Like the sun at EasterShone his happy face;In his hand he carriedAngelicas uprooted,With delicious fragranceFilling all the place.Like a rainy midnightSat the Drottning Thyri,Even the smile of OlafCould not cheer her gloom;Nor the stalks he gave herWith a gracious gesture,And with words as pleasantAs their own perfume.In her hands he placed them,And her jewelled fingersThrough the green leaves glistenedLike the dews of morn;But she cast them from her,Haughty and indignant,On the floor she threw themWith a look of scorn."Richer presents," said she,"Gave King Harald GormsonTo the Queen, my mother,Than such worthless weeds;"When he ravaged Norway,Laying waste the kingdom,Seizing scatt and treasureFor her royal needs."But thou darest not ventureThrough the Sound to Vendland,My domains to rescueFrom King Burislaf;"Lest King Svend of Denmark,Forked Beard, my brother,Scatter all thy vesselsAs the wind the chaff."Then up sprang King Olaf,Like a reindeer bounding,With an oath he answeredThus the luckless Queen:"Never yet did OlafFear King Svend of Denmark;This right hand shall hale himBy his forked chin!"Then he left the chamber,Thundering through the doorway,Loud his steps resoundedDown the outer stair.Smarting with the insult,Through the streets of DrontheimStrode he red and wrathful,With his stately air.All his ships he gathered,Summoned all his forces,Making his war levyIn the region round;Down the coast of Norway,Like a flock of sea-gulls,Sailed the fleet of OlafThrough the Danish Sound.With his own hand fearless,Steered he the Long Serpent,Strained the creaking cordage,Bent each boom and gaff;Till in Vendland landing,The domains of ThyriHe redeemed and rescuedFrom King Burislaf.Then said Olaf, laughing,"Not ten yoke of oxenHave the power to draw usLike a woman's hair!"Now will I confess it,Better things are jewelsThan angelica stalks areFor a Queen to wear."
Northward over Drontheim,Flew the clamorous sea-gulls,Sang the lark and linnetFrom the meadows green;
Weeping in her chamber,Lonely and unhappy,Sat the Drottning Thyri,Sat King Olaf's Queen.
In at all the windowsStreamed the pleasant sunshine,On the roof above herSoftly cooed the dove;
But the sound she heard not,Nor the sunshine heeded,For the thoughts of ThyriWere not thoughts of love.
Then King Olaf entered,Beautiful as morning,Like the sun at EasterShone his happy face;
In his hand he carriedAngelicas uprooted,With delicious fragranceFilling all the place.
Like a rainy midnightSat the Drottning Thyri,Even the smile of OlafCould not cheer her gloom;
Nor the stalks he gave herWith a gracious gesture,And with words as pleasantAs their own perfume.
In her hands he placed them,And her jewelled fingersThrough the green leaves glistenedLike the dews of morn;
But she cast them from her,Haughty and indignant,On the floor she threw themWith a look of scorn.
"Richer presents," said she,"Gave King Harald GormsonTo the Queen, my mother,Than such worthless weeds;
"When he ravaged Norway,Laying waste the kingdom,Seizing scatt and treasureFor her royal needs.
"But thou darest not ventureThrough the Sound to Vendland,My domains to rescueFrom King Burislaf;
"Lest King Svend of Denmark,Forked Beard, my brother,Scatter all thy vesselsAs the wind the chaff."
Then up sprang King Olaf,Like a reindeer bounding,With an oath he answeredThus the luckless Queen:
"Never yet did OlafFear King Svend of Denmark;This right hand shall hale himBy his forked chin!"
Then he left the chamber,Thundering through the doorway,Loud his steps resoundedDown the outer stair.
Smarting with the insult,Through the streets of DrontheimStrode he red and wrathful,With his stately air.
All his ships he gathered,Summoned all his forces,Making his war levyIn the region round;
Down the coast of Norway,Like a flock of sea-gulls,Sailed the fleet of OlafThrough the Danish Sound.
With his own hand fearless,Steered he the Long Serpent,Strained the creaking cordage,Bent each boom and gaff;
Till in Vendland landing,The domains of ThyriHe redeemed and rescuedFrom King Burislaf.
Then said Olaf, laughing,"Not ten yoke of oxenHave the power to draw usLike a woman's hair!
"Now will I confess it,Better things are jewelsThan angelica stalks areFor a Queen to wear."
Loudly the sailors cheeredSvend of the Forked Beard,As with his fleet he steeredSouthward to Vendland;Where with their courses hauledAll were together called,Under the Isle of SvaldNear to the mainland.After Queen Gunhild's death,So the old Saga saith,Plighted King Svend his faithTo Sigrid the Haughty;And to avenge his bride,Soothing her wounded pride,Over the waters wideKing Olaf sought he.Still on her scornful face,Blushing with deep disgrace,Bore she the crimson traceOf Olaf's gauntlet;Like a malignant star,Blazing in heaven afar,Red shone the angry scarUnder her frontlet.Oft to King Svend she spake,"For thine own honor's sakeShalt thou swift vengeance takeOn the vile coward!"Until the King at last,Gusty and overcast,Like a tempestuous blastThreatened and lowered.Soon as the Spring appeared,Svend of the Forked BeardHigh 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 KingSummoned in haste a Thing,Weapons and men to bringIn aid of Denmark;Eric the Norseman, too,As the war-tidings flew,Sailed with a chosen crewFrom Lapland and Finmark.So upon Easter daySailed 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 nameStooped 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 hoarseMouths of Stet-haven;Him to ensnare and bring,Unto the Danish king,Who his dead corse would flingForth to the raven!
Loudly the sailors cheeredSvend of the Forked Beard,As with his fleet he steeredSouthward to Vendland;Where with their courses hauledAll were together called,Under the Isle of SvaldNear to the mainland.
After Queen Gunhild's death,So the old Saga saith,Plighted King Svend his faithTo Sigrid the Haughty;And to avenge his bride,Soothing her wounded pride,Over the waters wideKing Olaf sought he.
Still on her scornful face,Blushing with deep disgrace,Bore she the crimson traceOf Olaf's gauntlet;Like a malignant star,Blazing in heaven afar,Red shone the angry scarUnder her frontlet.
Oft to King Svend she spake,"For thine own honor's sakeShalt thou swift vengeance takeOn the vile coward!"Until the King at last,Gusty and overcast,Like a tempestuous blastThreatened and lowered.
Soon as the Spring appeared,Svend of the Forked BeardHigh 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 KingSummoned in haste a Thing,Weapons and men to bringIn aid of Denmark;Eric the Norseman, too,As the war-tidings flew,Sailed with a chosen crewFrom Lapland and Finmark.
So upon Easter daySailed 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 nameStooped 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 hoarseMouths of Stet-haven;Him to ensnare and bring,Unto the Danish king,Who his dead corse would flingForth to the raven!
On the gray sea-sandsKing Olaf stands,Northward and seawardHe points with his hands.With eddy and whirlThe sea-tides curl,Washing the sandalsOf 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 distanceThe sails flit and fade.The sea is like lead,The harbor lies dead,As a corse on the sea-shore,Whose spirit has fled!On that fatal day,The histories say,Seventy vesselsSailed out of the bay.But soon scattered wideO'er the billows they ride,While Sigvald and OlafSail side by side.Cried the Earl: "Follow me!I your pilot will be,For I know all the channelsWhere flows the deep sea!"So into the straitWhere his foes lie in wait,Gallant King OlafSails to his fate!Then the sea-fog veilsThe ships and their sails;Queen Sigrid the Haughty,Thy vengeance prevails!
On the gray sea-sandsKing Olaf stands,Northward and seawardHe points with his hands.
With eddy and whirlThe sea-tides curl,Washing the sandalsOf 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 distanceThe sails flit and fade.
The sea is like lead,The harbor lies dead,As a corse on the sea-shore,Whose spirit has fled!
On that fatal day,The histories say,Seventy vesselsSailed out of the bay.
But soon scattered wideO'er the billows they ride,While Sigvald and OlafSail side by side.
Cried the Earl: "Follow me!I your pilot will be,For I know all the channelsWhere flows the deep sea!"
So into the straitWhere his foes lie in wait,Gallant King OlafSails to his fate!
Then the sea-fog veilsThe ships and their sails;Queen Sigrid the Haughty,Thy vengeance prevails!
"Strike the sails!" King Olaf said;"Never shall men of mine take flight;Never away from battle I fled,Never away from my foes!Let God disposeOf my life in the fight!""Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King;And suddenly through the drifting brumeThe blare of the horns began to ring,Like the terrible trumpet shockOf Regnarock,On the Day of Doom!Louder and louder the war-horns sangOver the level floor of the flood;All the sails came down with a clang,And there in the mist overheadThe sun hung redAs a drop of blood.Drifting down on the Danish fleetThree together the ships were lashed,So that neither should turn and retreat;In the midst, but in front of the restThe burnished crestOf the Serpent flashed.King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck,With bow of ash and arrows of oak,His gilded shield was without a fleck,His helmet inlaid with gold,And in many a foldHung his crimson cloak.On the forecastle Ulf the RedWatched the lashing of the ships;"If the Serpent lie so far ahead,We shall have hard work of it here,"Said he with a sneerOn 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 of the Iron BeardEarl Eric steeredOn the left with his oars."These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King,"At home with their wives had better stay,Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting:But where Eric the Norseman leadsHeroic deedsWill be done to-day!"Then as together the vessels crashed,Eric severed the cables of hide,With which King Olaf's ships were lashed,And left them to drive and driftWith the currents swiftOf the outward tide.Louder the war-horns growl and snarl,Sharper the dragons bite and sting!Eric the son of Hakon JarlA death-drink salt as the seaPledges to thee,Olaf the King!
"Strike the sails!" King Olaf said;"Never shall men of mine take flight;Never away from battle I fled,Never away from my foes!Let God disposeOf my life in the fight!"
"Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King;And suddenly through the drifting brumeThe blare of the horns began to ring,Like the terrible trumpet shockOf Regnarock,On the Day of Doom!
Louder and louder the war-horns sangOver the level floor of the flood;All the sails came down with a clang,And there in the mist overheadThe sun hung redAs a drop of blood.
Drifting down on the Danish fleetThree together the ships were lashed,So that neither should turn and retreat;In the midst, but in front of the restThe burnished crestOf the Serpent flashed.
King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck,With bow of ash and arrows of oak,His gilded shield was without a fleck,His helmet inlaid with gold,And in many a foldHung his crimson cloak.
On the forecastle Ulf the RedWatched the lashing of the ships;"If the Serpent lie so far ahead,We shall have hard work of it here,"Said he with a sneerOn 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 of the Iron BeardEarl Eric steeredOn the left with his oars.
"These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King,"At home with their wives had better stay,Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting:But where Eric the Norseman leadsHeroic deedsWill be done to-day!"
Then as together the vessels crashed,Eric severed the cables of hide,With which King Olaf's ships were lashed,And left them to drive and driftWith the currents swiftOf the outward tide.
Louder the war-horns growl and snarl,Sharper the dragons bite and sting!Eric the son of Hakon JarlA death-drink salt as the seaPledges to thee,Olaf the King!
It was Einar TamberskelverStood 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 flyingGrazed his coat of mail.Turning to a Lapland yeoman,As the arrow passed,Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowmanStanding by the mast."Sooner than the word was spokenFlew the yeoman's shaft;Einar's bow in twain was broken,Einar only laughed."What was that?" said Olaf, standingOn the quarter-deck."Something heard I like the strandingOf a shattered wreck."Einar then, the arrow takingFrom the loosened string,Answered, "That was Norway breakingFrom thy hand, O king!""Thou art but a poor diviner,"Straightway Olaf said;"Take my bow, and swifter, Einar,Let thy shafts be sped."Of his bows the fairest choosing,Reached he from above;Einar saw the blood-drops oozingThrough his iron glove.But the bow was thin and narrow;At the first assay,O'er its head he drew the arrow,Flung the bow away;Said, with hot and angry temperFlushing in his cheek,"Olaf! for so great a KämperAre thy bows too weak!"Then, with smile of joy defiantOn his beardless lip,Scaled he, light and self-reliant,Eric's dragon-ship.Loose his golden locks were flowing,Bright his armor gleamed;Like Saint Michael overthrowingLucifer he seemed.
It was Einar TamberskelverStood 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 flyingGrazed his coat of mail.
Turning to a Lapland yeoman,As the arrow passed,Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowmanStanding by the mast."Sooner than the word was spokenFlew the yeoman's shaft;Einar's bow in twain was broken,Einar only laughed.
"What was that?" said Olaf, standingOn the quarter-deck."Something heard I like the strandingOf a shattered wreck."Einar then, the arrow takingFrom the loosened string,Answered, "That was Norway breakingFrom thy hand, O king!"
"Thou art but a poor diviner,"Straightway Olaf said;"Take my bow, and swifter, Einar,Let thy shafts be sped."Of his bows the fairest choosing,Reached he from above;Einar saw the blood-drops oozingThrough his iron glove.
But the bow was thin and narrow;At the first assay,O'er its head he drew the arrow,Flung the bow away;Said, with hot and angry temperFlushing in his cheek,"Olaf! for so great a KämperAre thy bows too weak!"
Then, with smile of joy defiantOn his beardless lip,Scaled he, light and self-reliant,Eric's dragon-ship.Loose his golden locks were flowing,Bright his armor gleamed;Like Saint Michael overthrowingLucifer he seemed.
All day has the battle raged,All day have the ships engaged,But not yet is assuagedThe 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 on the tide,The grappling-irons are plied,The boarders climb up the side,The shouts are feeble and few.Ah! never shall Norway againSee 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 singThe 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 wreckOf the Long Serpent's deckSweeps 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 vastDim forests of Orkadale.Seeking King Olaf then,He rushes aft with his men,As a hunter into the denOf 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 earOf King Olaf a word of cheer,In a whisper that none may 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 boatsSeize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats,And cry, from their hairy throats,"See! it is Olaf the King!"While far on the opposite sideFloats another shield on the tide,Like a jewel set in the wideSea-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 beneath the main;But the young grew old and gray,And never, by night or by day,In his kingdom of NorrowayWas King Olaf seen again!
All day has the battle raged,All day have the ships engaged,But not yet is assuagedThe 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 on the tide,The grappling-irons are plied,The boarders climb up the side,The shouts are feeble and few.
Ah! never shall Norway againSee 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 singThe 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 wreckOf the Long Serpent's deckSweeps 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 vastDim forests of Orkadale.
Seeking King Olaf then,He rushes aft with his men,As a hunter into the denOf 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 earOf King Olaf a word of cheer,In a whisper that none may 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 boatsSeize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats,And cry, from their hairy throats,"See! it is Olaf the King!"
While far on the opposite sideFloats another shield on the tide,Like a jewel set in the wideSea-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 beneath the main;
But the young grew old and gray,And never, by night or by day,In his kingdom of NorrowayWas King Olaf seen again!