Classic Poem

NORSE LEGEND .

PART I.

From Norway's coast with pride and boast
Forth Ragnhald's galley steered
And the lust of strife in her crew was rife
As loud and long they cheered.
" Huzza, huzza! for the midnight fray,
And the burning towns ablaze,
For the pillage fine and the purple wine
We shall share ere many days! "

But the Viking cried, " 'Tis my joy and pride,
To do as ye have told,
For I love the gleam of the grape's red stream,
And the clank of the plundered gold,
And dear to me with my lances free,
To carry dismay and fear
Through the lands that lie 'neath a burning sky,
But revenge is still more dear.

" Now ye well may judge that I owe a grudge
To that Abbot and his crew
Who tried to save the accursed knave,
That my fair-haired brother slew.
As you know full well, he hath hung a bell
On the Rock of the Sklangenzan,
By each wave 'tis swung, and its brazen tongue
Speaks loud as the tempest can.

" And here I swear by my love's bright hair
To still its croak of fear;
How now, my men, what say ye then?
'Tis three days sail from here! "
Then a mighty shout from the crew rang out,
So wild in its savage glee,
The white sea-bird that the clamour heard,
Dropped startled in the sea.

And the " Albatross " flew the waves across,
Whose foam wove her prow a shroud,
Until Norway's coast with its mountain host,
Shrank into a wisp of cloud.
Then that sank too, and yet on she flew,
With but sea and sky in sight,
Still on and on, while the daylight shone,
And onward still all night.

Fair blew the gale, and the third day's sail.
White peaks to rise began,
And at eve they could hear, with straining ear,
The chime of the Sklangenzan.
Like a stifled moan came its feeble tone,
Scarce stirred by the drowsy swell,
For the sound they steered, and full quickly neared
The rock with its mighty bell.

The girding sheet of the surf's wild beat.
Glared ghostly through the shades,
As the throb of the tide now scaled its side,
Now draped it in white cascades.
And hidden now, in the wallowing slough
Of the troughs of ocean rolled,
Now heaved a spell on its dizzy swell,
The buoy-borne giant tolled.

But on the crew came a feeling new,
A chill of awe-struck fear,
And the fierce wild glee of their revelry
Died away, as they drew near.
Then Rolf the Red with a shiver said,
" Yon rock is like a bier,
And that ghostly knell makes me wish full well
I were fifty miles from here! "

But the Viking's eye gleamed fierce and high,
And he shook his long yellow hair,
Loud laughed, " ho ho! " and cried, " Up, hallo!
You grappling irons there! "
Then roused the crew and their irons threw,
And tugged and wrought amain,
Until, with a shock from fissured rock,
Tore bolt and clamp and chain,

And the mighty bell with a parting knell,
Wrenched from its cradling float,
Smote the startled sea, and then heavily
Sank in its depths remote.
Then loud they cheered, and away they steered,
And sailed at dawn of day,
In defiance rude, near the cliff where stood
St. Olaf's convent grey.

As 'mid cloisters dim rose the matin hymn,
The startled monks could hear
The wild huzza, that at dawn of day
Rang echoing far and near.
From his lofty cell knew the Abbot well,
The sail of the wild Norseman;
And again and again did he listen in vain,
For the Bell of the Sklangenzan.

At noon spake out with a brazen shout,
St. Olaf's clanging bells,
And in awed amaze to the shrine's broad blaze,
The monks flocked from their cells.
Then with censers swung and with bells all rung,
The solemn rite went on,
And in accents low, 'gainst his pirate foe,
Came the Abbot's malison.

" May Heav'n's wrath be upon his path,
And its curse upon his head,
With soul unshriven, sins unforgiven,
As living, be he dead.
In sorest need may he rue this deed,
In peril, and storm, and fear,
May he owe death's pang to the " Serpent's Fang,"
The rock be his only bier! "

So spake with hand on the carving grand,
To St. Olaf's relics vowed,
With crozier grasped, and with book unclasped,
St. Olaf's Abbot proud.
Nought recked his foe of that solemn show,
Of curse or prayer recked nought,
As in mirth and glee, o'er the sunlit sea,
Old Norway's cliffs he sought.

He thought how well would his wild deed tell,
He thought of his bride's embrace,
As exulting home, o'er the glancing foam
He gave the sea-birds chase.
As on shore he sprung, his fair one flung
Her white arms round his neck,
" Now what deed hast done, and what booty won,
Thy loving bride to deck? "

But he made reply, " No red gold have I,
No plundered oil or wine,
No gems to deck thy white arms and neck,
But vengeance hath been mine! "
Then as closely clung on his breast she hung,
He told his triumph wild,
And she paid the feat with her kisses sweet,
The bold Berserkar's child.

PART II.

From Norway's coast, with pride and boast,
Forth Ragnhald's galley steered,
And the lust of strife in her crew was rife,
As loud and long they cheered.
" Huzza, huzza! for the midnight fray,
And the burning towns ablaze,
For the pillage fine, and the purple wine,
We shall share ere many days! "

Still stern and high was the Sea King's eye,
Though grey his beard and hair,
And by his side stood in manly pride,
Three striplings tall and fair.
" Now by Odin's beard, on this day we steered,
For the Sklangenzan! " he said,
" Twenty years ago, when we, as ye know,
'Gainst St. Olaf's Belfry sped. "

Sank the last dim ledge on the farthest edge
Of the boundless wat'ry quire,
Ere the sunset sky burned wide and high,
A dome of fleecy fire.
But the Northern Light played pranks that night,
And flouted stars and moon,
While a sobbing blast, amid shrouds and mast,
Wailed a weird and doleful tune.

Then the sullen morn amid clouds was born,
That dulled the struggling sun,
And the troubled sea rolled fierce and free,
In billows white and dun.
As the stormy day wore its light away,
Still stronger blew the gale,
But care was drowned as the cup went round,
And as foamed the horns of ale.

Yet a night and day, while the tempest's fray
Waxed wilder by degrees,
And the decks were swept as upon them leapt
The fury-crested seas.
Night coming then on those reckless men,
The last they were to see,
Found them drifting still, at the storm's wild will,
In wilder revelry.

No stars on high, but a pitch black sky,
O'er a waste of chasmed snow,
And the ship a thing that the rude seas fling,
As shuttle-cock to and fro.
Now downward hurled to the nether world
Of that billow's black abyss,
Now lifted high, as to scale the sky,
On the toppling crest of this.

Then a plunging leap down the headlong steep,
'Neath a crumbling roof of foam,
Whose thundering wreck crashed down on deck,
In wild o'erthrow launched home.
Yawned gulfs of night betwixt ridges white,
With writhing snow-wreathed scalps,
That swept along in a charging throng
A host of rushing Alps.

And no friendly bell was there to tell,
That the Sklangenzan e'en now,
Sure and dumb as fate did its victims wait,
A shaft's flight from their bow.
A phantom white, through the dense black night
It glared across their way,
As it flashed awhile in a snowy pile,
Through a whirling storm of spray.

Then the seas' wild leap drowned it fathoms deep,
While a Maelstrom o'er it whirled,
And the breakers round burst in flame and sound,
And the seething surf far hurled.
As the scared look-out gave the dreaded shout,
" There be breakers on our lee! "
That fatal word sobered all who heard,
For it fell like Death's decree.

In a stunned amaze, stared with vacant gaze
The crew of the fated bark,
On the beacon dread, towards which she sped
Like an arrow to its mark.
But the Viking cried in undaunted pride,
" We've oft faced Death my men!
And 'tis best for us, all united thus,
To meet him once again! "

Still on and on while the breakers wan
Glared nearer every stride,
And the volleying crash of their thunderous lash
Overpowered all sound beside.
Then a mighty wave, with a hollow cave
'Neath its tottering silver dome,
With a downward swoop of its circling scoop,
Was crumbled into foam.

And the ship whelmed deep in its ruin's sweep,
With their onward rush was hurled,
Through the dazzled night, where in chaos white,
The surf's wild uproar whirled.
A moment more and amid the hoar
White kindling of its wrath,
She swayed and leant, where the rock spears rent
Its veil of curdling froth.

Then a mighty shout from her crew rang out,
'Bove the thunders of the main,
As they challenged Death with their latest breath,
And defied his terrors vain.
And sea on sea swept down in glee,
And smote their helpless prey,
And the surge was strewn with her fragments soon,
That scattered like drifting spray.

The storm lulled fast, for its wrath was past,
When its work of death was done,
And the clouds took flight at the morning light,
And blithely shone the sun.
A fisherman's boat like a dancing mote,
Came lightly o'er the sea,
Till her crew, in awe at the sight they saw,
Stopped 'neath the rock's dark lee.

By the billows left in a yawning cleft,
A stately corpse was there,
With a stern frown set on its features yet,
And a wide and glassy stare.
They saw the shine of its garments fine,
And the gleam of its golden chain,
But the sea ran too high to venture nigh,
And they gleamed and shone in vain.

By day and night did that ghastly sight
Lie grim in horror there,
Till all was mould save the chain of gold,
And the bones bleached white and bare.
Then the hungry wave was at last their grave,
And claimed them for a prey,
And of that dead man, from the Sklangenzan
All trace was swept away.

There were censers swung, and bells loud rung,
At St. Olaf's shrine again,
And the Abbot grey bade his monks all pray
For the souls of those sinful men.
The Sea King's wife while storms raged rife,
Long kept a watch in vain,
But never more to Norwegian shore,
Came sons or sire again.

Full oft this tale o'er the horns of ale,
Was told in trembling fear;
And a lonely reef is in full belief,
Yet called " The Viking's Bier. "
And at midnight still, when the wind pipes shrill,
The trembling watch can hear,
As the ship sails by where the rock is nigh,
A wild and ghostly cheer.