■J&m 
 
 ^ OF
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 A THROW OF THE DICE. 
 
 AN ANCIENT TALE RE-TOLD. 
 
 "Who Surs with the Devil should have a Long Spoon." 
 
 Old Proverb. 
 
 Price One Shilling ; Cloth, One and Sixpence. 
 
 PRESS OPINIONS. 
 
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 Major tells his story so cleverly as to make it appear almost 
 probable, and we are conscious while reading ' A Throw of the 
 Dice,' of being intensely interested and diverted." — Whitehall 
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 Stephen's Review. 
 
 " . . . . The hopes, despair, and suicidal mania of a gambler's 
 life are well explained .... distinctly clever, and in some portions 
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 to all." — Society Herald. 
 
 " .... a powerful story .... impressive and weird enough 
 to strike the imagination strongly." — Scotsman. 
 
 " . . . . Very cleverly written .... with much ingenuity, and 
 considerable dramatic force." — Scottish Leader. 
 
 " .... An ingenious variant of the Faust Legend .... deci- 
 dedly clever." — Manchester Guardian. 
 
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 ance of the Evil One .... it is a first-class Christmas story, and 
 deserves to be popular." — Sheffield Daily Telegraph. 
 
 "The best shilling Christmas story we have seen this season .... 
 well written, and of thrilling interest from beginning to end .... we 
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 clever story." — Westminster Times.
 
 SAGAS AND SONGS 
 OF THE NORSEMEN
 
 SAGAS AND SONGS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NORSEMEN 
 
 BY 
 ALBANY F. MAJOR 
 
 LONDON 
 David Nutt in the Strand 
 
 MDCCCXCIV
 
 */f)X 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 SONGS OF THE NORSEMEN 
 
 Tage 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson, Odin's Martyr. 
 
 Told in Alliterative Verse . .3 
 The First Christmas in Norway : A Yuletide 
 
 Legend . . . . . .20 
 
 The Burial of the Sea-King . . . 31 
 
 Gudrun . . . . . . -35 
 
 Olaf ....... 37 
 
 King Olaf's Grave . . . . -39 
 
 The Sailing of the Vikings ... 42 
 
 Leaping the Boom . . . . .48 
 
 The Rime of Sir Kari .... 52 
 
 A Song of Two Kings . . . -54 
 
 Spring Time in the Viking Days : Norway . 57 
 
 The Sea-King's Storm Swoop . . .61 
 
 Helga's Bridal : A Legend of Iceland . . 65 
 
 Chapters from the Heimskringla of Snorri 
 
 Sturluson : 
 
 Saga I. Chap. LI. King Skiold's Vengeance . 70 
 
 „ IV. „ XIII. Sauer, the Dog King 73 
 

 
 viii Contents 
 
 Tage 
 
 A Ship Burial . . . . . -77 
 
 Weapon Songs : 
 
 Prelude 83 
 
 A Byrnic Song . . . . -84 
 
 A Helm Song ..... 85 
 
 A Shield Song 86 
 
 A Spear Song ..... 87 
 
 A Sword Song . . . .88 
 
 An Axe Song ..... 90 
 
 SONGS OF THE ENGLISH 
 
 Hengest's Landing : A Fragment told in 
 
 Alliterative Verse . . . -95 
 The Grave : A Fragment. Translated from the 
 
 Anglo-Saxon ..... 98 
 The Battle of Hastings : 
 
 The Eve of the Battle . . . .101 
 
 The Fight at Senlac .... 104 
 
 The Night of the Battle . . . .131
 
 SONGS OF THE NORSEMEN
 
 THE SAGA OF ASMUND EYVINDSSON, 
 ODIN'S MARTYR 
 
 TOLD IN ALLITERATIVE VERSE. 
 
 Under Yggdrassil, the ash-tree famous, 
 The Gods were gathered together in council, 
 For a rumour had reached them of rivals uprisen, 
 Strange Gods and strong, to sweep them away. 
 Fast by their doom-stead the fountain of Urdar 
 Sang and sparkled, of streams the purest, 
 And above it Yggdrassil, oldest of trees, 
 Wailed in the wind with a warning voice. 
 
 Out spake the Sisters whose silent ringers 
 
 Weave ever the weird of the world in their loom ; 
 
 Far had they fathomed the fates unborn 
 
 And read the runes and the riddle of Time : 
 
 "Hearken, ye High Ones ! Hard is our tale ; 
 
 Fain would we fashion you fairer tidings ! 
 
 Alas for the lips no lie can sully, 
 
 When a Norn's foreknowledge brings nought but pain !
 
 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Your race is run ; your rule o'er the Norland, 
 Doomed to destruction, must dwine and dwindle, 
 Waning away, as the worship of Christ 
 On its ruins uprises to rule the world." 
 
 The doom was delivered, but dauntless they faced it, 
 And Odin made answer amidst of the doom-ring : 
 "There are true men and tried put their trust in the 
 
 .<Esir 
 And in bicker of battle the bright sword shall gleam. 
 Stubborn and stark shall the strife be, whose prize is 
 The crown of our kingdom. If Christ would o'er- 
 
 throw us, 
 His gospel of goodwill must garner in slaughter 
 And its followers enforce it with fire and with sword." 
 
 tP V tP ^* ^* 
 
 In helm and hauberk and harness of battle 
 King Olaf upheld it, an armed apostle ; 
 War-gear he wore, as he went on his mission, 
 Mail shirt for monk's robe, a menacing helmet 
 For the shaveling's shorn crown, while his sharp gleam- 
 ing brand 
 Was the cross he upheld, as he cruised round the skerries. 
 
 So by fjeld and by fjord was the new faith sown 
 
 broadcast, 
 Preached by the priests as a promise of mercy ;
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson 5 
 
 While the King bade men curtly : " Come ! choose as 
 
 I bid, 
 Battle or baptism, bible or sword ! " 
 
 Though his word was unwelcome, 'twas worse to 
 
 oppose him, 
 Or the faith forced upon them refuse at the sword's 
 
 point. 
 So men bowed at his bidding, bent their pride, 
 Kissed the cross and cast off Odin. 
 
 There was a Sea-king, sage and stalwart, 
 Blithest at banquet, boldest in fray, 
 Asmund, Eyvind's son, Earl of the Nine Isles, 
 Whose hall rose high on the holm of Thorey. 
 Craving his counsel came men to seek him, 
 Bore him the story and begged of him rede, 
 Whether to yield to the yoke of King Olaf, 
 Or buckle on byrnie and brave his wrath. 
 
 Up rose Asmund in ire from his high seat, 
 Burst into bitter speech, burning with anger ; 
 Free-born and fearless, his fiery temper 
 Despised submission and spurned to yield. 
 
 "If Olaf o'erthrow me, upholding in battle 
 The faith of my fathers, aforetime unquestioned,
 
 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Mc vanquished the Valkyrs to Valhall will carry, 
 Where undying in Asgard the JEsk hold sway. 
 What of this White Christ ? When have we known him ? 
 He has not helped us, or heeded us praying ! 
 The gods of our grandsires all good things have given, 
 The JEsir in Asgard and the white-armed Asynjor. 
 Odin Allfather, who on Air-throne high seated 
 Broad lands beholdeth below him out-spread ; 
 He giveth all good things ; he gildeth our lives 
 With fame in the fight and the fulness of praise. 
 Swift is his sight ; never swerveth his justice, 
 Dealing to divers men as their desert is ; 
 Gold-bright glory he gives to the hero, 
 To the Skald song-meed, shame to the coward. 
 Ving-Thor the thunder-god, Thrudheim's master, 
 Lord of the hammer and hurtling chariot, 
 Foe to the Frost-giants, friend to all brave men, 
 The strong god whose stroke shall destroy the world- 
 snake. 
 Tyr who tamed Fenris, the terrible wild wolf, 
 Nor flinched from his fangs when they fettered him 
 
 down ; 
 Goodly the guerdon he giveth in battle, 
 Crowning with victory valour and might. 
 JEgir the ancient, that under the billow 
 Holds sway o'er the swan's bath, our swift keels up- 
 bearing,
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson 
 
 That furrow the fallow fields of brine, 
 
 Sailing the salt sea in storm or calm. 
 
 Baldur the beautiful, brightest of JEsir, 
 
 Yet doomed to the dark, drear dwelling of Hel ; 
 
 For with hapless hand shall Hodur slay him, 
 
 Lured by a lie and Loki's craft. 
 
 These are the gods that my grandsires worshipped ; 
 
 These are the gods that have guerdoned my days ; 
 
 These gods are my gods ! Choose ye god and leader ! 
 
 Odin and Asmund, or Olaf and Christ ! " 
 
 His voice rang in roof-tree and rafter, a clarion 
 To call up high courage and cast out despair, 
 As he stood by his high seat, a Sea-king to follow, 
 To fight for, to fall with, to feast with in Valhall. 
 
 Spell-bound they sat on the settles beneath him, 
 Those wolves of the war play, wave-riders, sword- 
 
 wielders, 
 Cunning in counsel, and crafty in ambush, 
 But daring in danger and desperate in fight ; 
 Huge limbed, heavy- handed, they hearkened like 
 
 children, 
 Till he ceased and with swift eyes sought out every face ; 
 Then, unsheathing their sharp blades, they shouted in 
 
 answer : 
 " Odin and Asmund ! Aoi ! for the onset ! "
 
 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 So Asmund the Earl an arrow took, 
 
 Split it and sought out the swiftest of runners, 
 
 Torfig the tireless, his token to carry, 
 
 Speed through the country and spread the tidings. 
 
 By fjord and by fjeld, by forest and moorland, 
 
 Outracing the reindeer, ran Torfig unstaying, 
 
 Holding on high, as he hurried along, 
 
 That message for men to muster in arms. 
 
 Through the pinewoods he passed, where the winds 
 
 pipe unceasing 
 And moan like the mournful music of ocean ; 
 He ferried the fjords, that far inland 
 Lap the lone feet of the lofty hills ; 
 Mountain and moorland and meadow he traversed 
 To fortress and farmstead and farthest saeter, 
 And wide went the word that war was afoot, 
 Till each house and homestead had heard the summons. 
 
 Was many a man the message heard, 
 Who found fresh heart, flung fear aside, 
 Braced on byrnie, buckled sword on, 
 Took spear and shield and sought the Earl. 
 
 News came to the King, as in Kormdal he lay, 
 That Asmund had armed to oppose his decree ;
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson 
 
 So he mustered his men and manning a fleet 
 Sailed o'er the sea to seek the foe. 
 
 Now face to face the fleets are met, 
 
 The shield-hung ships with shining prows, 
 
 With men of mettle and might on board 
 
 And led by leaders of lineage high. 
 
 Lashed in a line the longships bounded 
 
 Over the eddying ocean billows, 
 
 Closed with a crash of creaking ribs 
 
 'Mid the wail of the wind o'er the wan gray surge. 
 
 End on end those ocean horses 
 Grided and ground and grappled together ; 
 Blithe up the bulwarks the boarders clambered 
 And fierce grew the fight on the forecastles tall. 
 
 Brightly burned the flame of battle ; 
 Falchions flashed ; the feathered arrows 
 Ceaseless showered like snow in winter ; 
 Hissed on high the hurtling spears ; 
 Shields were shattered ; mail shirts cloven ; 
 Brands bit hard on burnished helmets ; 
 Fierce the fray ; but foremost Asmund 
 Boldly bore the brunt of fight.
 
 io Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 But vain was his valour ; the vantage still 
 Clung to the cause that the King maintained ; 
 For OlaPs fleet out-numbered the Earl's 
 And Fortune frowned on the faith of Odin. 
 
 So ship after ship in the shock of fight 
 
 Was cleared of her crew and cut adrift, 
 
 And, loosed from their lashings, the longships floated 
 
 Far from the fight on the flow of the tide. 
 
 But, like wolves that worry a wounded bear, 
 The keels of the King closed in on the Earl's ; 
 Thick and thicker they thronged about her, 
 The grim death-grapple kept growing fiercer. 
 
 Thrice were they thrust back, but thrice they rallied, 
 Gathered fresh forces and flung them aboard her, 
 Swarmed o'er the bulwarks and swept before them 
 The few that were left to fight for Odin. 
 Fiercely they fought, but fell outnumbered, 
 Till Asmund alone upheld the battle, 
 As he stood on the steaming, blood-stained deck 
 At bay with his back to the broken mast. 
 
 His shield was in shards, his shirt of mail 
 Cloven and pierced and clotted with gore,
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson 1 1 
 
 Hewn from his helm was the hawk of gold 
 
 That he bore as a blazon when boune for fight. 
 
 But his heart beat high, his hand smote sure, 
 
 The blade of his battle-axe bit full keen ; 
 
 The foe, as he fought, fell back dismayed 
 
 And shrank from the shock of his shining steel. 
 
 But they ringed him around with a rampart of shields 
 
 And, walling him in like a wolf in the toils, 
 
 Beat down his blade and, bearing him under, 
 
 Fettered him fast by the feet and hands. 
 
 So the conquering King at the close of day 
 Leaping aland, the lord of fight, 
 In the house of the foeman his harness doffed 
 And rested his limbs from the labours of war. 
 
 In the hall on the holm high feast was set, 
 
 The red wine ran, the revel grew, 
 
 As the King and his warriors wassailed together, 
 
 Carousing to Christ and the conquering cross. 
 
 In brimful beakers the burly warriors 
 
 Pledged the priests who had prayed for their cause, 
 
 And in mighty measures of mead and ale, 
 
 To Odin's downfall they drank together. 
 
 Arrayed in robe and rochet and pall 
 Sat Bishop Basil beside the King,
 
 12 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 A crafty confessor in counsel skilled, 
 Wary and wise and winning of speech. 
 As freely the wine flowed round the board 
 In Olaf's ear he uttered a word ; 
 Then the royal ring-giver rose in his place 
 And bade the Earl be brought before him. 
 
 When stark and stalwart he stood in their midst, 
 
 Friendless, but fearlessly facing the throng, 
 
 "Give ear," cried King Olaf, "to all I say, 
 
 And counsel me cunningly, comrades mine ! 
 
 From the sword and the slaughter we spared this 
 
 Earl, 
 Fain of his friendship ; and free shall he be, 
 If he bow him to Christ and the cross we bear, 
 Forsaking frankly his false god Odin ! " 
 
 Out burst at once an answering shout, 
 With that King Olaf to Asmund cried : 
 " Behold in our bounty the boon we offer, 
 Proffer of pardon and peace at our hands ! " 
 
 But Asmund the Earl made answer swift : 
 " The gifts of the gods have I garnered oft ; 
 If I abandon Odin and Thor, 
 What crowning gift has Christ to offer ? "
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson 13 
 
 Then Bishop Basil began his say ; 
 
 How Christ came down and was crucified, 
 
 How He rose to reign in His realm above 
 
 And with Him in weal are His worshippers all. 
 
 "In goodly garments on golden thrones 
 
 They sit and sing, those Saints who died 
 
 Baptised and bearing on brow the sign 
 
 Of the cross that shall conquer the kingdoms of earth. 
 
 The false creeds of old have we flung to the winds ; 
 
 Odin and all his accursed crew 
 
 Are demons dire that destroy the souls 
 
 Of folk who refuse the faith we preach : 
 
 For dying they dwell in a drear abode 
 
 Of famine and flame, where those fiends hold sway, 
 
 Torn with torments and tortured for ever 
 
 In Hell's grim halls, where hope is dead." 
 
 Pondered Earl Asmund and presently answered : 
 
 " First of my fathers ! unfold me their doom ! 
 
 Those high-souled heroes, who held by the faith 
 
 Of Allfather Odin in olden time. 
 
 They lived their lives in the light of the sun, 
 
 Gilded with glory and gallant renown ; 
 
 Laughed and laboured for love of the gods 
 
 And the folk that they fostered with favouring care. 
 
 Then, in fulness of time at the Fates' decree, 
 
 Lightly they laid down the load they had borne,
 
 14 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 And with helm on head and harness on back 
 Fell in fight on the field of Odin." 
 
 Bitter and brief was the Bishop's speech : 
 "Pagan they perished ! Now, parched with flame, 
 They dwell with the damned, where devils in Hell 
 Rend and rive them and rack them with torments." 
 
 Loudly and long laughed out the Earl : 
 
 "Better, O Bishop, to burn with them, 
 
 Than dwell and drink in the doomstead of Christ, 
 
 Who has forced down my fathers to flaming Hell. 
 
 But I trow that the tale thou tellest is false, 
 
 For in Asgard Allfather Odin reigns ; 
 
 He worthily welcomed my warrior sires 
 
 And, I ween, I shall wend by the ways they trod. 
 
 In vaulted Valhalla those valiant kings 
 
 Sit on tall settles beside the gods, 
 
 Feasting and filling with foaming mead 
 
 The beakers that brighten the board of Odin. 
 
 Ever have I at Allfather's hands 
 
 Won goodly guerdon ; I give him my life. 
 
 Baptise ye the babes, not bearded men ! 
 
 I fling back thy favours, nor fear thee, King Olaf ! " 
 
 Up rose Olaf and answered in wrath : 
 
 " Baptised shalt thou be in the briny wave,
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson i 
 
 3 
 
 And thy carcase cast to the kites of the air, 
 Dishonoured in death, like the dog thou art." 
 
 So the King commanded ; his carles obeyed. 
 
 'Twixt strand and sea a stake they drave, 
 
 Where the ebb uncovered an islet of rock 
 
 That at flood lay far 'neath the foaming tide. 
 
 There bound in his bonds they brought the Earl, 
 
 Lashed him and left him to linger and die, 
 
 While the cold sea came creeping and crawling to 
 
 land, 
 Mournfully moaning among the rocks. 
 
 Then in haste to the hall they hied them back, 
 Wine and wassail went round again ; 
 Goblets glittered and gushed the mead, 
 As they drank to his death and the downfall of" 
 Odin. 
 
 Without the south-west wind was moaning, 
 Sweeping up stormily, salt with its race 
 O'er the billowy breast of the briny sea, 
 As landward it lashed the leaping waves. 
 It cut off the curling crests of the billows, 
 Sending the scud like smoke down the blast, 
 And the dappled sea-horses were driven before it 
 And rushed with a roar up the rugged strand.
 
 1 6 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 But over the uproar of ocean that thundered 
 
 And the wail of the wild wind, waking the echoes, 
 
 Like a clarion of silver a clear voice rose 
 
 And rang in the raftered roof of the hall. 
 
 It startled the King, as he sat on his high scat, 
 
 It startled the Bishop beside him seated, 
 
 It startled the swordsmen on settle and bench, 
 
 That voice that vied with the voice of the storm. 
 
 Loud when the wind lulled the listeners heard it, 
 
 They heard it at height of the wild hurly-burly, 
 
 Rising and ringing and rolling in 
 
 From the isle where Asmund awaited his doom. 
 
 Biding a bitter fate, bound in the darkness, 
 
 The champion of Odin was chanting his death-song ; 
 
 The winds bore it wide and the waves were his 
 
 harpers, 
 Swelling the swan-song he sang to the night. 
 
 " Death ! I defy thee and dauntless confront thee, 
 
 Who ofttimes unflinching have faced thee in battle ; 
 
 Now dost thou near me when night and storm lower 
 
 And the winds and waters are warring around. 
 
 My curse on the White Christ, the cruel and ruth- 
 less ; 
 
 On the King who has cast me forth conquered to die ; 
 
 On the faith that with falchion and firebrand he 
 preaches,
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson 17 
 
 Forcing on free necks the foul yoke of thralls ! 
 
 Nay ! curses they need not ! They never shall 
 
 triumph ; 
 The arms of King Olaf shall not avail him : 
 Not long shall Christ crown him, but, crushed by his 
 
 foemen, 
 He shall drain out the death-draught I drink here 
 
 before him. 
 All my life have I laboured for love of my 
 
 people ; 
 The gold that I garnered I gave again freely : 
 In battle I blenched not ; broke never a promise ; 
 Feared never a foeman ; forsook not a friend. 
 To Odin Allfather I ever gave worship ; 
 Soon shall I see him high-seated in Asgard : 
 The High One will hail me, his hand-maidens crown 
 
 me 
 With golden-bright glory, the gift of his hand." 
 
 Shriller and shriller was shrieking the tempest ; 
 The roar of the ocean rose hoarser and hoarser ; 
 Out leaped a lightning flash, lividly gleaming, 
 And burst with a blaze on the blackness of night ; 
 Then with clang and clatter the clap of the thunder 
 Rang and re-echoed and rolled through the heavens ; 
 But, when the din had died in the distance, 
 The song on the skerry had ceased for ever.
 
 1 8 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Hushed was the high-roofed hall with awe, 
 
 Till the King cried out with a cruel smile : 
 
 "Satan has seized his soul to-night, 
 
 And the carrion we'll cast to the kites to-morrow." 
 
 Without the wail of the wild wind ceased ; 
 The angry ocean assuaged his wrath ; 
 Hushed lay the house in heavy sleep 
 And the weary night wore slowly away. 
 
 Grayly were gleaming the gates of the morning, 
 
 Flushed with the first faint rose of dawn, 
 
 With wan light waking the world, as it lay 
 
 Drowsy and drowned in the darkness of night. 
 
 The gray light gleamed and glanced on the ebbing tide, 
 
 Shone and shimmered, where shallow pools lay 
 
 In the rifts of the rock and the wrinkles that furrowed 
 
 The bare stretch between of the brown sea-sand. 
 
 Eastward the mountains arose in silence, 
 
 Black 'gainst the brightness that broadened behind them, 
 
 Their high peaks piercing the pale blue sky, 
 
 Their roots fringed with fretwork of fire and gloom : 
 
 For the day-dawn came flooding the dusky recesses 
 
 Of the sombre fir-forests on flank and shoulder, 
 
 Till boles and branches were broidered in splendour, 
 
 As the radiant sun rose to rejoice the world.
 
 The Saga of Asmund Eyvindsson 19 
 
 Under the early light over the sea-strand 
 
 The carles of the King came forth from the hall, 
 
 To fling the dead forth to the fowls of the air ; 
 
 The doom of a dog, decreed the Earl ! 
 
 Gaunt in the gray light the grim stake was standing, 
 
 But the ropes that hung round it were riven apart, 
 
 For the flash of the lightning had fallen upon it 
 
 And Asmund the Earl had escaped their hands. 
 
 Never in Norway at high noon or mirk night, 
 
 Sunrise or sunset, did men see him living ; 
 
 The waves of the wan sea ne'er washed up his body, 
 
 For Olaf to wreak the revenge he had sworn. 
 
 The High Gods had heard him and, hastening from 
 
 Asgard, 
 Rode on the storm-rush to rescue their champion ; 
 And, bursting his bonds ere the boiling sea whelmed 
 
 him, 
 Odin Allfather took Asmund home.
 
 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN NORWAY 
 
 A YULETIDE LEGEND. 
 
 Ambrose, a priest of God, went forth from Rome 
 To preach Christ's gospel to a heathen land. 
 
 With sandalled feet the snowy Alps he clomb, 
 Traversed the German forests, staff in hand, 
 And sailed for Scotland from the Frisian strand : 
 
 But tempests drave the vessel far astray, 
 
 And wrecked her on the coast of Norroway. 
 
 Ambrose, alone of all the shipmen, won 
 
 The land alive and, spent with suffering, gained 
 
 The generous roof of Biorn Sigurd's son, 
 A mighty sea-king, who in Aardal reigned 
 O'er fjord and fjeld. Thereafter he remained 
 
 Guest of that bounteous board the summer through, 
 
 Since at his hand was work for him to do. 
 
 For heathen was the land and, blind of sight, 
 Its people prayed to Odin and to Thor, 
 
 Fierce gods who joyed but in the storm of fight, 
 And hated peace and loved the arts of war. 
 But Ambrose taught them of his precious lore,
 
 The First Christmas in Norway 2 1 
 
 Till by his wise discourse and blameless life 
 He won the ear of Herfrid, Biorn's wife. 
 
 Thence her wild husband, unto whom she clung 
 Like graceful ivy to a rugged oak, 
 
 Heard the sweet words that fell from Ambrose' tongue, 
 And, for his wife's sake, listened with his folk, 
 Until he felt the truth that in him spoke. 
 
 So, ere the autumn, Biorn was baptised 
 
 And, with his followers, worshipped the White Christ. 
 
 The days wore on till Yuletide drew anigh, 
 That had a time of mirth and feasting been 
 
 O'er all the North. " But those days are gone by," 
 Said Ambrose : "Christian men their thoughts must 
 
 wean 
 From all such toys, and wear a sober mien 
 
 Mid earth's vain pleasures, and their souls prepare 
 
 To celebrate Christ's birth by fast and prayer." 
 
 Biorn and Herfrid gave unwilling heed, 
 Deeming it truth because he told them so : 
 
 Yet, in their heart of hearts, they were agreed 
 Such trappings seemlier were for times of woe ; 
 And fitter far that song and tale should flow, 
 
 And sounds of joy be heard from hill and plain, 
 
 Since angels sang when Christ came down to reign.
 
 22 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Now on Yule-eve it fell that Ambrose went 
 To a lone chantry in a wooded glen, 
 
 Built for his use, where many an hour he spent 
 In prayer and penance, far from mortal ken, 
 Wrestling with Satan for the souls of men : 
 
 Yet was he pledged to come ere night and share 
 
 The vigil they must keep of fast and prayer. 
 
 White was the earth with the deep winter snows 
 And the keen frost bit like a warrior's sword ; 
 
 And while he tarried, a fierce wind arose 
 
 That swept across the mountain tops and roared 
 Through the dark pinewoods and adown the fjord, 
 
 Drifting the snow before it, fold on fold, 
 
 While the wolves howled upon the far-off wold. 
 
 Then Biorn, listening to the mingling sounds, 
 
 Cried : " Heaven grant the good priest be bestowed 
 
 In some safe shelter ! Hark how Odin's hounds 
 Howl on the fells, as though their master rode ! 
 Surely so wild a storm some ill doth bode ! " 
 
 While yet he spake, above the loud uproar 
 
 They heard a knocking at the outer door. 
 
 They flung it open and, without, there stood 
 A one-eyed stranger, blithe of face and bold, 
 
 Clad in a kirtle gray and cloud-blue hood, 
 
 Looped round his knotty throat with links of gold 
 Wrought in the fashion of the days of old ;
 
 The First Christmas in Norway 23 
 
 While, 'mid the wind and snow, on wings widespread 
 Two night-black ravens circled round his head. 
 
 " Odin's fair peace be on this house ! " he cried : 
 " Biorn ! I crave a boon of thee ; to stay 
 
 This night beneath thy roof-tree. Far and wide 
 Have I been travelling since the break of day 
 And, if I go, must tread a weary way 
 
 Through this wild tempest. Of thy courtesy 
 
 Grant me to share thy Yuletide feast with thee ! " 
 
 Biorn made answer : " Welcome, in Christ's name ! 
 I would not drive away into this blast 
 
 My bitterest enemy. Yet, think no shame 
 That we can feast you with no rich repast, 
 Although our best is yours ! But we keep fast ; 
 
 For we are followers of the White Christ now, 
 
 Signed with His holy cross upon the brow." 
 
 Lightly the stranger answered with a laugh : 
 "And have ye fallen away from Odin's rule 
 
 To follow one who thinks it sin to quaff 
 A horn of mead and cast off care and dule, 
 When men make merry with good cheer at 
 Yule ? 
 
 So be it ! Yet ye will not think it wrong, 
 
 If I beguile the night with harp and song ! "
 
 24 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Blithe was the answer ; for the hours dragged slow, 
 While Ambrose lingered. So the stranger shook 
 
 The snow-flakes from his mantle by the glow 
 Of the bright fire-light. Then a harp he took 
 And on the settle in the ingle-nook 
 
 Sat down, and from the chords drew forth a long, 
 
 Mysterious prelude, ere he raised his song. 
 
 , Weird was the strain, that fitfully at first 
 
 Wailed through the hall, as though a low breeze 
 crept 
 Through whispering pines in summer : then outburst 
 A peal of triumph, as his firm hand swept 
 Along the harp strings, while his full voice leapt 
 Swift through the silence ; and the rafters rang 
 And on his words hung all men while he sang. 
 
 He told them firstly of the birth of time ; 
 Then, how the ^Esir with the Giants warred 
 
 And drave them back to realms of snow and rime, 
 And fashioned the fair earth ; and man, its lord, 
 They gifted with their twin gifts, plough and sword ; 
 
 And how to Odin's hall his shield-maids bore 
 
 The spirits of the brave, who died in war. 
 
 Then turned his song to kings who reigned of old, 
 The wise in counsel and the bold in fight :
 
 The First Christmas in Norway 25 
 
 Strong with bright steel and rich with ruddy gold, 
 They walked life's pathway and their days were 
 
 bright 
 With deeds of glory, while they saw the light : 
 And, as he sang, each tale of ancient days 
 Rang back to Odin's and the ^Esir's praise. 
 
 Spell-bound they sat and listened to the stream 
 Of song, until he ceased and cried amain : 
 
 " And have those days gone by ? or do you deem 
 That, careless of mankind, the JEsir reign 
 At ease in Asgard ? Odin is full fain 
 
 Of mighty kings and warriors and his door 
 
 Stands in Valhalla open evermore." 
 
 Then, springing up, he strode and smote the 
 board ; 
 And straightway were the empty tables spread 
 
 With drinking-horns and beakers, that the hoard 
 Of Biorn could not match ; with store of bread 
 And flesh of beeves and swine ; a huge boar's head 
 
 Grinned with gilt tusks, and bowls of ale and mead 
 
 Stood ranged, abundant for a nation's need. 
 
 Round turning to the king he cried : "At least 
 
 Grant me this boon, King Biorn ! share with me, 
 Thou and thy folk to-night, my Yuletide feast !
 
 26 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Think'st thou thy Christ would do as much for 
 thee, 
 
 As Odin would for his ? Howe'er that be, 
 For love of old days fill your beakers up 
 With mead and to Allfather drain one cup ! " 
 
 Thereto said Biorn : "Yea, I know thee now, 
 
 Allfather ! But a wordfast man am 1, 
 And pledged to serve the White Christ by my vow 
 
 Of baptism : and He, Who bore to die 
 
 To save men, of a surety will reply 
 To thy reproach. Yet, if He make no sign 
 Before the break of day, I count me thine." 
 
 E'en as he spake, a knocking loud and long 
 
 Rang on the door and Ambrose entering cried : 
 
 "Is this a Christian house, where heathen song 
 Profanes the vigil of the holy tide, 
 And Christian sits with pagan, side by side ? 
 
 Biorn, I charge thee, drive that man away 
 
 And on thy knees for God's forgiveness pray ! " 
 
 Swift was the King to answer : "Never, priest! 
 Shall Biorn from his roof drive forth a guest ; 
 
 And little guilt I deem it here to feast 
 
 After my father's wont. Old ways are best, 
 And I am tossed in doubt. Be thy behest
 
 The First Christmas in Norway 27 
 
 The sign I seek for. Shall I drain this horn 
 To Odin, or to Christ, the King new-born ? " 
 
 But Ambrose beat his breast and tore his hair, 
 
 Crying: "Blasphemer, silence! From God's light 
 Wouldst thou turn back to heathendom, or dare 
 Profane Christ's birth-tide with an impious rite ? 
 
 Avaunt, apostate ! May God's curse alight " 
 
 He paused abruptly ; nerveless to his side 
 
 His threatening hands fell and his accents died. 
 
 For in the air a burst of music rang ; 
 
 Clear, as on autumn nights when southward fly 
 
 The wild swans ; but it seemed that voices sang 
 To harping sweet : " Glory to God on high ! " 
 Then, as they listened breathless, through the 
 sky, 
 
 Drowning that strain, the storm-blast shrieked anew 
 
 And the doors rattled in the gust that blew. 
 
 The bolts and bars burst open and a flaw 
 
 Of frost-cold wind went whistling round the hall ; 
 
 The torches flickered and a thrill of awe 
 
 Fell upon priest and king, on free and thrall; 
 The weapons ranged against the shield-hung wall 
 
 Clanged in the blast, and through the open door 
 
 The wreathing snow drove in across the floor.
 
 28 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Then all was still and for a space the storm 
 Folded its furious wings and ceased to blow, 
 
 While through that stillness came an angel form 
 In robes, whose dazzling whiteness made the snow 
 Look black and, entering in into the glow 
 
 Of torch and firelight, stood beneath the roof 
 
 And gazed on priest and king with mild reproof. 
 
 About the cross he bore a glory shone, 
 
 That filled the hall with radiance divine : 
 
 And fear fell on them, as they looked upon 
 The shining seraph and the sacred sign 
 He carried ; and before his glance benign 
 
 Fell Ambrose' eyes and Biorn's angry frown 
 
 Was smoothed away and all men knelt them down. 
 
 But Odin with a scornful countenance 
 
 Rose and looked round upon the kneeling throng ; 
 
 Then on the angel flung a haughty glance, 
 
 Saying : "I know thee ; and thy Lord is strong 
 And, where he cometh, I must go ere long. 
 
 Yet, were these men to back me, I would try 
 
 Who shall be God in Norroway, Christ or I." 
 
 Gently the angel answered : " Go in peace, 
 
 Wild wanderer of the night ! " The fierce storm- 
 blast
 
 The First Christmas in Norway 29 
 
 Shrieked, as he reached the door, in glad release ; 
 About his airy path the snow drave fast 
 
 And the wolves howled beneath him, as he 
 passed. 
 Far o'er the fells the tempest whirled and wailed 
 And died away and a great peace prevailed. 
 
 Hushed was the hall ; low bowed the adoring priest, 
 As the great Seraph cried : " Where heathen mirth 
 
 Rang through the land of old, shall Christians feast 
 At the glad tide that saw the Saviour's birth ; 
 Who came to dwell in sorrow on this earth 
 
 That His own joy might rest for evermore 
 
 On all those loved ones that His name adore." 
 
 Then on the boar's head first his hand he laid 
 And signed the cross of Christ above the great 
 
 Abundance of that Yuletide feast and said : 
 "Let none call impious what I consecrate 
 At God's command ! Rejoice and celebrate 
 
 A Christmas feast of love with song and praise 
 
 To the Almighty Giver of good days ! " 
 
 He spake, and with a smile stretched forth his hands 
 And blessed them, ere he vanished from their sight. 
 Straightway the heavens were filled with angel- 
 bands,
 
 30 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 That with their song and music made the night 
 Jubilant ; while the moon and stars gleamed bright 
 
 In the clear sky over the shining fells 
 
 And the dim shadows of the forest dells. 
 
 "Good father!" said the King: "Praise thou the 
 Lord 
 
 And pray him for us ! " Ambrose joyfully 
 Offered up worship meet ; then at the board 
 
 Said : " The night wastes and faint with fast are ye ; 
 
 Share we the Christmas meal ! for well we see 
 All gifts of God are hallowed." As he spoke 
 Over the fells the dawn of Christmas broke.
 
 THE BURIAL OF THE SEA-KING 
 
 Throughout the day a stubborn fight had raged 
 
 Upon the bosom of the stormy fjord, 
 In that fierce war King Harald Fairhair waged, 
 Enforcing with the sword 
 
 His yoke of thraldom on all Norroway. 
 
 Vainly the banded sea-kings faced his might ; 
 At length, o'er-mastered in the hard-fought fray, 
 They turned to sullen flight. 
 
 A wild wind lashed the waters into foam, 
 
 As forth they drave before the freshening breeze, 
 Till they and Freedom found an island home 
 Mid the chill Arctic seas. 
 
 Amid the outmost skerries, where the eye 
 
 Of the broad sea looks in upon the land, 
 Last of the beaten fleet, two longships lie 
 Still tossing by the strand.
 
 32 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 There on the blood-stained deck, where, axe in hand, 
 
 He battled till the day was lost and won, 
 Lies stretched the stoutest champion of the land, 
 King Hunthiof Halfdan's son. 
 
 He was the foremost in the weapon play, 
 The latest who upheld the failing fight, 
 And, stricken to the death at close of day, 
 He, last of all, took flight. 
 
 Wild is the night ; the sky is overcast, 
 
 Save where the moon shines dim 'mid fleecy clouds ; 
 And his great dragon, in the rising blast 
 
 That whistles through her shrouds, 
 
 Strains at her moorings : while her crew in haste 
 
 Flit through the darkness, ranging in a ring 
 Their dead upon the brushwood in the waist 
 Before the dying king. 
 
 Then, springing to the shore, they fire the heap 
 
 And loose her from her moorings. In his hand 
 King Hunthiof takes the helm, and with a leap 
 The longship clears the land. 
 
 A moment can they see her in the storm, 
 
 Fast driving westward through the darkness dread ; 
 Thick clouds of smoke roll up aloft and form 
 A canopy o'erhead.
 
 The Burial of the Sea King 33 
 
 Then night enshrouds her in a pall of gloom, 
 
 Till to the watchers, straining through the dark 
 Their eager eyes to know the hero's doom, 
 Outshines a sudden spark ; 
 
 And, with a roar and whirl of fiery flakes, 
 
 The flames leap up and show her to their sight 
 And, wreathing round the pyre like lurid snakes, 
 Scatter the shades of night. 
 
 Each rope stands out against the flood of flame 
 
 And in the light gleams all the warrior's mail. 
 What though the prize he wins in Odin's game 
 Be death ? He does not quail, 
 
 But steers his longship on that fated path, 
 
 As dauntless as when first he took the helm 
 And, standing out across the gannets' bath, 
 Subdued the viking's realm. 
 
 Lo ! bright Shield-maidens float before his sight. 
 
 Eager to take him with his latest breath, 
 Who lived a king and never blenched in fight, 
 And dies a warrior's death ; 
 
 Eager to bear him hence to Odin's haJls, 
 
 Who, from his throne in Asgard far and wide, 
 Surveys the shock of battling hosts and calls 
 His champions to his side. 
 
 c
 
 34 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 So on an unknown course, to realms afar 
 
 Beyond the night, the flaming vessel pressed, 
 Until the light grew faint and, like a star, 
 Sank in the distant west. 
 
 Thus sailed the Sea-king, wrapped in smoke and fire, 
 
 On his last voyage across the stormy wave, 
 The blazing longship for his funeral pyre, 
 The ocean for his grave.
 
 GUDRUN 
 
 When the glorious North-winds blow 
 And the earth lies white with snow, 
 By the fjords I love to go 
 
 Looking west : 
 Far across the seas I gaze, 
 O'er the reddening, watery ways, 
 As the sun through heavens ablaze 
 
 Sinks to rest. 
 
 Shoreward through the breakers white 
 As I stand upon the height, 
 Olaf, lord of many a fight, 
 
 Dashes fleet : 
 Burnished mail about him rings 
 And a battle stave he sings : 
 Like a falcon swift he springs 
 
 To my feet :
 
 36 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Chanting how he crossed the wave, 
 How the foemen backward gave, 
 When he met them with the glaive 
 
 Flashing free : 
 And my love shines unrestrained, 
 For those dangers he disdained 
 And the glory he has gained 
 
 Were for me.
 
 OLAF 
 
 When afar I long have warred, 
 Tired of cruising and the sword, 
 To my own Norwegian fjord 
 
 North I sail. 
 Bellying sail and straining oar 
 Speed us fast ; the breakers roar, 
 Lashed against the rock-bound shore 
 
 By the gale. 
 
 Wondrous fires, as on we row, 
 Redden all the peaks of snow ; 
 Pale amid their magic glow 
 
 Shines the moon : 
 While a maiden robed in white 
 Stands beneath the Northern light, 
 Gazing seaward from the height. 
 
 'Tis Gudrun 1
 
 38 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Ouickly up the cliff I climb 
 And to her I sing my rhyme, 
 How for her in fight sublime 
 
 Flashed the sword ; 
 And the glow of love and light 
 In her eyes shines true and bright ; 
 For all toils of flood and fight 
 
 Rich reward !
 
 KING OLAF'S GRAVE 
 
 Deep down in an ocean cave 
 Lies the Sea-king in his grave, 
 And there 'neath the restless wave 
 
 He rests for evermore : 
 He hears not the foeman's cry 
 O'er the waters shrilling high, 
 He hears not the breezes sigh, 
 
 He hears not the ocean roar. 
 
 When with o'erwhelming might 
 The heathen burst on his sight, 
 He knew that lost was the fight, 
 
 But he still refused to fly ; 
 Long with the Swede and the Dane 
 He fought on the billowy main, 
 Till his warriors all were slain 
 
 And nought could he do but die.
 
 40 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Though his " Serpent " floated a wreck, 
 Yet he bowed not his haughty neck, 
 But leaped from the blood-stained deck 
 
 Where late he proudly trod ; 
 As through the wave he sank, 
 As the salt flood he drank, 
 One prayer through the waters dank 
 
 He dying breathed to God. 
 
 On the seaweed soft he lies, 
 
 Never again to rise 
 
 Till, ringing loud through the skies, 
 
 Shall sound the blast of doom ; 
 While, though no lofty nave 
 Spreads o'er the sculptured grave 
 That holds the warrior brave, 
 
 Grand is his ocean tomb. 
 
 There the mermaids in his hair 
 Twine the seaweeds rich and rare 
 And guard his body fair, 
 
 Whence the valiant soul has fled, 
 As, stretched on the golden sand, 
 Still mailed, while his good right hand 
 Tight clenches his trusty brand, 
 
 He sleeps the sleep of the dead.
 
 King Olaf's Grave 41 
 
 The sea with her waters warm 
 Fondles the Sea-king's form, 
 Safe from each angry storm, 
 
 Safe from the beating surge ; 
 Whilst, though no death-beds toll 
 To speed his gallant soul, 
 The grand unceasing roll 
 
 Of the ocean sings his dirge.
 
 THE SAILING OF THE VIKINGS 
 
 On the wild coast 
 
 Of Norroway 
 High is tossed 
 
 The sparkling spray 
 By the waters that break 
 
 At the foot of the height, 
 That frowns on the ocean 
 
 Defying his might. 
 Where the blue waves 
 
 Of the rifted fjord 
 Cleave the dark earth 
 
 Like a glittering sword, 
 A longship is speeding 
 
 And in her there sail 
 A hundred bold vikings, 
 
 Flashing in mail. 
 
 Norroway they leave ; 
 
 Past the cliffs high and sheer 
 On viking-cruise' 
 
 They southward steer ;
 
 The Sailing of the Vikings 43 
 
 Seaward they glide 
 
 On the swell of the tide, 
 Through the mouth of the fjord 
 
 O'er the breakers they ride. 
 
 Black the ship, while along her 
 
 With many a fold 
 Curls a huge dragon, 
 
 Green, crimson and gold ; 
 Aloft at the prow 
 
 He rears his fierce head 
 With fiery eyes 
 
 And jaws lolling red, 
 While high at the stern 
 
 The dragon's forked tail 
 Shelters the warrior 
 
 Who steers with its mail. 
 
 There hang at the gunwale 
 
 Bright shields in a row ; 
 Like glittering scales 
 
 In the sunlight they glow : 
 And the striped sails 
 
 Are filled by the breeze, 
 And the oars drive the vessel 
 
 Fast over the seas.
 
 44 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Twelve oars on a side 
 
 Furrow the deep; 
 Stoutly plied, 
 
 They foaming sweep 
 The waters that leap 
 
 With a terrible shock 
 At the wave-worn base 
 
 Of the craggy rock. 
 
 Aloft on the crag 
 
 A Vala stands, 
 High to the heavens 
 
 She raises her hands ; 
 High in the air 
 
 Her arms are cast 
 And her long, fair hair 
 
 Streams out on the blast. 
 Her voice clearly rings 
 
 To slow, solemn tunes, 
 As loudly she sings 
 
 Her mystical runes, 
 Handed down from past ages 
 
 Through the dim mists of old 
 And preserved by the sages 
 
 On tablets of gold. 
 
 She prays to the ^sir, 
 In Asgard who reign,
 
 The Sailing of the Vikings 45 
 
 For victory in battle, 
 
 Fair voyage o'er the main ; 
 To Niord then prays she 
 
 To swell the great sails 
 And speed the good longship 
 
 With favouring gales ; 
 Then prays she to iEgir, 
 
 Who rules o'er the sea, 
 That from rock and from quicksand 
 
 The ship may 'scape free, 
 From calm that delays her 
 
 Or tempest that harms ; 
 Thus prays she. Then seaward 
 
 Outstretching her arms, 
 She weaves her wild charms 
 
 O'er the sea, as it raves, 
 And blesses the longship 
 
 That bounds o'er the waves. 
 
 Now from the North 
 
 Swift comes the breeze 
 And whirls the ship forth 
 
 Afar o'er the seas. 
 The vikings bend forward 
 
 And tug at the oar ; 
 Behind the cliffs lessen 
 
 And dim grows the shore.
 
 46 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Fainter and fainter 
 
 The Vala's weird song 
 O'er the swell of the waters 
 
 Is carried along ; 
 Still fainter it comes 
 
 And at last dies away : 
 Then nothing is heard 
 
 But the plash of the spray, 
 The sound of the oars 
 
 As they dip in the wave, 
 Of the ripples as round 
 
 The stout vessel they lave. 
 
 Then the vikings all vow 
 
 By the hammer of Thor 
 To hold by each other 
 
 In peace or in war ; 
 To follow their leader, 
 
 Where'er he may go, 
 And never to falter, 
 
 Or blench from the foe. 
 One last look at the shore 
 
 Of the far Norroway, 
 Then southward once more 
 
 They hold on their way : 
 Swift is their flight, 
 
 As to battle they haste,
 
 The Sailing of the Vikings 47 
 
 On to the fight 
 
 O'er the watery waste, 
 With the oar in one hand, 
 
 Ever fearless and free, 
 In the other the brand, 
 
 True kings of the sea.
 
 LEAPING THE BOOM 
 
 The spars and the cordage are creaking, 
 The oars sweep the waves with a swirl, 
 
 As Olaf, the Skald and the Sea-king, 
 Flees away with the child of the Earl. 
 
 In the castle are wrath and commotion, 
 The warriors flash down to the fjord, 
 
 The ships are thrust into the ocean 
 
 And the Earl and his men are on board. 
 
 The ships o'er the breakers are dancing, 
 As they fling out the sails to the breeze, 
 
 The oars through the billows are glancing 
 And the spray is tossed up from the seas. 
 
 Far ahead on the foam-crested water 
 
 A longship bounds down with the tide ; 
 
 On her deck is the Earl's beauteous daughter 
 With Olaf the Skald at her side.
 
 Leaping the Boom 49 
 
 She trembles and clings to his shoulder 
 And her father's fierce anger she fears, 
 
 But the arms of her lover enfold her 
 And his voice whispers love in her ears. 
 
 Now seaward he anxiously gazes, 
 
 As he leans on the hilt of his sword ; 
 Then the glittering blade he upraises 
 
 And points to the mouth of the fjord, 
 
 Where the waves of the ocean are foaming 
 
 On a boom that is barring their way. 
 His warriors gaze long through the gloaming, 
 
 Then sternly prepare for the fray ; 
 
 For behind them the longships on-speeding 
 Scud down with the freshening blast : 
 
 The Earl in the "Dragon" is leading 
 And gains on the fugitives fast. 
 
 But Olaf the Skald never blenches, 
 
 As he cries with a smile on his lip : 
 " Two oarsmen to each of the benches, 
 
 The rest to the stern of the ship ! " 
 
 Her prow rises clear of the billows, 
 
 While her stern in the sea is sunk deep ;
 
 50 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 The stout ashen oars bend like willows, 
 As she makes at the boom with a leap. 
 
 Then upon it she grates through the surges 
 And the whole of her keel is laid bare, 
 
 As out of the wave she emerges 
 
 And a moment hangs poised in mid air. 
 
 But forward the ballast is shifted 
 
 And the seamen bound swift to the fore ; 
 
 A moment she quivers up-lifted, 
 
 Then seaward she slowly heels o'er, 
 
 Until, moving swifter and swifter, 
 
 Down the boom to the ocean she slides ; 
 
 The waves leap up foaming and lift her, 
 And into the billows she glides. 
 
 Then northward and seaward she dances, 
 
 On into the gathering gloom, 
 As the Earl round the headland advances 
 
 And makes with his ships at the boom. 
 
 But his longships all fail to leap over 
 And, long ere they hew it in twain, 
 
 The darkness enshrouds the sea-rover, 
 As he skates o'er the limitless main ;
 
 Leaping the Boom 51 
 
 And shrilly the wind whistles o'er him, 
 
 While beneath the waves whiten and curl, 
 
 As he sails with the wide world before him, 
 And beside him the child of the Earl.
 
 THE RIME OF SIR KARI 
 
 Sir Kari rideth through the land, 
 
 Sheathed in steel that shimmers bright ; 
 
 Helm on head, his trusty brand 
 
 On his thigh and in his hand 
 
 The tough, keen lance that cleaves the fight. 
 
 Sir Kari rideth through the land. 
 
 Sir Kari cometh to the court, 
 
 Princess Thyra's fame flies wide ; 
 
 Fair of face, but proud of port, 
 
 Love-lorn wooers are her sport : 
 For her sake have many died, 
 
 And Sir Kari cometh to the court. 
 
 Sir Kari wooeth the fair princess, 
 
 Knightliest he of her suitors all ! 
 The old Oueen murmurs in distress : 
 "Heaven shield him from her wilfulness ! 
 
 Pity so goodly a youth should fall ! " 
 But Sir Kari wooeth the fair princess.
 
 The Rime of Sir Kari 53 
 
 Sir Kari rideth to griesly strife 
 
 'Mid the dank, gray mists of the wind-swept wold ; 
 For never a wooer may call her wife, 
 Till the Troll-king lieth bereft of life, 
 
 Where he weaves weird spells 'mid his hoarded gold. 
 Sir Kari rideth to griesly strife. 
 
 Sir Kari lingers. What news i' the air ? 
 
 Full oft the princess seeks the gate. 
 Wan is her face, that was once so fair, 
 And her lips are moving in silent prayer, 
 
 Since love has mastered her heart — too late — 
 For Sir Kari lingers. Ill news i' the air ! 
 
 Sir Kari rideth back from fight. — 
 
 Smile, O princess, our fear was vain ! 
 But his eyes are glassy, his face is white, 
 And his charger shivers and cowers with fright, 
 
 For the hand of a dead man grasps his rein ! 
 Sir Kari rideth back from fight. 
 
 Sir Kari lieth aneath the mould, 
 
 And the princess sorrows in anguish sore : 
 She has shorn her locks that were sun-swept gold, 
 She has taken the veil, and the dismal fold 
 
 Of the " Silent Nuns " hides a dead life more ; 
 And Sir Kari lieth aneath the mould.
 
 A SONG OF TWO KINGS 
 
 The king wears a royal crown, 
 
 That is wrought of the red, red gold, 
 And he sits on his throne in the town 
 
 In the midst of his courtiers bold ; 
 And he holds out his sceptred hand, 
 
 As he points to his fields with glee : 
 " I am king of the rich, deep land ; 
 
 Let who will rule the barren sea !" 
 
 The king wears a helm of steel, 
 
 That has glittered in many a fight, 
 And he sits in his oar-driven keel, 
 
 As she skates o'er the billows white ; 
 And he cries to his vikings free, 
 
 As the tempest above him raves : 
 " I am king of the foamy sea 
 
 And the kings of the land are my slaves ! " 
 
 The king of the land feasts high 
 
 At the board where the beakers shine, 
 
 And the song and the tale flow by, 
 As he drinks of the rich red wine ;
 
 A Song of Two Kings 55 
 
 But hushed are the feast and the glee, 
 When there enters a scout in haste : 
 
 "Up, king! for the wolves of the sea 
 Are come o'er the watery waste." 
 
 The sea-king stands by the mast ; 
 
 His sword in his hand shines bare 
 And he shouts to the shouting blast, 
 
 As his flag floats out on the air ; 
 The raven has flapped his wings, 
 
 For he scenteth afar the fray, 
 And the wind in the cordage sings 
 
 And the oars drive hard through the spray. 
 
 The king of the land rides forth 
 
 With his spears to the strife on the strand ; 
 The sea-king is out of the North, 
 
 He has beached his ship on the sand : 
 They have met and the helm of steel 
 
 Has crushed the crown of gold, 
 And the king of the land is a meal 
 
 For the grim, gray wolves of the wold. 
 
 With a clashing of sword on shield 
 
 The king of the sea they greet, 
 Lord of the foughten field, 
 
 With his foemen dead at his feet ;
 
 56 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 And he cries on Odin and Thor, 
 
 As he wipes his blood-stained brand, 
 
 And he stands 'twixt sea and shore, 
 The king of the sea and the land.
 
 SPRING TIME IN THE VIKING DAYS 
 
 NORWAY. 
 
 Spring and the sun are returning and winter is past ; 
 
 Aoi! 
 The bonds he has flung round the earth are loosened 
 at last ; Aoi ! 
 Soft blows the breeze o'er the mountain tops, melt- 
 ing the snow ; 
 Swoln are the rivers and, foaming and frothing, they 
 
 flow 
 Seaward. Right weary are we of the land and it's, 
 Oh! 
 For the creak of the wind in the cordage aloft and the 
 flap of the sail by the mast ! Aoi ! 
 
 Seaward the breezes blow, bidding us idle no more, 
 
 Aoi! 
 Curling and flecking with foam-flakes the wide ocean 
 
 floor. Aoi ! 
 Earth was our sojourn awhile, but the sea is our 
 
 home.
 
 58 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Hark ! how he calls us on viking-cruise over the foam, 
 As, surging and seething, he grinds at the beach. We 
 
 will roam, 
 And our longship no longer shall yearn for the waves, 
 
 as she frets high and dry on the shore. Aoi ! 
 
 Gather and run her down over the rollers of pine, Aoi ! 
 Down to the foam-tossing breast of the welcoming 
 brine. Aoi ! 
 Upward to clasp her he flings his white arms in wild 
 
 glee; 
 Downward she plunges, till knee-deep we stand, 
 
 with the sea 
 Laughing and leaping and curling round ankle and 
 knee. 
 Oh ! sweeter the smell of the salt sea-waves than the 
 scent and the savour of wine ! Aoi ! 
 
 Bind on the helm and the mail shirt and buckle the 
 
 sword ! Aoi ! 
 All man can need for the fray or the feast is aboard. 
 Aoi ! 
 Leap to the deck and without, in a glittering row, 
 Hang up your shields round the gunwale, till change- 
 ful they show 
 As the scales of a serpent that slides through the sun- 
 light aglow,
 
 Spring Time in the Viking Days 59 
 
 Or coils his huge folds in the gloom of the woods round 
 the gold he has heaped in his hoard ! Aoi ! 
 
 Cast off the ship from the land and the white sails 
 
 unfurl ! Aoi ! 
 Run the oars out ! then away ! with the waters aswirl, 
 Aoi! 
 With a rush of the blades through the water, the 
 
 song of the breeze 
 In the curve of the sail and the cordage, while, 
 
 blending with these, 
 Laugh the ripples awash round the prow, as it 
 cleaves through the seas, 
 And the foam-flakes go dancing back far in our wake 
 and before us the waves leap and curl. Aoi ! 
 
 There's many a king in the holds of the south shall 
 
 grow pale ; Aoi ! 
 Many a warrior, the prop of a kingdom, shall quail ; 
 Aoi! 
 When we drive with the wind in our sails and their 
 
 land on our lee, 
 And their watchers have sighted our ships and, 
 
 screaming with glee, 
 The ravens and kites circle wide, as, kings of the sea, 
 We come leaping aland on the crest of the wave and 
 winged by the breath of the gale. Aoi !
 
 60 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Boundless the sea lies before us and we are its lords ; 
 
 Aoi! 
 Kings of the world and the wealth that such empire 
 affords ; Aoi ! 
 Lords of the sea by the sweep of our sceptre, the oar ; 
 Kings of the world by the deeds we have wrought, 
 
 deeds of war, 
 When the kings of the land and their armies reeled, 
 blenching before 
 The push of our shields and the thrust of our spears 
 and the sway and the stroke of our swords. Aoi ! 
 
 Dim in the distance the land fades, the ocean rolls 
 
 high ; Aoi ! 
 Our longship alone wings her way 'twixt the sea and 
 the sky ; Aoi ! 
 The surges beneath answer back to the voice of the 
 
 gale, 
 Mirthful and mournful by turns, boding blessing or 
 
 bale ; 
 But we reck not what doom shall befall us, as daunt- 
 less we sail, 
 For the Norns in their hands hold the thread of our 
 lives and we sail and Allfather is nigh. Aoi !
 
 THE SEA-KING'S STORM SWOOP 
 
 There's an oar in every hand 
 
 And a sword at every side, 
 As fast towards the land 
 
 Across the waves we glide ; 
 The storm shrieks at our back 
 
 And whirls us on our way ; 
 Above the sky frowns black, 
 
 While the sea is ashen gray, 
 
 The waves run ridged with white 
 
 And the storm goes shrieking high ; 
 But the sea is our delight 
 
 And the wind is our ally : 
 Wolves of the wave, world-wide 
 
 The winds have blown our fame ; 
 And who but we dare ride 
 
 The tempest none can tame ? 
 
 The tough mast bends and creaks 
 Beneath the bellying sail ; 
 
 The salt spray wets our cheeks, 
 Whirled upwards by the gale,
 
 6i Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 As we scud before the wind 
 Towards the foemen's shore, 
 
 While the tempest looms behind 
 And in front the storm of war. 
 
 But we reck not of its wrath 
 
 As we whirl before the blast ; 
 Our wake shows white with froth, 
 
 The oars go flashing fast ; 
 On for the land we press, 
 
 Till through a mist of spray, 
 Rounding the wave-worn ness, 
 
 We sweep into the bay. 
 
 In front of us the foe 
 
 Along the coast-line swarm ; 
 A few short hours ago 
 
 They blessed the gathering storm ; 
 But I trow their hearts grew pale 
 
 And they cursed us bitterly, 
 When they spied our swelling sail 
 
 'Twixt the cloud-rack and the sea. 
 
 The breakers shorewards curl 
 And on their crest we bound, 
 
 Till in a wash and swirl 
 
 Of waves we take the ground ;
 
 The Sea-King's Storm Swoop 63 
 
 Our curved keel ploughing deep 
 
 Furrows the gray sea-sand, 
 And from the deck we leap 
 
 And wade towards the land. 
 
 The oars aside we cast, 
 
 Nor stay to moor the ship : 
 Their javelins whistle past, 
 
 But the trustier sword we grip 
 And, locking shields before, 
 
 Drive at the foe abreast, 
 A steel-gray wave of war 
 
 With our sword blades for its crest. 
 
 The spray and rain and wind 
 
 Against the foe are driven ; 
 The sword-blades gride and grind 
 
 And shield and mail are riven ; 
 The blood flows down in streams 
 
 And runs into the sea, 
 And the circling raven screams 
 
 For the banquet that shall be. 
 
 We ride the surging fight 
 
 As we rode the gusty gale ; 
 Before our blades that bite 
 
 Those land-abiders quail,
 
 6\ Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 With little heart to brave 
 So fell a storm of war ; 
 
 So we wild wolves of the wave 
 Are the lords of sea and shore.
 
 HELGA'S BRIDAL 
 
 A LEGEND OF ICELAND. 
 
 Young Helga is long in returning 
 
 At evening from milking the kine, 
 And her cheeks with a bright blush are burning 
 
 And her eyes with a strange lustre shine : 
 And she pouts at the good housewife's chiding 
 
 That she loiters so late by the way, 
 When the Trolls, who by daylight seek hiding, 
 
 Prowl out and go hunting for prey. 
 
 For Grimnis, the Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 Dwelt hard by the farm in his den, 
 
 Where the wind in the birch-trees moaned wildly 
 And the cataract leaped down the glen. 
 
 Young Helga grows cold to the lover 
 To whom she has plighted her troth, 
 
 And Ari too soon shall discover 
 
 That to wed a mere herdsman she's Icth ; 
 
 E
 
 66 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 For she dreams of the wealthy old bonder, 
 Who meets her at eve while she milks, 
 
 And she sighs for the farm over yonder, 
 Where he's promised to clothe her in silks. 
 
 But Grimnis, the Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 Laughed loud as he sat in his den, 
 
 While the wind and the fall mourned the folly 
 That blindeth the daughters of men. 
 
 There was fear at the farmstead one gloaming, 
 
 For never did Helga come back ; 
 Unmilked the sleek cattle were roaming 
 
 And the milk pails lay flung in the track. 
 Young Ari the herdsman despairing 
 
 Uproused all the dale to his aid ; 
 All night the red torches went flaring, 
 
 But they found not a trace of the maid. 
 
 But Grimnis, the Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 
 No longer sat lone in his den ; 
 And the wind in the birch-trees wailed sadly 
 
 And the cataract moaned down the glen. 
 
 Next evening, with fruitless search weary, 
 As Ari went home o'er the fells, 
 
 Through a region deserted and eerie 
 
 With the fear of the Troll and his spells,
 
 Helga's Bridal 67 
 
 Lo ! away on a great mountain shoulder 
 A huge form, half lost in the mists, 
 
 Sat kicking its heels on a boulder 
 
 With something it gnawed in its fists. 
 
 For Grimnis, the Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 
 Loved to watch from the rocks round his den, 
 
 While the wind swept the birch-trees below him 
 And the cataract foamed through the glen. 
 
 But Ari was fiercely defiant 
 
 Of danger and reckless with grief; 
 So he called to the grim, griesly giant 
 
 With some hope of unlooked-for relief; 
 " Ho ! Troll of the Grimfoss, I greet you ! 
 
 What is it you hold in your hand ? 
 Give me news, an you can, I entreat you, 
 
 If my Helga be yet in the land ! " 
 
 For Grimnis, the Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 Had mountain and vale in his ken, 
 
 While the wind in the birches made music 
 And the cataract splashed in the glen. 
 
 A ghastly grin rippled and eddied 
 
 O'er the face of the Troll, ere he cried ; 
 
 " Last evening your Helga I wedded : 
 
 And I'm gnawing the bones of the bride ! "
 
 68 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 With a howl Ari sprang o'er the heather 
 
 And flew up the rocks at the Troll, 
 Breathing low, as they grappled together : 
 
 "Oh, Christ ! nerve my hands, shield my soul ! " 
 
 For Grimnis, the Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 Was strong with a strength as of ten ; 
 
 Far below the wind howled in the birches, 
 And the cataract shrieked from the glen. 
 
 All night on the mountain they wrestled ; 
 
 Ari fought with the strength of despair ; 
 They wakened the birds as they nestled, 
 
 And startled the fox from his lair : 
 But the Troll's force grew stronger and stronger, 
 
 While Ari's was ebbing away, 
 Till he felt he could struggle no longer ; 
 
 When behold ! in the east dawned the day. 
 
 Ho, Grimnis ! thou Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 Canst thou measure the cunning of men ? 
 
 Or the shrill wind that sways the birch-branches, 
 Or the water that falls through the glen ? 
 
 So tightly the Troll's arms were clasping 
 
 Round Ari, as prostrate he lay, 
 That he could but just murmur, half gasping : 
 
 '* Who rides on a white horse this way ? "
 
 Helga's Bridal 69 
 
 Round eastward the Troll glanced, but, seeing 
 The dawn like a king on his throne, 
 
 With a death-pang that thrilled his whole being 
 Was changed to a pillar of stone. 
 
 So Grimnis, the Troll of the Grimfoss, 
 No longer spreads fear from his den : 
 
 But the wind in the birches makes music. 
 And the cataract foams through the glen.
 
 CHAPTERS FROM THE HEIMS- 
 KRINGLA OF SNORRI STURLUSON 
 
 I. KING SKIOLD'S VENGEANCE 
 
 Saga I. Chapter LI. 
 
 King Eystein of Westfold hoisted his sails, 
 Hung the shields up round the bulwark-rails, 
 And upon viking-cruise sailed away 
 Up the fjord to the bight where Varna lay. 
 
 King Skiold of Varna was Eystein's foe : 
 So the clash of the sword and the twanging bow 
 Was the music he weened would welcome his host : 
 But none stood forward to guard the coast. 
 
 The women and children had fled in affright 
 And they found in the town not a living wight : 
 So they plundered each house and ravaged the land 
 And slaughtered the cattle upon the strand. 
 
 Now Skiold the King was a warlock skilled ; 
 With Finland magic his breast was filled : 
 But, for all his cunning, there came to the king 
 No warning of Eystein's harrying.
 
 King Skiold's Vengeance 
 
 So he was away with his followers all, 
 Courtman and bonder, freeman and thrall, 
 Up in the pinewoods chasing a bear 
 That famished had burst from his winter lair. 
 
 But, looking by chance from the hills, he spied 
 The flashing of arms by the water side ; 
 So he wound his horn to gather his band 
 And rushed down raging to guard the strand. 
 
 But when he got down to the shore of the bay, 
 Wary King Eystein was off and away ; 
 And the gleam of his sails was dimly seen 
 'Twixt the blue of the sky and the ocean green. 
 
 King Skiold unsheathed his shining brand, 
 
 In, a wizard's circle he paced the strand ; 
 
 He looked up the mountain, he looked down the fjord, 
 
 And wrote on the sand with the point of his sword. 
 
 Then he lifted his voice in mysterious runes, 
 Like the song of foreboding the salt sea croons, 
 When the waves are at rest and calm are the skies, 
 But the fishers are watching for storms to rise. 
 
 He blew a deep breath in the folds of his cloak, 
 Then shook it and cried 'mid his wondering folk, 
 (While a grim smile over his visage flits) : 
 " King Eystein of Westfold, methinks we are quits ! "
 
 72 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Eystcin, sailing with wind and tide, 
 Sat steering the " Osprey," while close beside 
 The " Bison " breasted the salt green seas, 
 And the sails and cordage sang in the breeze. 
 
 Within the Earl Isles as they sailed along, 
 
 A gust came sudden and swift and strong ; 
 
 It took back the sails, they shivered and flapped 
 
 And the mainsail sheet of the " Bison " snapped. 
 
 A great sea struck her ; her boom swung wide 
 O'er the "Osprey's" deck, as she sailed beside ; 
 It swept King Eystcin overboard 
 And he sank to his death in the tumbling fjord. 
 
 They cruised about till his corse they found ; 
 Then home they bore him and raised his mound 
 In the field at Vodle that seaward looks, 
 Where the ocean welcomes the ice-cold brooks.
 
 Sauer, the Dog King 73 
 
 II. SAUER, THE DOG KING 
 Saga IV. Chapter XIII. 
 
 Eystein, king of the Uplands, 
 
 Made war on the Drontheim land, 
 And he set his son King Onund 
 
 To hold it under his hand ; 
 But the people rose upon Onund 
 
 And slew him by Sparbo brook : 
 So with fire and sword King Eystein 
 
 A savage vengeance took. 
 
 When crushed they lay beneath him, 
 
 He summoned them to a Thing 
 And said : " Ye scorn a King's son ! 
 
 So choose ye for your king, 
 Ye dogs and thralls of Drontheim, 
 
 Either Thorer Faxe, my thrall, 
 Or Sauer, the wary wolf-hound, 
 
 The watch-dog in my hall ! " 
 
 He spake with scornful laughter, 
 That smote them like a blow. 
 
 Fierce anger burned within them, 
 But they dared not let it show :
 
 74 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 So at length they chose the wolf-hound, 
 For 'twas whispered among them all : 
 
 " We shall rid ourselves the sooner 
 Of the dog than of the thrall ! " 
 
 Now this tale is told about Saucr : 
 
 By the craft of a wizard wight 
 He was gifted with three men's wisdom 
 
 And gifted with seven men's might ; 
 And of three words that he uttered 
 
 He spake the first one plain, 
 So that all might understand it, 
 
 But he barked the other twain. 
 
 So Sauer, King Eystein's watch-dog, 
 
 Was king o'er the Drontheim land ; 
 And he dwelt at Inderoen, 
 
 Where they built at his command 
 A fair and stately feast-hall 
 
 With pillars of carven wood ; 
 And the name of Saurshoug clingeth yet 
 
 To the mound whereon it stood. 
 
 There he sat on a lofty high-seat, 
 As kings were wont of old, 
 
 And he wore a chain of silver 
 And a collar of beaten gold ;
 
 Sauer, the Dog King 75 
 
 And men hearkened to his dooming, 
 
 And his courtiers sang his praise, 
 And high in their hands they bore him 
 
 When foul were the weather and ways. 
 
 How long he reigned I wot not ; 
 
 But this tale of his death is told : 
 One gloomy night of winter 
 
 The wolves came down from the wold 
 And ravined among the folded kine ; 
 
 But the neatherds fled dismayed, 
 For the famished beasts were many, 
 
 So they ran to the hall for aid. 
 
 Then his courtiers egged on Sauer 
 
 With cunning, flattering words 
 To fall on the savage mountain thieves 
 
 And guard his flocks and herds : 
 Right royally his courage showed, 
 
 For down from his mound he ran 
 And into the fold he leaped straightway 
 
 And a furious fight began. 
 
 With none to aid he fought so well 
 
 That seven huge wolves he slew ; 
 But they thronged about so thick and fast 
 
 That, for all that he could do,
 
 76 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 The gaunt, gray robbers pulled him down 
 And limb from limb they tore. 
 
 So Sauer, the wary wolf-hound, 
 In Drontheim reigned no more.
 
 A SHIP BURIAL 
 
 Thorstein Thordsson lay on the deck 
 
 He never again should tread, 
 With a spear in his side and a gash in his neck 
 
 And his life-blood spouting red ; 
 But the light of victory gleamed in his eyes, 
 
 As he marked how the foemen fled : 
 And the long delight of his days of fight 
 
 Flashed back through his dying brain, 
 How he guarded his life in the storm of strife, 
 
 When the javelins flew like rain, 
 And the thrust of the spear and the stroke of the sword 
 
 Was many a warrior's bane ; 
 Or in warfare waged with the winds that raged 
 
 And the waves that leaped round his ship, 
 Seaward he steered with the storm in his beard 
 
 And the sea-spray salt on his lip, 
 While the safety of ship and of seamen hung 
 
 On the rudder he held in his grip. 
 
 The eyes of the Sea-king closed in death : 
 But his memory lived and the praise
 
 78 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Of his prowess in war, as his friends told o'er 
 
 The fame that had gilded his days, 
 The fights he had fought and the deeds he had 
 wrought, 
 
 As he traversed the fierce world's ways. 
 They had stood by his side on the field of fight 
 
 And the deck of his ocean-steed ; 
 In woe and weal they had found him leal, 
 
 A hater of wrong and greed, 
 Frank and bold and lavish of gold, 
 
 A helper at every need. 
 So they deemed 'twas an evil day for his friends, 
 
 But a welcome hour for his foes 
 And a gladsome day for the Gods above, 
 
 When Odin his champion chose ; 
 While his name and his fame on the earth would live 
 
 As long as the mountains rose. 
 
 They hauled his longship high on the shore, 
 
 Never again to sail 
 Where the sunlight streamed and the seagull screamed 
 
 O'er the home of the spouting whale, 
 While she leaped o'er the seas, as they curled in the 
 breeze, 
 
 Or staggered before the gale. 
 The oars were shipped and the boats inboard ; 
 
 Then they lowered the lofty mast
 
 A Ship Burial 79 
 
 And furled her sail, the cloak of the gale, 
 
 And before her the rollers cast ; 
 Then they hung up their shields round the bulwark rail 
 
 And hauled on the ropes of bast. 
 Over the strand up the rise of the land 
 
 She went on her latest cruise 
 To the long, low ness that stretched away, 
 
 Washed by the spray and the dews, 
 Betwixt the slope of the mountain side 
 
 And the bath of the wild sea-mews. 
 
 They drew her along to the end of the ness, 
 
 Till she lay where the burial-howe 
 Should stand on high 'twixt sea and sky, 
 
 Seaward turning her prow 
 In a last long gaze o'er those watery ways 
 
 That she never again should plough. 
 Then with ridgepole and rafter within the waist 
 
 The chamber of death was built, 
 And within it the King's high-seat was placed 
 
 With its carved arms painted and gilt. 
 The earth was heaped round the vessel's sides, 
 
 Till flush with her bulwarks it rose ; 
 Then they went to bring the corpse of the King 
 
 To the place of his long repose. 
 Shoulder-high he rode on his shield 
 
 And behind him the rest of the slain,
 
 8o Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 To fare at his side, till the doors were flung wide 
 
 In Valhalla, while Odin was fain 
 Of a chieftain that came with a crown of such fame 
 
 At the head of so goodly a train. 
 
 They set down his bier by the side of the ship ; 
 
 And Einar the Skald stood forth 
 And told his praise and the deeds of his days 
 
 And his fame that was wide in the North. 
 O'er the feet of the King he drew stout shoes, 
 
 New-fashioned of untanned hide, 
 And their thongs he wound and fastened them 
 round, 
 
 Then rose from his knees and cried : 
 " I bind these hell-shoon on Thorstein's feet 
 
 That must traverse the rugged road 
 That leads past the gloomy kingdom of Hel 
 
 To Odin's glad abode : 
 Naught I know of binding on shoon 
 
 If ever these loose from his feet ! " 
 Then they bore him into the burial-house 
 
 In his war-gear all complete, 
 And the dead on the ground were ranged around 
 
 And he sat in their midst on his seat. 
 
 They built up the chamber with plank and beam ; 
 And when these rites were done,
 
 A Ship Burial 8 1 
 
 Or ever they closed the mouth of the howe, 
 
 Came Gunnar Thorstein's son : 
 A grea't rock from the ground he tore 
 
 And lifted it up amain 
 And dashed it down on the deck of the ship, 
 
 Till her timbers creaked again : 
 She quivered and groaned from stem to stern, 
 
 While he shouted aloud : " I wis, 
 There is nought I know of mooring a ship, 
 
 If wind or weather stir this !" 
 
 Then high o'er the vessel the earth was heaped 
 
 And a mighty howe they made, 
 That men should know that there below 
 
 Was a famous chieftain laid : 
 And, leaving Thorstein to his rest, 
 
 They launched and hoisted sail, 
 To carry home the news of his death 
 
 And to brew his heirship ale. 
 
 So he sits 'mid his dead with helm on head 
 
 And his sword upon his knee, 
 Lulled by the whispering of the wind 
 
 And the murmuring voice of the sea, 
 Till the loom of Fate weaves soon or late 
 
 The weird that the world must dree ; 
 Till Heimdall blows a blast on his horn 
 
 And wakens the dead from their graves, 
 
 F
 
 82 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 For the wolf breaks loose and the grim Earth-snake 
 
 Uprcars his huge bulk from the waves, 
 While Surtur rides over from Muspellheim, 
 
 And the Jotuns and Trolls from their caves 
 Flock forth to fight 'gainst the Lords of light, 
 
 And the need of the Gods is sore ; 
 But, undismayed, they call to their aid 
 
 The champions chosen of yore, 
 And spears are cast, while Death reaps fast 
 
 On the harvest-field of war. 
 There is many a life must be spent in the strife 
 
 And the fight shall be fierce and long, 
 And bitter the woe that the world must know, 
 
 For the powers of evil are strong ; 
 But the cause of the Gods is the cause of the world, 
 
 The struggle of right against wrong. 
 So it's well for the champions that march with the 
 Gods 
 
 To the battle on Vigrid's plain, 
 For the dead will be blest in an endless rest, 
 
 And the victors will share in the gain, 
 When the world is refashioned and evil is dead 
 
 And the High One comes down to reign.
 
 WEAPON SONGS 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 Songs we will sing you, 
 
 The songs that aforetime 
 
 Our fathers sang, facing 
 
 The foeman in battle : 
 
 Sang to the sound 
 
 Of the spear, as it hurtled, 
 
 Of the sword, as the shield-board 
 
 Fell shattered before it, 
 
 Of the battle-axe breaking 
 
 The byrnie asunder : 
 
 Sang in medley of men 
 
 To the music of battle. 
 
 The weapons that warriors 
 Wield on the fight-field, 
 The war-gear they wear 
 In the war-play we sing you ; 
 A spear and a helm song, 
 A shield and an axe song, 
 A sword and a byrnie song, 
 Songs of the Vikings !
 
 84 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 A BYRNIE SONG 
 
 The sheep to the housewives 
 
 Their fleeces surrender, 
 Who weave the wool deftly 
 
 And dye it with splendour ; 
 And maids with lithe fingers, 
 
 For their lovers' adorning, 
 Weave kirtles an emperor 
 
 Might wear without scorning. 
 
 Our sheep are the mountains 
 
 We rob of their treasure, 
 To forge from their iron fleece 
 
 No soft robes of pleasure ; 
 Swart smiths are our handmaids : 
 
 The shirts of their weaving 
 We wear in the death-storm, 
 
 When sharp swords are cleaving. 
 
 No garments are goodlier 
 
 To feast in or fight in, 
 Than the tough shirts of ring-mail 
 
 That warriors delight in ;
 
 A Helm Song 85 
 
 Till our death-fight we'll wear them 
 And, dead, the bright byrnie 
 
 Will serve us for death-shroud, 
 As to Valhall we journey. 
 
 A HELM SONG 
 
 Many a polished, dwarf-wrought gem 
 Decks the monarch's diadem : 
 Fashioned of the ruddy gold 
 Won by kings in days of old, 
 Ermine-lined, it rests, I trow, 
 Softly on the royal brow. 
 
 No rich furs or jewels rare 
 Deck the gleaming helm I wear : 
 Wrought of steel and burnished bright 
 For a lode-star in the fight, 
 Fair it shineth in good omen, 
 Hope of friend and fear of foemen. 
 
 Golden from its crest upsprings 
 A broad pair of falcon wings, 
 That, wide-spread for forward flight, 
 Flutter in the van of fight.
 
 86 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Where they wave, there lies the way 
 To the thickest of the fray. 
 
 Broad may be the monarch's realm : 
 But beneath the warrior's helm 
 His world-kingdom broader lies, 
 Bounded only by the skies. 
 Every king that wears a crown 
 To the helm must bow him down. 
 
 A SHIELD SONG 
 
 Stout linden boards faced 
 
 With a hide of tough leather, 
 And a steel rim about it 
 
 To bind them together ! 
 Door of Odin ! I vaunt thee, 
 
 My bulwark in battle, 
 When like hail on a hall-roof 
 
 The arrow-showers rattle ! 
 
 From my first fight in youth 
 O'er the field I rode glorious, 
 
 On my broad shield uplifted 
 By warriors victorious :
 
 A Spear Song 87 
 
 With a clash of their swords, 
 
 While the brown strand was reeking 
 With the blood of the foemen, 
 
 They greeted the Sea-king. 
 
 Once more from my last fight, 
 
 When Death proves the stronger, 
 I shall ride on the shield 
 
 I can carry no longer, 
 Borne off shoulder-high 
 
 From the field of my glory : 
 But the fame of the Sea-king 
 
 Shall live long in story. 
 
 A SPEAR SONG 
 
 No sceptre holds sway 
 
 Like the spear that we fashion 
 Sharp steel are our spear-points, 
 
 The tough shafts are ashen. 
 Bright-faced are our maidens 
 
 And radiant their glances, 
 But brighter and keener 
 
 The points of our lances.
 
 88 Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 Hurled forth by strong hands, 
 
 Like a swift falcon winging 
 His way through the clear air, 
 
 The long shaft goes singing ; 
 Through shield and through bymie 
 
 It whistles and hurtles, 
 As if mail-shirts of warriors 
 
 Were but maids' woollen kirtles. 
 
 Like the stiff blades of wheat 
 
 O'er a field that we sowed in, 
 So thick stand the spears 
 
 On the red field of Odin : 
 A path through that spear-wood 
 
 To victory we'll cleave us, 
 Or, dead, in Valhalla 
 
 Shall Odin receive us. 
 
 A SWORD SONG 
 
 Cross-hilted is my sword, 
 
 Two-edged and keen for fight, 
 
 And its glittering blade is scored 
 With runes of magic might ;
 
 A Sword Song 89 
 
 From hilt to point they run, 
 Inwrought with golden wire, 
 
 And they flicker in the sun 
 Like a flame of yellow fire. 
 
 They flicker and they glow, 
 
 As our falchions sway and sweep, 
 When the shield-burg of the foe 
 
 Is the harvest that we reap : 
 We reap with edges keen 
 
 Till the blood flows out like water ; 
 And the Valkyries shall glean 
 
 On that harvest-field of slaughter. 
 
 So when my time is sped 
 
 And Death has cut me down, 
 And the Shield-maids bear me — dead— 
 
 From the field of my renown, 
 There's a hall with bounteous board 
 
 I shall win a long abode in, 
 Where the champions of the sword 
 
 Are the chosen guests of Odin.
 
 cjo Songs of the Norsemen 
 
 AN AXE SONG 
 
 Broad hevvcr of helmets, shield-biter ! 
 
 I praise thee in peace or in war. 
 In peace, when thy task is the lighter, — 
 
 To cleave the tall trees to the core, — 
 Thy mighty strokes echo like thunder 
 
 And those kings of the forest must fall, 
 With their tough fibres riven asunder, 
 
 For the building of longship or hall. 
 
 When there's war in the wind and the goodman 
 
 Must march at the war-arrow's call, 
 And the axe that he plied as a woodman 
 
 Is snatched down again from the wall, 
 Thy task is the sterner and grimmer : 
 
 For a forest of spears stands arrayed 
 And the light seems to waver and shimmer 
 
 On helmet and byrnie and blade. 
 
 Lo ! the banquet is spread for the ravens 
 And the foe are the trees that we fell ! 
 
 The slaughter grows grim and the cravens 
 Go down to the kingdom of Hcl ;
 
 An Axe Song 91 
 
 The flame of the battle burns brighter, 
 We wade in a dark crimson sea : 
 
 Hard hewer of helmets, broad biter 
 Of byrnies, my trust is in thee !
 
 SONGS OF THE ENGLISH
 
 HENGEST'S LANDING 
 
 A FRAGMENT TOLD IN ALLITERATIVE VERSE. 
 
 Hengest and Horsa, Lords of the White Horse, 
 Dashing in dragon-ships through the dank sea-mists, 
 Came on the curl of the foam-crested billows 
 To the bright shores of Britain, bride of ocean. 
 For the Roman, when riot racked his dominion 
 And hordes of heathen hotly pressed him, 
 Forsook the far island to battle the foe 
 That menaced the might of the mistress of earth. 
 So the legions no longer kept law in the island, 
 Its defenders departed and left it defenceless. 
 
 North dwelt fierce nations, that ne'er from the Roman 
 Had blenched in battle or bowed the knee, 
 'Mid moor and mountain maintaining the strife, 
 When the arms of the alien assailed them hottest : 
 Rejoicing they rose on the rear of the legions 
 And, bursting the barrier built by Severus, 
 Southward swept with storm of slaughter, 
 Fleshing of falchions and kindling of flames.
 
 96 Songs of the English 
 
 Noised was the news from north to south 
 And men were mustered to meet their raid : 
 But Vortigern's valour availed them nought 
 And the lawless hordes laid waste the land. 
 But the king took counsel and, casting about 
 For aid and alliance at alien hands, 
 Drew to him heroes to haste to his side 
 Over the wild waste of wan water: 
 
 There cruised on the south coast three keels of the 
 
 English : 
 (Men style them Saxons in song and story ; ) 
 Far went the fame of the fights they had won, 
 Those wolves of the wave whose joy was war. 
 
 They sailed the sea, when the storm blew high, 
 
 And drank delight, as they dared its wrath; 
 
 They joyed in the jar of hosts that joined 
 
 'Mid the ruin and wrack of a reeling world : 
 
 Sworded they sat and strained at the oar-bench, 
 
 Blithe to battle the tossing billow, 
 
 Or to close in the clangour and clash of fight 
 
 And with death-grasp grim to grapple the foe ; 
 
 Ply rope and rudder and ride the ocean, 
 
 Or handle the sword-hilts and hew down the foeman. 
 
 To their ships he sent and sought their aid, 
 Help 'gainst the hordes that harried his land,
 
 Hengest's Landing 97 
 
 Fanned their fierce spirit and fondness for strife 
 With the largess he lavished of lands and gold. 
 
 So Hengest and Horsa hoisted their sails 
 
 And steered for the strait where the sea-streams meet ; 
 
 The flood-tide flowed and the channel was full 
 
 That cuts off a cantle of land from Kent. 
 
 The shining shields round the shiprails hung, 
 
 As they sailed up the strait to a spit of sand 
 
 With breeze fair blowing and, beaching their ships, 
 
 Landward leaped to the island strand.
 
 THE GRAVE 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. 
 
 For thee was a house built 
 Before thou wert born ; 
 For thee was mould meant 
 Ere of mother thou earnest : 
 But not yet is it dight, 
 Nor the depth of it measured; 
 No look has yet reckoned 
 What length it must be for thee. 
 
 One day they'll bring thee 
 Where thou shalt abide ; 
 Thee first shall they measure, 
 Then mete the mould after : 
 Nor is this house of thine 
 High built with timbers ; 
 It is un-high and low 
 When thou best within it.
 
 The Grave 99 
 
 The heel-walls are low 
 And the side-walls not lofty, 
 And the roof of it built 
 To thy breast full nigh. 
 So thou in the damp earth 
 Shalt dwell full cold, 
 Dimly and darkly ; 
 That den rotteth ever. 
 
 Doorless that house is 
 And dark is't within it ; 
 There fast art thou dungeoned 
 And Death holds the key. 
 Loathly is that earth-house 
 And a grim one to dwell in, 
 Where thou shalt dwell 
 And worms shall devour thee. 
 
 Thus art thou laid out, 
 Most loathsome to friends ; 
 Nor hast thou a friend 
 That will fare to thee now, 
 That will look if thou findest 
 That house to thy liking, 
 That will undo the door 
 And descend to seek thee.
 
 ioo Songs of the English 
 
 For thou soon must grow loathly 
 And gruesome to look on, 
 From thy head soon be reft 
 The hair that adorned it, 
 All thy fairness of hair 
 Forthwith be scattered, 
 And none with fond fingers 
 Will fondle it ever.
 
 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS 
 THE EVE OF THE BATTLE 
 
 The autumn moon shines with a clear, cold light 
 
 In the blue heavens : on the earth below 
 A rich warm glow of colour floods the height 
 
 Of Senlac, where the watch-fires' fitful glow 
 Flickers on axe and brand and burnished mail, 
 
 That brighten all the hillside. Swiftly flow 
 The horns of foaming mead ; and song and tale 
 
 Resound o'er all the camp with merry din, 
 As stalwart warriors from hill and dale 
 
 To join King Harold's host come hastening in 
 And range themselves with his undaunted band ; 
 
 To conquer, or a glorious death to win 
 Upon the hillside, where in arms they stand 
 To guard the freedom of the English land. 
 
 But from the Norman camp beyond the vale 
 
 Sound chant and psalm, where pious soldiers pray 
 
 That the great God of Justice will not fail 
 
 The cause that Rome has blest, but crown the day 
 
 With spoil and slaughter to their hearts' content. 
 Meanwhile the English whom they thirst to slay
 
 102 Songs of the English 
 
 Arc feasting round their watch-fires on the bent. 
 
 Just is their cause : long since their peace was made 
 With Heaven ; when forth to guard the isle they 
 went 
 
 And grasped the axe and bared the glittering blade : 
 What time King Harold's war-horns sounded shrill 
 
 And every Englishman himself arrayed 
 Beneath his banners upon Scnlac hill, 
 To guard the island coast with sword and bill. 
 
 Now, seated round the brightly blazing fires, 
 
 They sing old war-songs ; of the glorious fight 
 Of Brunanburh, and Maldon, where their sires 
 
 Won everlasting fame and put to flight 
 The valiant hosts of the invading Dane. 
 
 So they too hope before another night 
 To drive the Normans back across the main, 
 
 Or leave them lying on the gory field, 
 Cumbering the gloomy valley with their slain : 
 
 At worst they can but fall 'neath sword and shield, 
 Leaving a name renowned for evermore, 
 
 As men who fought and fell and would not yield, 
 Although their life-blood streamed from every pore 
 And all the vale of Senlac swam with gore. 
 
 At length is either host in slumber drowned 
 And not a sound rings through the silent night,
 
 The Eve of the Battle 103 
 
 Save where the sentinels are pacing round 
 
 The watch-fires ; in whose slowly dying light 
 The English sleep and in their dreams o'erwhelm 
 
 The flying foe. There in his harness bright 
 Lies Harold in his tent, the burnished helm 
 
 Upon his head, while ready to his hand 
 Rests the keen battle-axe that guards the realm. 
 
 So like a king amid his warrior band 
 He sleeps. But near and nearer comes the day, 
 
 Fateful to Harold and the English land : 
 Already faintly shines the twilight gray 
 That heralds in the morning of the fray. 
 
 The watch-fires' ruddy blaze grows sickly pale 
 
 Before the first wan glimmers of the morn. 
 At length ere sunrise over hill and dale 
 
 Rings the shrill clangour of a warning horn, 
 Startling to life the silent English camp : 
 
 For from the Norman host a sound is borne 
 Upon the breeze. There loud the war-steeds champ 
 
 And clashes steel on steel, as foot and horse 
 Come pouring forwards with a martial tramp 
 
 And sweep adown the slope in stately course. 
 With close and serried ranks the vale they fill, 
 
 Out-numbering many times the little force 
 That waits their fiery onslaught, dauntless still 
 In arms upon the brow of Senlac hill.
 
 104. Songs of the English 
 
 THE FIGHT AT SENLAC 
 
 On up the side of Senlac Hill the knights of the 
 
 Normans rode, 
 And the sacred banner was in their midst, and on 
 
 the footmen strode : 
 And in the van of the Norman host a giant warrior 
 
 came, 
 In glittering steel from head to heel, and Taillefer 
 
 was his name. 
 Alone he rode a javelin-cast the Norman host 
 
 before 
 And, spurring along, he chanted a song that told of 
 
 the days of yore. 
 He sang of the dauntless paladins that warred round 
 
 Charlemagne 
 And of the fight at Roncesvalles, the valiant Roland's 
 
 bane ; 
 And how the traitor Ganelon the host of the Franks 
 
 betrayed 
 To the false followers of Mahound in the Pyrenean 
 
 glade ; 
 And how, too late, the wondrous blast of that en- 
 chanted horn 
 Which Roland wound, as the foe closed round, to 
 
 Charlemagne was borne :
 
 The Fight at Senlac 105 
 
 Loud at the close of every stave rang out the cry, " Aoi ! " 
 And the Norman knights, as they came behind, were 
 stirred with a martial joy. 
 
 Above his head as he galloped along his sword in 
 
 the air he threw 
 And caught it by the jewelled hilt, then tossed it up 
 
 anew, 
 Till round his head it seemed to play like a flash of 
 
 lightning bright, 
 u. As though some juggler of the East were riding to 
 
 the fight 
 Before the van of the Norman host and not a belted 
 
 knight. 
 But forward sprang an Englishman to lay the minstrel 
 
 low ; 
 Once more did Taillefer high in air his glittering 
 
 falchion throw, 
 And caught it, as it fell, and smote and clave his 
 
 head in twain ; 
 So dropped he dead and his blood streamed red over 
 
 the battle plain. 
 
 Then a gallant Thane ran forward and whirled his 
 
 axe around 
 And sprang at the minstrel Taillefer to smite him to 
 
 the ground ;
 
 106 Songs of the English 
 
 But his breast was left unshielded, as he lifted his 
 
 axe for the fight, 
 And Taillefer couched his lance and, as the chief 
 
 drew nigh to smite, 
 Spurring his horse, with resistless force against the 
 
 Thane he thrust 
 With lance in rest and pierced his breast and pinned 
 
 him to the dust. 
 And, as he shook the lifeless corse from the point of 
 
 his blood-stained spear, 
 The Norman knights pressed forward and raised a 
 
 joyful cheer, 
 And shouted, " Taillefer ! Taillefer ! " : but the 
 
 English stood astound 
 To see a second champion lie stretched upon the 
 
 ground. 
 
 But from their midst, as they stood aghast, Lcofwine 
 
 strode in ire 
 And glanced at the corpses on the ground, while his 
 
 blue eyes flashed with fire ; 
 Then he fiercely turned to the triumphing knight, as 
 
 he nigher came and nigher, 
 And poised a javelin o'er his head, steel barbed with 
 
 a shaft of elm, 
 And launched it at the joint betwixt his hauberk and 
 
 his helm.
 
 The Fight at Senlac 107 
 
 It sped, as he shouted : "Juggling knight, go croak 
 
 to the fiends of hell ! " 
 And swiftly smote right through his throat and, 
 
 reeling from his selle, 
 Earthward rolled the minstrel bold and his armour 
 
 clanged as he fell. 
 So Leofwine turned and left him there, the slayer 
 
 with the slain, 
 And back to his post in the English host strode, 
 
 singing a careless strain, 
 And his comrades cheered the valiant Earl, as he 
 
 entered their ranks again. 
 
 But the Normans raised an angry shout, when they 
 
 saw bold Taillefer fall, 
 And on they drave with spear and glaive against the 
 
 bright shield-wall. 
 Swiftly they charged up the slope of the hill, while 
 
 loudly the war-horns brayed : 
 They closed and the air was straightway filled with 
 
 the clash of blade on blade, 
 As forward pressed the Norman knights and in air 
 
 their falchions swayed 
 And smote at the shields and the wattled fence that 
 
 guarded their English foes. 
 Over the din of the hurtling fight loudly their war-cry 
 
 rose,
 
 io8 Songs of the English 
 
 As fiercely they made at the stout stockade and shouted 
 
 aloud : "Dex aie ! " 
 The earth grew red with a flood of gore and furious 
 
 grew the fray, 
 As all along the English lines they hasted them on to 
 
 slay. 
 
 But the terrible English axes flashed and grided on 
 
 helm and shield, 
 And, wherever they smote, both horse and man went 
 
 down on the blood-stained field : 
 Shields were shattered and helmets cleft, while ever the 
 
 English shout 
 Cheerily rang o'er the clash of the steel: "Out!" 
 
 "Holy Rood!" "Out, out!" 
 And in the fight fell many a knight with helm or 
 
 hauberk riven, 
 And the battle shouts and the clang of the fray went 
 
 up to the face of Heaven. 
 
 Wave after wave of the Norman host surged up the 
 
 slope of the mount ; 
 Fiercely they rode and fiercely smote, knight and baron 
 
 and count : 
 But the English still on the brow of the hill blenched 
 
 not a foot from their post,
 
 The Fight at Senlac 109 
 
 Hurling them back from each fresh attack. As a cliff 
 
 on the English coast, 
 When the south-west wind is singing aloft and the 
 
 gray clouds cover the sky, 
 And the green seas, crested and flecked with foam, roll 
 
 in as the tide runs high, 
 Waits till they dash on its weed-grown base, then 
 
 shatters and flings them away 
 With a crash and a swash in a seethe of foam and a 
 
 shower of wind-blown spray. 
 
 Ho ! for the hissing javelin ! ho ! for the twanging 
 
 bow ! 
 Ho ! for the arrows that darken the air and the shield- 
 wall that fronts the foe ! 
 Ho ! for the sword that flashes and falls ! ho ! for the 
 
 axe that bites ! 
 Ho ! for the blood that dyes the earth and the slaughter 
 
 of Norman knights ! 
 Fiercer and fiercer the battle grew ; wilder the din of 
 
 the fray. 
 "God Almighty!" "Notre Dame!" "Ha Rou ! " 
 
 " Out ! " " Holy Rood ! " " Dex Aie ! " 
 Fitfully rose the mingled shouts, as English and 
 
 Norman met 
 Hand to hand and axe to brand. The fight so fierce 
 
 was set,
 
 no Songs of the English 
 
 While neither side would yield a foot, that none who 
 
 fought dared say 
 What flag would float, when the sun went down, o'er 
 
 that red field of affray. 
 
 Right fiercely broke the wave of war on all the English 
 
 front, 
 But in the centre of the field they bore the fiercest brunt. 
 There flew the banner that Rome had blest, and the 
 
 prowest chivalry 
 The world could find couched lance behind the Duke 
 
 of Normandy. 
 The greatest captain of his age was leading them on 
 
 to the fray, 
 And lands and gold he had promised the bold, if he 
 
 won a crown that day. 
 But vainly they strove to storm the height and the 
 
 Duke waxed wild and wood, 
 As back they were thrust from the brow of the hill, 
 
 where the flower of the English stood, 
 Shoulder to shoulder and shield to shield. For Harold 
 
 the King was there, 
 And high on the hill his standards twain flaunted and 
 
 flapped on the air. 
 The Golden Dragon of Wesscx kings, that had ramped 
 
 in many a fight, 
 And the king's own banner, his Fighting Man, that 
 
 with gems and gold gleamed bright,
 
 The Fight at Senlac hi 
 
 Rose up from the midst of a sea of steel ; and many a 
 
 man must die 
 Ere they bowed to the banner that Rome had blessed, 
 
 or the Norman chivalry. 
 
 But the eyes of the Duke were bright with wrath and 
 
 a frown was on his face, 
 As he madly dashed at the baffling wall and smote 
 
 with his mighty mace ; 
 His knights swept upwards after him, heads bent and 
 
 lances low : 
 But the gleaming shield-wall met their charge and the 
 
 javelins showered like snow 
 And the grinding axes rose and fell. Before that grim 
 
 array 
 The Normans blenched and left the Duke unaided in 
 
 the fray, 
 As he battled like a paladin. His steed was stricken sore 
 And, staggering back a yard or two, sank down in a 
 
 pool of gore, 
 Horse and rider together locked. The Norman knights 
 
 drew rein, 
 When they saw him fall, and the cry went up : " The 
 
 Duke ! the Duke is slain ! " 
 And thereat all along their line the tide of war rolled 
 
 back 
 And the cause that had drawn them over sea had well- 
 nigh gone to rack.
 
 112 Songs of the English 
 
 Meanwhile on the right, where the Bretons fought, it 
 
 seemed for a space as though 
 The bright shield-wall that crowned the hill had rolled 
 
 away the foe. 
 Thrice had they surged up the slippery slope, thrice 
 
 had they wavered back ; 
 Then awhile they halted at the base and shrank from 
 
 a fresh attack : 
 While, heedless of their King's command, the English 
 
 at the sight 
 Broke from the ground they should have held to make 
 
 that halt a flight. 
 They were pressing upon the wavering foe and forcing 
 
 them back amain, 
 When down the ranks there came the cry : " The 
 
 Duke! the Duke is slain!" 
 In wild dismay the Bretons broke ; some stood, some 
 
 turned to run, 
 And the English pressed them eagerly and deemed the 
 
 day was won. 
 
 But the Bastard of Falaise was bold, as the flames of hell 
 
 are fierce ; 
 He rose unhurt from his slaughtered steed and uttered 
 
 a furious curse : 
 " Splendour of God ! I live, my lords ! Ye cowards, 
 
 will ye stay ?
 
 The Fight at Senlac 113 
 
 I live ! and with the Saints to aid we shall retrieve the 
 
 day!" 
 He gat himself another steed and brandished his sword 
 
 in the air, 
 Then fiercely tore his helmet ofF and rode with his head 
 
 all bare, 
 That all might know their Duke yet lived : so he 
 
 checked each wavering knight, 
 Smiting them flatling as they fled and chiding left and 
 
 right, 
 Until at length by voice and hand he stayed the tide 
 
 of flight. 
 Yet still the English upon the right were driving the 
 
 Bretons before 
 And still did the fate of a kingdom hang on the doubtful 
 
 chance of war. 
 
 But, while he scarce could rally them, there came a 
 
 shout of cheer, 
 As the valiant Bishop of Bayeux came galloping up 
 
 from the rear, 
 Odo, the Duke's half-brother, with the rear-guard at 
 
 his back 
 That the Duke reserved, lest evil hap should foil his 
 
 first attack. 
 The warlike Bishop bestrode a steed that had better 
 
 beseemed a knight 
 
 H
 
 114 Songs of the English 
 
 Whose trade is war, than a priest of God, unused to 
 
 carnal fight : 
 A crozier of gold in his hand he bore, but a mace at 
 
 his wrist was slung, 
 And under the snow-white aube he wore a warrior's 
 
 harness rung. 
 
 To the right of the field his troops he wheeled, where 
 
 the Bretons were flying apace 
 And the English with exultant shouts were holding them 
 
 close in chase. 
 In an hour of ill had they left the hill, where the King 
 
 had bidden them stay, 
 Losing the vantage of the ground and breaking their 
 
 firm array. 
 In vain they strove to rally now, as the Bishop with 
 
 sudden attack 
 Burst on the flanks of their scattered ranks and swept 
 
 them struggling back. 
 The wall of shields was broken and the horse-hooves 
 
 rang like thunder, 
 As the Norman knights came charging down and by 
 
 sheer weight bore them under ; 
 Before them the ranks of the English bowed and earth- 
 ward were they borne, 
 Like the ears of wheat when a flaw of wind sweeps 
 
 over the standing corn.
 
 The Fight at Senlac 115 
 
 The ears of wheat spring up again, when the flaw has 
 
 died away, 
 But the fallen English rose no more : for over them 
 
 as they lay 
 The Normans swept, a sea of steel, and beat them to 
 
 the ground. 
 Thus over a black and jagged reef the gray-green 
 
 billows bound j 
 And the rocks that loomed awhile agone in a moment 
 
 are lost to sight, 
 While only a few dark points stand out, awash in the 
 
 seethe of white. 
 So here and there were a score or two, that with 
 
 shields together locked 
 Bore up for awhile, though the surging fight about 
 
 them reeled and rocked ; 
 And many a desperate deed was done, as they starkly 
 
 stood at bay, 
 Surrounded by the charging knights and the dust and 
 
 the clang of the fray ; 
 And, ere they fell outnumbered, was many a gory 
 
 lane 
 Gaped wide through the ranks of the Normans, strown 
 
 thick with a pavement of slain : 
 But few that had charged down the slope of the hill 
 
 won back to their comrades again.
 
 1 1 6 Songs of the English 
 
 So the flight of the Bretons was stayed at length and 
 
 the battle rolled anew 
 Towards the summit of the hill, where the Dragon 
 
 of Wesscx flew. 
 " On ! To the standards ! " shouted the Duke : " On ! 
 
 To the standards, ho ! " 
 The cry was echoed along the line and fiercely they 
 
 drave at the foe, 
 Flushed with the slaughter the Bishop had made, as he 
 
 garnered a goodly tithe 
 From that harvest of death, where the Englishmen 
 
 had fallen like grass to the scythe. 
 But the slope was still manned by a resolute band, 
 
 and still rang the war-cry blithe : 
 " Out ! " " Holy Rood ! " and the shield-wall still rose 
 
 grimly, a little aglint 
 In the light of the sun, as they breasted the hill and 
 
 charged with a terrible dint. 
 
 Knight after knight came galloping up, whose fame 
 
 flew far and wide, 
 And splintered his spear on the wall of shields, then, 
 
 flinging the truncheon aside, 
 Smote with his falchion lustily. But in vain their 
 
 weapons clashed, 
 For the shield-wall stoutly held its ground and above 
 
 it the axes flashed,
 
 The Fight at Senlac i i 7 
 
 While death sat agrin on the grinded edge. The 
 
 Norman lance and sword 
 Were harmless as reeds from a moorland pool : and 
 
 many a Norman lord, 
 That had counted on winning fair leagues of land, as 
 
 the meed of the toils he bore, 
 Gained nought but six feet of the English soil for his 
 
 share of the spoils of war. 
 
 The Norman Duke chafed mightily, as charge after 
 
 charge was foiled ; 
 A sullen fury burned in his eyes and the blood within 
 
 him boiled ; 
 Forth to the front he spurred and stood, a target for 
 
 the foe, 
 Waving his followers on to the hill where the banners 
 
 blew to and fro. 
 But betwixt the Normans in the vale and the summit 
 
 of the bent 
 Were the serried ranks of the English front, where 
 
 the men of London and Kent, 
 The flower of the English army, fought in a grim, 
 
 unbroken line 
 With the King's own brothers to captain them, Earls 
 
 Gurth and Leofwine. 
 It was easy to point to the summit, but the slope was 
 
 steep enow,
 
 1 1 8 Songs of the English 
 
 And the hedge that ran around it was hard to pierce, I 
 
 trow ; 
 Its thorns were sharp and set full close and the berries 
 
 that it bore 
 Were deadly as adders' poison and gay with the purple 
 
 of gore : 
 Goodly as glory were they to the show, but the taste 
 
 of them bitter as rue ; 
 For that hedge was a rampart of mail-clad men and 
 
 death was the fruit that it grew. 
 
 The two Earls marked the Norman Duke and they 
 
 knew their deadliest foe, 
 As forth he rode to the foot of the hill and pointed up 
 
 from below, 
 Reining his prancing charger in and halting full in 
 
 their view, 
 Heedless that thus he offered a mark for every shaft 
 
 that flew. 
 Each Earl upraised his javelin : first Leofwinc's took 
 
 flight, 
 But by a hair's breadth missed the Duke and smote a 
 
 brave young knight, 
 Who, only a pace or two behind, was riding on his 
 
 right ; 
 And dead he fell from the saddle. Then Gurth his 
 
 javelin cast ;
 
 The Fight at Senlac 119 
 
 But, as he flung it, the Duke's horse reared at an arrow 
 
 that whistled past : 
 So his aim was foiled and he failed of his mark, but 
 
 full in his heaving chest 
 The snorting steed received the bolt that was meant 
 
 for a nobler breast. 
 
 But the Duke sprang clear of his steed, as it fell, and 
 
 cried to a Flemish knight : 
 " Now, lend me thy steed, Sir Rainulph, to bear me 
 
 through the fight ! 
 And, when I am crowned at Westminster, I will think 
 
 of thy courtesy." 
 But the knight growled out : "No vassal am I of the 
 
 Dukes of Normandy 
 And owe you never a heriot, Duke ! " Dark grew the 
 
 Norman's face, 
 As hoarsely he muttered : " Splendour of God ! " and, 
 
 lifting his mighty mace, 
 He starkly smote the mannerless knight and hurled 
 
 him to the earth ; 
 Then into the empty saddle he leaped and rode up the 
 
 hill at Gurth. 
 
 The Earl sprang out to meet him and aimed a mighty 
 
 blow 
 That, had it struck the Norman full, had surely laid 
 
 him low :
 
 120 Songs of the English 
 
 But he swerved aside and the axe fell short, yet smote 
 
 him with such force 
 That the hauberk he wore was dinted in and back- 
 ward he reeled on his horse. 
 But, bearing upon his stirrups and clinging to pommel 
 
 and rein, 
 His seat he recovered and, ere the Earl could raise his 
 
 axe again, 
 He dealt him such a terrible stroke that beneath it he 
 
 staggered and fell 
 And was trampled under the horse's hooves. There 
 
 was none who saw could tell 
 Whether or no he died of that blow ; but he fell and 
 
 rose no more, 
 For onward over him where he lay rolled the tide of 
 
 the Norman war, 
 As the Duke pressed gaily forward and shouted : 
 
 "DexAie! Dex Aie ! 
 Lay on, lay on, my Normans bold ! Methinks ye are 
 
 slack at the fray ! " 
 While the English were daunted a little, when they 
 
 saw how the Earl had sped, 
 And their ranks began to waver, as the tale of his 
 
 death 'gan spread. 
 
 But Harold marked how they backward gave and 
 heard the rumour that ran ;
 
 The Fight at Senlac 121 
 
 So to the centre he hied him fast and, pressing through 
 
 to the van, 
 Sprang fiercely at Duke William : but an eddy of the 
 
 fray 
 Swept in between those captains twain and baulked 
 
 him of his prey. 
 Then, raging like a wounded bear, he hurtled through 
 
 the fight 
 And with his red, resistless axe felled many a daring 
 
 knight, 
 While his voice rang like a thunder-peal : " Out ! 
 
 Holy Rood ! Out, out ! " 
 The English saw his flashing axe and heard the ringing 
 
 shout 
 And, rallying round the dauntless King, they beat off 
 
 the attack. 
 The Norman Duke was swept away, as his knights 
 
 went struggling back, 
 And the victory seemed distant still ; the royal diadem 
 Still mocked his greed : and, if his craft could find no 
 
 stratagem 
 To shatter those stubborn ranks of steel, but little 
 
 hope had he 
 To see again the pleasant plains of his sunny Nor- 
 mandy : 
 For a hostile land encompassed him and the smiling, 
 
 treacherous main.
 
 122 Songs of the English 
 
 But a cunning stroke of strategy was forming in his 
 
 brain ; 
 And craftily he laid his plans, as he brought his 
 
 troops to a halt, 
 And a little away from the foot of the hill took 
 
 breath for a fresh assault. 
 
 Then up the slope with one accord they charged on 
 
 every side 
 And with redoubled fury the fight raged far and wide. 
 The English met them stubbornly ; the battle-axes 
 
 clave ; 
 The wall of shields still lined the ridge and shivered 
 
 spear and glaive 
 And baffled the boldest riders : while, ever to the fore 
 Where the fight was hottest, Harold the king beat back 
 
 the tide of war, 
 Stemming the onslaught of the Duke, as he threatened 
 
 the English right. 
 At length along the centre the Normans turned to flight ; 
 Goodly the fare that was offered them there, but it 
 
 seemed they had had their fill, 
 As horsemen and foot in a mingled crowd rushed 
 
 headlong down the hill. 
 
 Small wonder if the English now were weary of 
 standing at bay,
 
 The Fight at Senlac 123 
 
 Tied to their post, while the foe ranged free ! They 
 
 had stood since break of day, 
 Galled by his ceaseless onslaughts, as he circled around 
 
 the height : 
 But their blood was up when at last they saw the 
 
 invaders full in flight. 
 So they paid no heed to Leofwine's voice, that 
 
 shouted : " Stand your ground ! " 
 For the cry went up, " They run ! they run ! " and 
 
 the warning voice was drowned, 
 As they fell on the rear of the flying foe with spear 
 
 and axe and brand, 
 Like a pent up river that bursts its banks and floods 
 
 the level land. 
 
 The foe held on in sullen flight, drawing them over 
 
 the field 
 Till they come where an ambushed squadron lay 
 
 cunningly concealed : 
 Then the barons shouted : "Dex aie ! Dex aie !" and 
 
 suddenly round they wheeled 
 And halted, facing the scattered foe and drawing 
 
 together their ranks ; 
 While out from the ambush their comrades sprang 
 
 and fell on the English flanks, 
 As they followed them flushed with victory. So, all 
 
 too late they found
 
 124 Songs of the English 
 
 The trap they had fallen into. The vantage of the 
 
 ground 
 Was theirs no more, while the foe closed in and 
 
 pressed upon them sore. 
 
 Surprised, beset, outnumbered, yet fiercely they up- 
 bore 
 
 On foot against the charging knights and dealt destruc- 
 tion dire. 
 
 They had no thought now of escape, but felt one 
 fierce desire 
 
 To sate their wrath before they fell and send a long 
 array 
 
 Of Norman knights to feed the kites that hovered 
 over the fray. 
 
 So, leaving hope of life behind, they waded to their 
 
 fate 
 Through a sea of Norman slaughter and glutted their 
 
 fierce hate, 
 Mowing that field of death and doom, as the crisp 
 
 scythes mow the hay. 
 The victor Normans fell in swathes, like the grass in 
 
 June, and lay 
 In a grim and griesly carnage with a rich, red aftermath. 
 
 There were some, that knew the field right well, 
 took flight but shaped their path
 
 The Fight at Senlac 125 
 
 To a spot where the ground was broken by a gully- 
 dark and deep, 
 
 With trees and brushwood overgrown and its sides so 
 sheer and steep 
 
 That a man might fall and perish there, ere he felt 
 his footsteps sink ; 
 
 So the Normans, following heedlessly, plunged head- 
 long over the brink. 
 
 Then the English wheeled upon them with a sudden 
 and fell attack, 
 
 As they reined up their startled horses, and strove to 
 turn them back ; 
 
 And many were slain by their onslaught, and many were 
 forced by the foe 
 
 Over the edge to a hideous death in the charnel-house 
 below. 
 
 They perished in such numbers there, that the gully 
 was filled with the slain, 
 
 And, choked with the corpses of riders and steeds, lay 
 level with the plain. 
 
 But their comrades, thirsting for revenge, thronged 
 
 onwards undismayed 
 Bythe furyof the English, so the end not longwas stayed; 
 For fivefold they outnumbered them and, fighting 
 
 whiles they could, 
 The Englishmen were overborne and perished where 
 
 they stood.
 
 126 Songs of the English 
 
 There were others had seized a hillock, that rose up 
 
 out of the vale 
 And offered a little vantage ground, for its sides were 
 
 steep to scale ; 
 And, flinging stones and javelins, they kept the foe at 
 
 bay, 
 Till they gathered about them the scattered few that 
 
 struggled out of the fray. 
 Then, locking their shields together, they formed up 
 
 in a wedge ; 
 Its core was the fury of despair and it bristled with 
 
 death at the edge : 
 And, shoulder to shoulder, they ran down the slope 
 
 and battled towards the hill, 
 Where all that was left of the English host bore up 
 
 unvanquished still. 
 But the Normans closed around them and the path 
 
 was quickly barred, 
 And weary were they and wounded ; so the fight was 
 
 going hard, 
 When Leofwine gathered a chosen band and to their 
 
 rescue made, 
 Taking the Normans in front and rear : so with that 
 
 timely aid 
 They hewed a path through the midst of the foe and 
 
 out of the vale gat clear ; 
 A scant few saved from the rash pursuit that should 
 
 cost all England dear !
 
 The Fight at Senlac 127 
 
 So slowly through the valley the conflict died 
 
 away, 
 And against the hill the Norman Duke brought up his 
 
 whole array. 
 
 By this the English were too few to longer hold the 
 slope, 
 
 And the foe swarmed up on every side. Their hearts 
 beat high with hope, 
 
 As they mounted the steep that had baffled them long, 
 for at last the summit was won 
 
 They had striven to gain for seven long hours since the 
 rising of the sun. 
 
 But their warfare was not ended yet, for a grim, un- 
 broken ring 
 
 Was gathered about the standards twain where battled 
 the English King. 
 
 His banners floated above him, as he marshalled his 
 array, 
 
 And the shield-wall still confronted them with a pro- 
 mise of stern affray, 
 
 Though many a shield was cloven, or riddled through 
 and through 
 
 With the spears that had shivered upon it and the 
 arrows of death that flew. 
 
 The victory still seemed distant, for fiercely as before 
 
 The conflict raged and the shield-wall still rolled back 
 the tide of war
 
 128 Songs of the English 
 
 Till again the Normans wavered and the tide of fight 
 
 grew slack, 
 As charge after charge of their bravest knights was 
 
 baffled and beaten back. 
 
 But the Duke has bidden his squadrons halt, while the 
 
 archers ply the bow. 
 The arrows flew in a ceaseless flight like the flakes of 
 
 the driven snow : 
 But they melted away like the driving snow, as the 
 
 shield-wall met their flight, 
 And the English muttered : " It's little we reck, if they 
 
 shoot till the fall of night." 
 But the Duke rode up to the archers and bade them 
 
 shoot i' the air, 
 That their shafts might rain upon the foe and smite 
 
 them unaware : 
 There was a pause for a moment, then, hissing down 
 
 like hail, 
 The arrows showered from the sky above and smote 
 
 through helm and mail. 
 A shudder ran through the English ranks and under 
 
 that deadly rain 
 Their line began to waver and break, for the shields 
 
 they bore were vain 
 To guard them 'gainst the double death, when, e'en as 
 
 they struck at the foe,
 
 The Fight at Senlac 129 
 
 Down from above fell those terrible bolts and smote 
 
 and laid them low. 
 Yet they rallied again to the voice of the King and 
 
 stoutly kept their ground 
 And, closing the gaps, still kept at bay the foemen 
 
 circling round. 
 
 But Fate had feathered an arrow with the downfall of 
 
 » 
 
 a realm. 
 As Harold battled with shattered shield and the crest 
 
 shorn off from his helm, 
 There was a cry ; " Look up, my King ! Look up 
 
 and guard your head ! " 
 Woe for the thane that shouted and woe for the word 
 
 that was said ! 
 The King upraised his cloven shield and flung one 
 
 glance on high, 
 One hasty glance, but the bolt smote down and quiv- 
 ered in his eye. 
 He staggered and clutched at the arrow and snapped 
 
 the shaft in twain 
 And flung it away ; then, reeling back, sank down in 
 
 mortal pain 
 Betwixt his banners that streamed on the wind. So 
 
 England gat her bane ! 
 
 There were twenty knights of the Normans had 
 banded themselves by an oath 
 
 1
 
 130 Songs of the English 
 
 That the life of the perjured English king should pay 
 
 for his broken troth. 
 Close together with spears in rest they charged when 
 
 they saw him fall ; 
 There were nine of them perished in the fray, but 
 
 they broke a gap in the wall 
 And rushed on the monarch as prone he lay. Then 
 
 Leofwine sprang to his side 
 With the thane that had uttered that fatal shout and 
 
 they strove to stem the tide ; 
 And under the deadly blows they dealt the three that 
 
 were foremost died. 
 But there came a random arrow and pierced to the 
 
 heart of the thane 
 And fiercely the rest upon Leofwine pressed and the 
 
 gallant Earl was slain. 
 
 Then dauntless yet, though all was lost 'mid his 
 
 country's overthrow, 
 King Harold struggled to his feet and, striking one last 
 
 blow, 
 His battle-axe he shivered on the cloven head of his 
 
 foe : 
 And there betwixt the standards twain the Normans 
 
 ringed him round 
 And, raining upon him blow on blow, they beat him 
 
 to the ground.
 
 The Night of the Battle 131 
 
 A little the battle lingered yet, for the English 
 
 scorned to run 
 And, stubbornly fighting to the last, they perished one 
 
 by one : 
 So the Golden Dragon and Fighting Man, that had 
 
 flaunted so long in the air, 
 Were hurled to the earth, as the setting sun went 
 
 down with a lurid glare. 
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BATTLE 
 
 The Golden Dragon is torn down at last, 
 
 Never to float o'er battle-field again : 
 And from the captured mount the Normans cast 
 
 The mangled bodies of the English slain. 
 Instead they raise upon the summit bare, 
 
 Empurpled by the blood of King and Thane, 
 The Conqueror's tent ; that he may revel there 
 
 On the red height, that saw till close of day 
 The flag of England fluttering in the air 
 
 Over the last and fiercest of the fray ; 
 Waged by those dauntless few that scorned to yield, 
 
 But perished round their monarch, as he lay, 
 Pierced by a thousand wounds, upon the field 
 Under the shards of his emblazoned shield.
 
 132 Songs of the English 
 
 Wide over Senlac heath a crimson flood 
 
 Reddens the earth, wherever raged the fight, 
 And makes the vale a very lake of blood, 
 
 Ghastly and glimmering in the cold moon-light, 
 That shines upon the relics of the fray : 
 
 On slaughtered chiefs with faces wan and white 
 Upturned to heaven from the blood-stained clay ; 
 
 On splintered spears and brands and dinted mail, 
 Heaped high where'er the English turned to bay. 
 
 In blood-red characters is traced the tale 
 Of carnage : red as blood the watch-fires gleam 
 
 Upon the victor's feast ; while in the vale 
 The English welter in the ensanguined stream, 
 And o'er the field the kites and ravens scream. 
 
 All night wild bursts of noisy revelry 
 
 Sound from the hill and echo far away, 
 Where English thanes and Norman barons lie, 
 
 Deaf to the jarring notes, in grim array. 
 Their flickering torches, flaming on the air, 
 
 But half reveal the scene, yet strike dismay 
 To those two monks of Waltham and despair 
 
 To Edith of the Swan-neck, as in vain 
 They search where hope is dead. No sign is there 
 
 Of any living man o'er all the plain. 
 They will not find the King, will find at most 
 
 A mangled corpse amid a pile of slain,
 
 The Night of the Battle 133 
 
 Where, like a King, he perished at his post 
 Betwixt the standards of the English host. 
 
 At length they wander towards the lofty mound, 
 
 Where feasts the Duke in all a victor's pride. 
 The dead beneath its shadow pile the ground, 
 
 Tossed by the conquerors ruthlessly aside 
 Into the reeking hollows of the dell. 
 
 There sleep those English who unyielding died 
 In that grim carnage after Harold fell ; 
 
 And here at last the lurid torches shine 
 Upon those faces that they knew too well, 
 
 The gallant Gurth and luckless Leofwine, 
 And, pierced and hacked by many a spear and brand, 
 
 The best and bravest of Earl Godwin's line, 
 Harold the King, still clenching in his hand 
 His shivered axe, the sceptre of the land. 
 
 E'en then the ungenerous Conqueror's ruthless doom 
 
 To the dead English king denied a grave 
 In consecrated earth. A grander tomb 
 
 The Heavens had destined for the free and brave. 
 Far from the haunts of men upon the lone 
 
 Sea-coast he slumbers by the restless wave ; 
 The island cliffs his monumental stone, 
 
 The vaulted heaven his temple, while the sea, 
 Crooning a soft, sad lullaby, makes moan
 
 134 Songs of the English 
 
 As round his royal shrine she rolls. So he 
 In death as life keeps watch and ward beside 
 
 The island coast he kept so valiantly, 
 To guard whose ancient freedom he defied 
 The foe and dared the fight and, daring, died. 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. 
 London &* Edinburgh
 
 THE FIRST ENGLISH EDITION OF SAXO CRAMMATICUS. 
 
 THE FIRST NINE BOOKS OF THE DANISH 
 HISTORY OF SAXO GRAMMATICUS. 
 
 Translated by OLIVER ELTON, 
 
 Lecturer on English Literature at Owens College, Mancliester. 
 
 With some considerations on Saxo's Sources, Historical Methods, 
 
 and Folklore, by F. York Powell, Student of Christ 
 
 Church, Oxford. 
 
 8vo, cxxviii-436 pp. Cloth, uncut, 15s. net. 
 
 PRESS NOTICES. 
 
 "Among Mr. Nutt's many services to folklore studi es, thestuden 
 of Germanic mythology will be inclined to place the publication of the 
 present rendering of Saxo in the foremost rank. The pregnant-witted 
 old chronicler, whom Erasmus admired as a Latinist and Goethe as a 
 story-teller, and whom the author of Hamlet, who possibly never 
 heard of him, may be said to have honoured by implication, was 
 
 something more than the first historian of his country Saxo is 
 
 here for the first time translated into any other language than Danish: 
 and we have desired chiefly to give some idea of the immense intrinsic 
 interest of a book hitherto strange to all but scholars. We must 
 not, however, omit to do justice to the very full and valuable intro- 
 duction. The first six sections, by Mr. Elton, deal attractively with 
 the literary and historical aspects of Saxo ; the remainder, more 
 than a hundred pages, by Mr. Powell, treats his ' Folklore ' and his 
 'Mythology.' .... What he modestly calls a 'Folklore Index' 
 is in reality an elaborate survey of Saxo's matter of this kind, full of 
 stimulating comparison and suggestion." — Bookman. 
 
 " The wealth of folklore which is contained in this long narrative 
 is digested with admirable exactness and lucidity in the introduction, 
 where we may see at a glance what Saxo has to tell us of the 
 political institutions of ancient Denmark, of its customary law, its 
 war, its social life and manners, its magic and folk-science, and 
 so on. It is hardly possible to overrate the value of all this to the 
 student." — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 "The work of Saxo Grammaticus is a perfect mine of wealth for 
 the student of folklore, and Mr. Powell in his introductory matter 
 so classifies and tabulates the various subjects as to render the perusal 
 of the nine books almost a secondary business. Thus, we have 
 references to Political Institutions (kings, counsellors, earls, thanes, 
 &c); custom, law (maxims, marriage, family, and blood revenge, 
 &c.) ; the statute laws, war, social life and manners (feasts, games, 
 &c); supernatural beings (gods and goddesses, fates, giants, 
 dwarfs, &c.) ; funeral rites, marriage, and folk-science ^(spells, 
 omens, dreams, curses, &c); saws and proverbs, folk-tales." 
 
 Glasgow Evening Times. 
 
 Published by DAVID NUTT, in the Strand.
 
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