Grant that no swift unguarded dart
Lay thee beneath the flooded thwart,*
Yet how unlike a nuptial day,
To stand amid the hissing spray,
And wipe and wipe its tingling brine,
And vainly blink thy pelted eyn,

And feel their stiffening lids weigh'd down
By toil no pleasure comes to crown!
Say, Gunlaug, wouldst thou give for this
The fire-side feast and bridal kiss?"

He told the father what he said,

And what replied the willing maid.

'My son," said Thorstein, "now I find Wavering with love the sea-bound mind. Away to war, if war delight,

Begone three years from Helga's sight:
And if perchance at thy return
That breast with equal transport burn,
Its wishes I no more confine..
Thine is my house, my Helga thine."
Away the tow'ring warrior flew,
Nor bade his Helga once adieu.
He felt the manly sorrows rise,
And open'd wide his gushing eyes;
He stopt a moment in the hall,
Stil the too pow'rful tears would fall.
He would have thought his fate accurst
To meet her as he met her first,
So, madly swang the sounding door,
And reacht, and reaching left, the shore.
Three years in various toils had past,
And Gunlaug hasten'd home at last.
Rafen at Upsal he had seen,

Of splendid wit and noble mien:
Rafen with pleasure he beheld,

For each in arms and verse excell'd.

Rafen he heard from sun to sun,

And why? their native land was one.

O friends! mark here how friendships end!

O lovers! never trust a friend!

In fulness of his heart he told

What treasures would his arms enfold;
How in the summer he should share
The blissful bed of maid so fair.
For, as suspicion ne'er supprest
One transport of his tuneful breast,
The low and envious he past by
With scornful or unseeing eye:
From tales alone their guile he knew,
Believing all around him true,
And fancying falsehood flourisht then,
When earth produced two-headed men.

In Sweden dwell the manliest race
That brighten earth's maternal face:
Yet never would proud Gunlaug yield
To any man in any field.

The day was fixt for his return,
And crowding friends around him burn
Their pomp and prowess to display,
And celebrate the parting day.
Amid them up a wrestler stood
And call'd to wrestle him who wou'd.
So still were all, you might have heard
The motion of the smallest bird:
Some lookt, some turn'd away the eye,
Not one among them dared reply.

A thwart is a bench for rowers.

"Come hither, friend!" said Gunlaug bold, 'O; ne'er in Iceland be it told

I stood amid the feast defied,

Nor skill nor strength nor courage tried."
The wrestler then beheld and smiled,
And answer'd thus in accent mild:
'O stranger! tho' thy heart be stout,
And none like thee sit round about,
Thou bringest to unequall'd might
A form too beauteous and too slight."

66

Well, friend, however that may be,

Let Gunlaug try his strength with thee."
They closed; they struggled; nought avail'd
The wrestler's skill, his prowess fail'd.
One leg he moved a little back
And sprang again to the attack.
Gunlaug, in trying to elude

A shock so sudden and so rude,
Avoided half the whelming weight,
But slipt aside, alas! too late.
His combatant flew with him past,
Yet round his neck one arm he cast,
And threw him headlong on the ground,
Wounded, but with no warrior's wound.
The grass and springing flow'rs amid
A rotten pointed stake was hid.
Swung by the rapid jerk in air,
His nervous leg descended there.
When Rafen saw the spouting blood
Bewilder'd in new joy he stood,
And scarce his features could controul
The rapture of a selfish soul,

Yet tended ev'ry day his couch

And emptied there the hawking-pouch,

And brought him game from lake and land

And fed the falcon on his hand.

66

'My Helga ne'er shall be his bride." "O father!" 66 Peace!" cried he, "I swear, Deluded Helga, thou shalt ne'er."

A swoon her swelling bosom smote, And serpents seem'd to clasp her throat, And underneath the father's chair Stream'd on his dog her auburn hair. Then Rafen raised her in his arms, And gazed and gloated on her charms. "Gaze: she is thine," said Thorstein fierce,

"If she be Gunlaug's 'tis in verse."

She wept all night; her woe increast
When in the morn she saw the priest.
O"father! pause to break my vow..

I know his heart.. ah! could'st but thou!

By all divine, all human laws,
Kindest and best of fathers, pause.
If Rafen loves, he loves the dead,
I live not for his hated bed."

At early dawn the youth she lost
Arrived upon his native coast.
Blessing his fortune to survive,
And on the appointed day arrive,
He hung around his father's neck

And groan'd the thoughts he could not speak;
And as his neck he hung around

The father's tears dropt o'er the wound.
The servants came with anxious heed,
And brought their lord the luscious mead,
Pray'd not to issue forth so soon,
But eat and drink and sleep till noon;
And mention'd other valiant lords
Who dozed thus long upon their swords,
Yet ne'er had suffer'd gash nor prick,
Nor bruise, unless from hazel-stick.
He was persuaded; for his brain
Floated in firy floods of pain,
From hopes, three long years afloat,
Now, by one evil turn, remote.
He was persuaded; for he knew
Whose was of all true hearts most true.
'Then strew'd he bear-skins on the stone,
And bade the tardy men begone.
The servants watch his eyelids close,
They watch the flush of bland repose,
They raise his shaggy pillow high'r,
With tender caution trim the fire,
And (for his breath might be opprest)
Pick out the pine-tree from the rest,
And fan the flame, nor fear the smoke
From ash well-dried and shipwreck oak.
A frolic maid was passing by,
And, as she saw the hero lie,
His arms and armour thrown around,
Upon the bench, the couch, the ground,
Removed the clinking hawberk mail,
And took a wolf-skin from a nail;
Across his throat she placed the teeth
And tuckt the clasping claws beneath,
And would have kist him, but she fear'd
To tickle with her breast his beard.

Sound was his sleep; at length he woke, And thus, in hurried accent, spoke.

"What means, my men, the noise I hear? Nearer the window. . still more near. Despach. . I feel no pain.. despach .. Why look upon that idle scratch? Ay, Rafen and his friends are come, I know, to bid me welcome home. Oft has he trod the sunless dew, And hail'd at last my bark in view. O Rafen, my best friend, for this Shall Helga give thy brow a kiss."

Then in rusht Thorkell "Stay thee, lord! Nor blast thee at the sight abhorr'd.

I thought that heaven could send no curse
Like slighted love; it sends a worse.
Now is my joy what was my pain,
To find so soon I loved in vain.
Rafen leads homeward from the shrine
Thy Helga.. for her heart is thine."

Gunlaug with pleasure heard him speak,
And smiles relumed his faded cheek.

Thorkell, who watcht him all the while,
With more than wonder saw him smile.
"Thorkell, I thank thee," he replied,
What, have we both, then, lost the bride?
No, generous rival, neither quite
Hath understood the nuptial rite.

Rafen leads homeward from the shrine
My Helga, for her heart is mine."

Then Thorkell shook his head and sigh'd,
"Ill the suspicious soul betide!
But he whom no suspicions move,
Loves not, or with ill-omen'd love.
These eyes, that yet in wonder swim,
Saw the fair Helga sworn to him."

His horror Gunlaug could not check, But threw his arm round Thorkell's neck. "O loose me, let me fall, my friend, Cried he, "let life and sorrow end." Now rage, now anguish, seized his soul, Now love again resumed the whole; Now would he upon Helga's name Pour vengeance; tears for vengeance came. "Thorkell, two days alone I wait, The third shall close with Rafen's fate. I scorn to stay for strength restored.. Go.. at the corner whet my sword."

On the third morn their friends decreed That one or both of them should bleed. On the third morn what pangs opprest The tender lover's valiant breast! His only hope on earth below To die, and dying slay the foe. He slept not, nor had ever slept

Since the first day, but said, and wept..
"Arouse thee, Gunlaug, why complain!
She never can be thine again!

The bark shall lean upon the shore,
Nor wave dash off the rested oar:

The flowers shall ope their sparkling eyes,
And dance in robes of richest dyes,
And, flying back, again shall meet
The south-wind's kisses, soft and sweet:
Young eagles build their first fond nest,
And sink from rapine into rest:
Ah, see them soar above my head!
Their hopes are come, but mine are fled!
Arouse thee, Gunlaug, haste away,
And rush into the mortal fray."

From far the listening Rafen heard
His rival's armour ring, nor fear'd.
Fear may be stifled in the breast,
But shame burns fiercer when supprest.
Onward he rusht and dared defy
His arm, but dared not meet his eye.
Madly he struck and blind with guilt,
And his blade shiver'd from the hilt.
O'er Gunlaug's shield with action weak
It fell, and falling razed his cheek.
Away disdainful Gunlaug turn'd,
And cried, while rage within him burnt,
"Rafen, take up thy broken sword;
Live; see thou Helga be restored.
Ah, why?" then to himself he said;
"O Helga, beauteous blue-eyed maid!
Sure were the tender words of yore,
Ah, never can I speak them more!
By Rafen's side hath Helga slept,
Upon my fruit the snail hath crept,

He fixt his eyes upon the ground,
And thus confest, in faltering sound.
"'Twas base: but how could Rafen bear
That Gunlaug be to Helga dear?"

Paus'd had the conqueror: he had stood
And slowly wiped the welling blood,
With patience, pity, grief, had heard,
And had but Rafen spared that word,
His youthful head had not lain low..
Gunlaug scarce felt the fatal blow;
But hearing how could Rafen bear
That Gunlaug be to Helga dear!
Rage swell'd his heart and fired his eye,
And thro' the forest rang the cry,
"What! tho' thy treachery caught her vow,
God's vengeance! Rafen! e'er wert thou?"
Then hatred rising high with pain,
He smote the traitor's helm in twain.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

CLIFTON.

CLIFTON in vain thy varied scenes invite,
The mossy bank, dim glade, and dizzy hight;
The sheep that, starting from the tufted thyme,
Untune the distant churchis mellow chime;
As o'er each limb a gentle horrour creeps,
And shakes above our heads the craggy steeps.
Pleasant I've thought it to pursue the rower
While light and darkness seize the changeful oar;
The frolic Naids drawing from below
A net of silver round the black canoe.
Now the last lonely solace must it be

To watch pale evening brood o'er land and sea,
Then join my friends and let those friends believe
My cheeks are moistened by the dews of eve.

TO IANTHE.

FESULAN IDYL.

HERE, where precipitate Spring with one light bound

Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires;
And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,
Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,
And softer sighs, that know not what they want,
Under a wall, beneath an orange-tree
Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones
Of sights in Fiesole right up above,
While I was gazing a few paces off

At what they seemed to show me with their nods,
Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,
A gentle maid came down the garden-steps
And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.
I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth
To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,
(Such I believed it must be ;) for sweet scents
Are the swift vehicles of stil sweeter thoughts,
And nurse and pillow the dull memory
That would let drop without them her best stores.
They bring me tales of youth and tones of love,
And 'tis and ever was my wish and way
To let all flowers live freely, and all die,
Whene'er their Genius bids their souls depart,
Among their kindred in their native place.
I never pluck the rose; the violet's head
Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank
And not reproacht me; the ever-sacred cup
Of the pure lily hath between my hands
Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of gold.
I saw the light that made the glossy leaves
More glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek
Warmed by the eye intent on its pursuit ;
I saw the foot, that, altho half-erect
From its grey slipper, could not lift her up
To what she wanted: I held down a branch
And gathered her some blossoms, since their
hour

Was come, and bees had wounded them, and flies

Of harder wing were working their way thro
And scattering them in fragments under foot.
So crisp were some, they rattled unevolved,
Others, ere broken off, fell into shells,
For such appear the petals when detacht,

room,

And like snow not seen thro, by eye or sun:

gloom;

While indistinct lie rude and cultured lands,
The ripening harvest and the hoary sands;
Alone, and destitute of every page
That fires the poet, or informs the sage,
Where shall my wishes, where my fancy rove,
Rest upon past or cherish promist love?
Alas! the past I never can regain,
Wishes may rise and tears may flow in vain.
Fancy, that shews her in her early bloom,
Throws barren sunshine o'er the unyielding tomb.
What then would passion, what would reason,
do?

Sure, to retrace is worse than to pursue.
Here will I sit, till heaven shall cease to lour,
And happier Hesper bring the appointed hour;
Gaze on the mingled waste of sky and sea,
Think of my love, and bid her think of me.

Whether for me to look at or to take
She knew not, nor did I; but taking it
Would best have solved (and this she felt) her
doubts.

I dared not touch it; for it seemed a part
Of her own self; fresh, full, the most mature
Of blossoms, yet a blossom; with a touch
To fall, and yet unfallen.

She drew back
The boon she tendered, and then, finding not
The ribbon at her waist to fix it in,
Dropt it, as loth to drop it, on the rest.