Stung with denial, Gunlaug went,
But breathed no word of discontent.
"Thorstein," he cried, "I leave my home, Yet not for shelter am I come; Thorstein, I come to learn of thee The dangers of the land and sea. Speed thee! together let us go,
And Thorstein's shall be Gunlaug's foe." "Brave youth," said Thorstein, "stay awhile..
I love too well my native isle ; Whether the sandy dog-rose blows
Or sparkle fierce the starry snows; And never shall this hand again Direct the rudder o'er the main."
Thus as he spake, he would have prest The hand of his aspiring guest: But Gunlaug cried, "I will not here
Partake thy hospitable cheer: For war's, for danger's gifts I came, Keep thou thy fears, leave me thy fame."
Aloud the manly veteran laught;
"Come! come!" said he, "one social draught! My fears I'll keep that none shall see, And I will leave my fame to thee."
Out sprang the tears from Gunlaug's eyes: "O noble Thorstein, bold and wise! Shall Gunlaug dare to tarry here? Shall Helga see this blush, this tear?" At Helga's and her father's name, The beauteous blue-eyed virgin came, No word had then the youth to say, But turn'd his downcast face away. He heard her sandal sip the floor, And ere she reacht the palace-door, His heaving bosom could not brook Reproach or wonder from her look.
And couldst thou, Gunlaug, thus refrain And seek'st thou conquests o'er the main? She saw, but knew not his distress, And eyed him much, nor loved him less. Long stood, and longer would have staid The tender-hearted blue-eyed maid: But fear her stifling throat opprest, And something smote her bounding breast. Far off, alone, she would remain, But thought it time to turn again. "Yet better not perhaps," she thought, "For fear the stranger hold me naught. I dare not wish, they call it sin, But.. would my father bring him in !" He came; their friendship grew; he woo'd; Nor Helga's gentle heart withstood. Her milk-white rabbit oft he fed, And crumbled fine his breakfast-bread; And oft explored, with anxious view, Spots where the crispest parsley grew. Her restive horse he daily rid, And quite subdued her stubborn kid, Who lately dared to quit her side, And once with painful rashness tried Its ruddy horn against her knee, Bold as its desp'rate sire could be. Mosses he knew of every race,
And brought them from their hiding-place, And mingled every sweet-soul'd plant On mountain-top, or meadow slant,
And checker'd (while they flowered) her room With purple thyme and yellow broom.
There is a creature, dear to heaven, Tiny and weak, to whom is given To enjoy the world while suns are bright And shut grim winter from its sight.. Tamest of hearts that beat on wilds, Tamer and tenderer than a child's.. The dormouse . . this he loved and taught (Docile it is the day it's caught, And fond of music, voice or string) To stand before and hear her sing, Or lie within her palm half-closed, Until another's interposed, And claim'd the alcove wherin it lay, Or held it with divided sway.
All living things are ministers To him whose hand attunes the spheres And guides a thousand worlds, and binds (Work for ten godheads!) female minds. I know not half the thoughts that rose, Like tender plants neath vernal snows, In Helga's breast, and, if I knew, I would draw forth but very few. Yet, when the prayers were duly said And rightly blest the marriage-bed, She doubted not that Heaven would give To her as pretty things as live.
The cautious father long delay'd The wishes of the youth and maid. His patient hand, like her's, unrolls The net to catch the summer shoals; And both their daily task compare, And daily win each other's hair. One morn, arising from her side, He, as he paid the forfeit, cried, "Behold my hair too trimly shine, Behold my hands are white as thine. O! could I loose our blissis bar!
I burn for wedlock and for war."
"For war," said she, "when lovers burn,
To wedlock, Gunlaug, few return.
In Samsa brave Hialmar lies,
Nor Inga's daughter closed his eyes. By sixteen wounds of raging fire The enchanted sword of Angantyre, Withering, laid waste his fruitless bloom, And housed the hero in the tomb. Oh Oddur, said the dying chief, Take off my ring, my time is brief; My ring, if smaller, might adorn The plighted hand of Ingebiorn. Swift to Sigtuna flew the friend, And sorely wept Hialmar's end. By Mæleren's blue lake he found The virgin sitting on the ground. A garment for her spouse she wove, And sang Ah speed thee, gift of love! In anguish Oddur heard her sing, And turn'd his face and held the ring. Back fell the maiden; well she knew What fatal tidings must ensue; When Oddur raised her, back she fell, And died, the maiden loved so well. Now gladly, swore the generous chief, I witness death beguiling grief; I never thought to smile again By thy blue waters, Maleren! But grant that on the hostile strand
Thy bosom meet no biting brand,
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."
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.
'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,
Here too the wise and old impede The brave in lawless fray to bleed. By Sota's shore their course they take And anchor near Dyngiunes lake. There spred the heath its evener ground, And purer water there was found. They meet; and all their friends unite In the full fury of the fight,
'Till with the champions none remain But the sore wounded on the plain. The chiefs had closed, nor space was now That either urge the deadly blow; But oft they struggle, breast to breast, Oft give, unwilling, mutual rest. Gunlaug with desperate strain recoil'd, Yet his free force and aim were foil'd; Else had his sword athwart the side Of Rafen oped life's sluices wide. The foot he struck, so far he sprung, The foot upon its tendon hung: He stagger'd just within his reach Stood, chosen for the shade, a beech: He shrunk against it, and his foot Was resting on the twisted root. 'Now yield thee," loud the hero cried, "Yield; and resign the blooming bride."
'True, on these terms we fought before, Said he, "but now we fight for more. This day life only shall suffice, And, Gunlaug, he who kills not, dies. Life yet is left me, and the worst I suffer now, is fainting thirst." Eager the combat to renew, Fast to the lake then Gunlaug flew, There from his neck the helm unbraced, Nor, though he thirsted, staid to taste: Prone, and on tottering knee, he stoopt, With vigorous arm the surface scoopt, And swiftly to his rival bore
The clear cold water, running o'er. By treachery yet untaught to doubt, With his right arm he held it out. Valour and praise and pride forsook The soul of Rafen, fierce he strook His generous rival's naked head, And (for the dying are not dead) Gunlaug was fell'd; the unsated foe Strove hard to follow up the blow:
* According to the laws of duel in Iceland, he who His foot denies his deadly hate, gave the first wound was gainer of the suit.
"A jotun." The jotuns were giants: their existence is not fabulous. In the north at all times have
existed men of enormous stature. We ourselves have
seen them from Ireland; our fathers have seen them, our children will see them. That the number was much greater formerly cannot be doubted; but it must always have been very disproportionate to that of ordinary men. These would fear them, lie in ambush
for them, persecute them, and, whenever they could do it with advantage, combat them, until, where their numbers once were formidable, not a single one remained. Where they were fewer, as they were in Ireland, their alliance would rather be sought against a common enemy, and they would be objects more of curiosity than of terror. In peaceful times their stature and strength would, after a few generations, diminish from inactivity; and mothers at last would produce creatures of nearly or quite the common size; yet occasionally one resembling the old stock would reappear.
Ormstunga. Gunlaug was called so, from the sharpness of his satire.
And doubt and horror round him wait. Gunlaug pusht faintly from his breast The shield that struggling life opprest. The gales that o'er Dyngiunes play Recall his roving soul today. Up would he start; his wound denies; Fresh shadows float before his eyes: On his right elbow now he leans; Now brighten the surrounding scenes: Trees, mountains, skies, no more are mixt The lake, and earth, and foe, stand fixt. His silence then he sternly broke, And thus, his eye on Rafen, spoke. "Rafen, with powers renew'd I rise: Yes, traitor! he who kills not, dies. Yet would I leave a little space, To hear thee own this deed was base."
Now first in speech was Rafen slow.. Wrung with remorse and weak with woe,
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.
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.
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,
WHILE the winds whistle round my cheerless Unbending, brittle, lucid, white like snow,
And like snow not seen thro, by eye or sun:
And the pale morning droops with winter's Yet every one her gown received from me
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.
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