APPENDIX. (continued 2)

Was to me nothing

If I lived not with her!

XCIX.

“To the court, Odin,

Come towards the eventide

If thou wilt woo me

All will be ruined

If we do not in private

Know how to manage.”

C.

Thither I sped again;

Happy I thought myself,

More so than I knew of,

For I believed

I had half won her favour

And the whole of her thoughts.

CI.

So again came I,

When the quarrelsome people

All were awake.

With candles burning

And piled-up firewood

Received she my visit.

CII.

A few morrows after,

When again I went thither,

All the house-folk were sleeping.

There found I a dog,

Of the fair maiden’s

Bound on the bed.

CIII.

Few are so noble

But that their fancy

May undergo change.

Many a good girl

When she is well known

Is deceitful towards men.

CIV.

That I experienced

When the quick-witted maiden

I decoyed into danger.

She heaped reproach on me,

The merry maiden,

And I won her never.

CV.

Gay at home

And liberal, must

Be the man of wisdom.

Full of talk and pleasant memories

Will he be ofttimes,

With much cheerful converse.

CVI.

He is called Fimbulfambi

Who but few things can utter;

’Tis the way of the simple.

I was with the old giants,

Now am I returned;

There was I not silent,

With affluence of speech

I strove to do my best

In the hall of Suttung.

CVII.

Gunlöd gave me,

On a golden chair seated,

A draught of mead delicious;

277But the return was evil

Which she from me experienced,

With all her faithfulness,

With all her deep love.

CVIII.

I let words of anger

By me be spoken,

And knawed the rock.

Above and below me

Went the paths of the giants;

Thus ventured I life.

CIX.

Dear-bought song

Have I much rejoiced in;

All succeeds to the will;

Because the Odrejrer

Now have ascended

To the old, holy earth.

CX.

Uncertain seems it

If I had escaped

From the courts of the giants

Had I not been blessed by

The dear love of Gunlöd,

She, whom I embraced.

CXI.

On the day following

Went the Rimthursar

To ask the gods council,

In the halls lofty;

Ask whether Bölverk were

Come mid the mighty gods,

Or if Suttung had slain him.

CXII.

A holy ring-oath

I mind me, gave Odin.

Now who can trust him.

Suttung is cheated;

His mead has been stolen

And Gunlöd is weeping.”^[49]

278

III. POEMS ON NORTHERN SUBJECTS.

LAY OF THE VIKINGS.

BY MRS. ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON.^[50]

In an unceasing, ebbless flow, around

The peaceful homes of Thulé, her best safety

Roll Arctic billows, rearing giant crests

In proud defiance—bulwarks impassable

Against the intruder’s steps. Fiercely and bold,

Even as a lioness doth guard her ’fenceless young,

Do they, the unconquerable surges, foam and champ,

And keep unslumbering vigils round the graves—

The restless, storm-rocked graves—of the Vikings

Their sons—those tameless spirits of the past—

Whose dirge their sighing parent hourly waileth

As erst they rode exultant on his bosom.

Boldest and noblest of earth’s kind were ye—

Conquerors of nations—fathers of a race

Of giant princes—ah! how fallen now!

Meet were it that your honoured dust should slumber

279In this your polar cradle; rocked by northern gales,

Lulled by the sighing surges whose strong hands

Have hung a cloudy curtain o’er your rest.

Meet were it that the springtide rain should weep

O’er the degeneracy of your race—

The scattered glory of your Fatherland!

Fitting were it that the dark thunder-cloud

Should be the swift-winged chariot upon which

Your spirits love to ride—your path meanwhile

Lit by the fitful rays of yonder cold

Mysterious, flickering night-lamp, Borealis.

Nought less sublime, less wildly grand than these

Would be in harmony with your proud spirits.

Would ye not laugh to scorn the spicy breezes

Of India’s drowsy clime, or soft Italia’s

Radiant skies?—and ah! methinks ye whisper,

Were but the ocean charmed, that he should cease

His mournful lullaby around your pillow;

Or did old Winter’s gales less rudely blow,

Ye then would rise in vapoury clouds, and leave

A land unworthy even to be your tomb.

VÍKÍNGA BRAGUR.^[51]

Óðfluga hraðar

Öldur streyma

Íshafs hins nyrðra,

Og öflugust vígi

Byggja um kyrrar

Byggðir Thúlu.

280Hamramar æ

Þær hreykja kollum,

Og öruggar varnir

Mót árásarmönnum

Búa, þær aldrei

Bila kunna.

Sem vakir ljónsinna

Varnarlausum

Ungum yfir

Með afarmóði,

Freyða svo öldur

Ósigrandi

Halda þær vörð

Um Víkinga leiði;

Því blunda í klettum

Brimi skelfdum

Harðúðgir niðjar

Frá horfnum dögum;

Fékk þeim ei hugur

Í brjósti bilað;

Harmar því móðer

Og hryggðar saungva

Aldrei fær slitið,

Er hún minnist

Þeirra, er áður

Ungir léku

Meginglaðir

Á móðurbrjósti.

Leit ei nokkur

Af niðjum jarðar

Aðra tignari

Eður knárri

Yður, sem þjóðir

Unnuð sverðum,

Feður jötna,

Er fólki styrðu.

Horrfinn er heiður,

En heiðraðar moldir

Náðu hvíld hæfri

Und norðurheimsskauti;

Í vöggu þeim velta

Vindar stríðir;

Vögguljóð kveða

Veinandi unnir,

Þær er með mundum

Meginstyrkvum

Lögðu skýblæur

Á leiði niðja.

Var það að verðúng,

Er varandi unnir

Yðar æ gráta

Ættar hnignun,

Og frama horfinn

Fósturjarðar.

Það og vel hæfði,

Er þrumuskýin,

Vagnar þau urðu

Vængjum búnir,

Yðar sem aka

Andar glaðir;

En lýsa á vegi

Ljósgeislar kaldir

Leiptrandi Norður—

Ljósa skærra.

Sízt fær lægra neitt

Eður svipminna

Yðar samboðið

Anda háum.

Munduð þér kýma

Megnum hlátri

Að ilmandi vindum,

Um er þjóta

Ofurdrúnga lopt

Indíafoldar,

Eður geislandi

Uppheims boga,

Yfir er breiðist

Ítalska grund.

Er mér sem heyri

Yður hvísla:

281Ægir ef fengi,

Umvafinn fjötrum,

Sorgleg ei lengur

Súngið kvæði

Þau um hægindi

Heyrast yðar,

Og aldinn vetur

Ei ólma léti

Geysa svo vinda,

Sem gjörir hann nú;

Munduð þér þá

Í mekkjum sudda

Hefja látast

Frá hauðri burtn,

Yðra óhæfu

Gröf að geyma.

THE VIKING’S RAVEN.^[52]

BY MRS. ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON.

Beside a weird-like Norway bay,

Where wild and angry billows play,

And seldom meet the night and day,

A Raven sat.

He was the last of all his race

That lingered in that lonely place;

Age, grief, were stamped upon his face,

Sad, desolate.

282Yet to that darkling norland sky

He raised an undimmed, fearless eye,

As though he proudly would defy

And battle fate.

His mate long dead, his nestlings flown,

The moss had o’er his eyry grown;

And all the scenes his youth had known

Were changed and old.

For he had heard the vikings all

Responding to the mystic call,

That summoned to great Odin’s hall

Those heroes bold.

He oft had skimmed the Polar seas;

And Harold’s sail aye wooed the breeze,

To follow where the Raven flees

On tireless wing.

But victory ceased on them to smile.—

On Hialtland’s rugged, rock-bound isle

He saw them raise the funeral pile

Of the Sea-King.

· · · ·

Once his unerring pinions led

To where the shafts of battle sped;

But, when the conquered Northmen fled,

He scorned to flee;

But watched where brave young Ingolf lies,

With drooping heart and fading eyes,

Pining for his native skies,

A captive he.

283A maiden of the sunny South

There loved and would have freed the youth,

But he was wed to Gulda Brûth.

His norland bride.

And she, across the stormy main,

Had turned her weary eyes in vain;—

Her hero ne’er returned again:

And so she died.

No Saga tells where rests the brave,

No mourner weeps by Ingolf’s grave;

The Raven’s sable pinions wave

There all alone.

And then he spread his pinions wide

Upon the free north wind to ride,

With mien erect, and eye of pride;

His task well done.

And nought around, howe’er so bright,

Could win his stay, or stop his flight

From where he saw the pole-star’s light

Shine o’er the north.

When, hark! a wild exulting cry

Falls on his ear; his piercing eye

A burning vessel can descry

That flashes forth,

Like to the fitful spirit-gleam

Of the Aurora’s restless beam;

But ah! he knows it is no dream,

And droops his wing.

284Beside the blazing spectral pyre—

A spark from Baldur’s sacred fire

Lighteth to death a Norseman sire,—

Brave old Thorsteing.

His arms are folded o’er his breast,

And on his noble brow doth rest

The shadow from his warrior crest

That waves on high.

His glances on the ocean fell;

Fondly he marked its rising swell—

That ocean he had loved so well—

Then raised his eye.

And when he saw the faithful bird,

The soul of song within him stirred.

Hast thou once more returned,

Thou trusty friend, to me?

What news hast thou of Ingolf,

My son, the brave and free?

Hath he in battle fallen,

His good sword by his side?

Or, captive, is he sighing

To see once more his bride?

Ah! no, his soul would scorn

In captive chain to lie;

I know he hath been borne

To Valhalla’s halls on high,

And I’ll meet him in the sky

E’re the morn.

285Alas! with us will perish

The Vikings’ race and name,

That long made foemen tremble

When Scalds rehearsed our fame.

And thou, dark bird of omen,

Back to our country hie,

And tell her recreant children

How Norsemen ought to die.

But to guard my mountain home

My spirit yet will soar,

And on old ocean roam

As in the days of yore.

Oft to visit yon loved shore

I will come.

The song hath ceased, and Thorsteing brave

Is sleeping now in Odin’s cave.

Athwart the sky the lightnings flash,

While down the Fiords the thunders crash,

And sullen waves in fury lash

The fretted shore.

Where is that Raven, grim and lone?—

Uprooted is the old grey stone.

Where late he sat, and he is gone

To come no more.

286

DEATH OF THE OLD NORSE KING.

BY A.J.S.

Haste, clothe me, jarls, in my royal robe;

My keen biting sword gird ye.

Haste! for I go to the Fatherland,

Both king of earth and sea.

My blade so true, with a spirit-gleam—

Death lurks in its skinkling fire—

I grasp thee now as of olden time

In conflict hot and dire.

I’ve trampled foes; from their blanchéd sculls

Now drain off the dark-red wine;

Fall bravely all in the battle field,

Be crowned with wreaths divine!

My eyes wax dim, and my once jet locks

Now wave with a silvery white;

Feeble, my arm cannot wield the blade

I dote on with delight.

Grim Hela breathes a chilling shade,

I hear the Valkyrii sing;

Now to the halls of the brave I’ll rise,

As fits an old Norse King.

Heimdallar’s ship, with the incense wood,

Prepare as a pyre for me;

Blazing, I’ll rise to the Odin halls,

At once in the air and sea!

They’ve lit slow fire in the incense ship;

The sun has just sunk in the wave;

Set are the sails, he is launched away,

This hero-king so brave!

287The death chaunt floats in the deep blue skies,

All wild, in the darkling night;

Fearful there glares from the blazing ship

A wild red lurid light.

It shimmering gleams o’er the lone blue sea,

The flickers shoot wild and high—

Odin hath welcomed the brave old king

To his palace in the sky!

The bale-flames die, and a silence deep

Now floats on the darkness cold,

Where so fearless and free, on the deep blue sea,

Had died this Norse king bold!

1845.

Dauði gamals Norðmanna-konungs.^[53]

1.

Skundið þér, jarlar!

Skjótt mig búið

Skrúðklœðum, beztu

Skarti jöfurs,

Og meginbitrum

Mœki girðið;

Því heim vil eg halda

Til húsa föður,

Á láði bæði og lög

Lávarður kjörinn.

Tryggvan, gljáandi

Tek eg mœki—

Af honum leiptrar

Ólmur dauði—

Hann vil eg nú

Í höndum bera,

Sem áður í grimmum

Oddaleikum.

2.

Hefi eg fjendur

Fótum troðna;

Myrkrauðar drekka

Megið nú veigar

Skýgðum af hausa—

Skeljum þeirra.

Hnígið sem hetjur

Í hildarleiki,

Örlög þá kalla,

Æðstum heiðri

Krýndir af goðum

Þeim á Gimli búa.

Daprast mér sjón

288Og dökkvir áður

Leika silfurlit

Lokkar á höfði;

Armur aflvana

Ei fær valdið

Mœki, þeim unað

Mestum veldur

3.

Hefur upp myrkva

Frá Helju kaldan;

Að berst eyrum

Ómur Valkyrju;

Hefur mig hugur

Til hetjusala;

Svo ber Norðmanna

Nýtum jöfri

Aldurhnignum

Æfi Gúka.

Heimdalls þer snekkju

Hraðir búið,

Og ylmandi látið

Eldskíð loga;

Vil eg þar nar

Á vita brenna;

En hugur mig ber

Til hallar Óðins

Til upphimins jafnt

Og Unnar sala.

4.

Brennur skíðeldur

Á skipi kveiktur;

Mær hverfur sól

Í marar skauti;

Undin eru segl,

Ytt frá landi

Siglir þar hetjan,

Hilmir frægur.

Nötra ná hljód

Í niðmyrkvu lopti;

Bregður á býsnum

Í blindmyrkri nætur;

Leiptra geigvænir

Logar frá snekkju,

Og dökkrauðri miðla

Dauðaskýmu.

5.

Brunnar einskipa

Um bláan Ægi

Umvafin skeið

Í ógna blossum;

En Óðinn fagnandi

Aldinn sjóla

Til himinsala

Hefir leiddan,

Dvína burt logar

Og djúpri lystur

Megin þögn yfir

Myrkva kaldan;

Þar í myrkbláu

Mararskauti;

Hilmir Norðmanna,

Hetjan frægust,

Hugprúður, frjáls,

Réd Sielju gista.

289