THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS.
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ow from all King Olaf's farmsHis men-at-armsGathered on the Eve of Easter;To his house at Angvalds-nessFast they press,Drinking with the royal feaster. Loudly through the wide-flung doorCame the roarOf the sea upon the Skerry;And its thunder loud and nearReached the ear,Mingling with their voices merry. "Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald,Halfred the Bald,"Listen to that song, and learn it!Half my kingdom would I give,As I live,If by such songs you would earn it! "For of all the runes and rhymesOf all times,Best I like the ocean's dirges,When the old harper heaves and rocks,His hoary locksFlowing and flashing in the surges!" Halfred answered: "I am calledThe Unappalled!Nothing hinders me or daunts me.Hearken to me, then, O King,While I singThe great Ocean Song that haunts me." "I will hear your song sublimeSome other time,"Says the drowsy monarch, yawning,And retires; each laughing guestApplauds the jest;Then they sleep till day is dawning. Pacing up and down the yard,King Olaf's guardSaw the sea-mist slowly creepingO'er the sands, and up the hill,Gathering stillRound the house where they were sleeping. It was not the fog he saw,Nor misty flaw,That above the landscape brooded;It was Eyvind Kallda's crewOf warlocks blue,With their caps of darkness hooded! Round and round the house they go,Weaving slowMagic circles to encumberAnd imprison in their ringOlaf the King,As he helpless lies in slumber. Then athwart the vapors dunThe Easter sunStreamed with one broad track of splendor!In their real forms appearedThe warlocks weird,Awful as the Witch of Endor. Blinded by the light that glared,They groped and staredRound about with steps unsteady;From his window Olaf gazed,And, amazed,"Who are these strange people?" said he. "Eyvind Kellda and his men!"Answered thenFrom the yard a sturdy farmer;While the men-at-arms apaceFilled the place,Busily buckling on their armor. From the gates they sallied forth,South and north,Scoured the island coast around them,Seizing all the warlock band,Foot and handOn the Skerry's rocks they bound them. And at eve the king againCalled his train,And, with all the candles burning,Silent sat and heard once moreThe sullen roarOf the ocean tides returning. Shrieks and cries of wild despairFilled the air,Growing fainter as they listened;Then the bursting surge aloneSounded on;--Thus the sorcerers were christened! "Sing, O Scald, your song sublime,Your ocean-rhyme,"Cried King Olaf: "it will cheer me!"Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks,"The Skerry of ShrieksSings too loud for you to hear me!"
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