Part 23 (1/2)

Year by year the Viking's raven Made that mystic spot his rest; Year by year within the eyot Brooded he as on a nest; And no man would ever venture To invade the lone domain Where in solitary scheming The grim bird of doom did reign.

It was Yule-time, and the Isles' folk Sained[5] the children by their fires; Lit the yatlin,[6] filled the daffock,[7]

As of ealdon did their sires.

There was wa.s.sail in each dwelling, And the song and dance went round; And the laugh, the jest, the music, Rose above the tempest's sound.

Ho! the winds are raging wildly, Ho! the thunders are awake-- Tis the night when trows[8] have licence Over saitor,[9] hill, and brake.

Power is theirs on land and water, While the Yule-star leads the night; For where trows may trice their circlet There they claim exclusive right.

Yelling round the Hel-ya Water, Sobbing by its eyot drear, Screaming with the tempest-furies, Over hillock, over mere; On the wings of silent snow-flakes, On the bulwands[10] from the rill, By the haunted Hel-ya Water Flit those heralds of all ill.

There the dismal bird of boding Is exulting with the storm.

Who will dare to-night, and conquer The old raven's sable form?

Who will venture to the vatn,[11]

Where the phantoms of unrest Set their weird and magic signet On each knoll and wavelet's crest?

See, young Yaspard's eye is blazing, With the fires so fleet and free: Come of Magnus, yarl and sea-king, Son of Norland scald is he: Well he knows the gruesome story Of that evil-omened bird, And of trows and vengeful demons He hath dreamed and he hath heard.

But his heart is hot and steadfast, And his hands are strong to try; He will dare with fiends to combat-- He will dare, and he will die.

Forth against the howling tempest, Forth against each evil power, Wild and reckless, went young Yaspard In a dark unguarded hour.

Cold the surf of Hel-ya Water Breaks around the Norseman's grave, And the boy is lifted rudely By each charmed and chafing wars.

Now he struggles boldly onward, Now he nears the haunted isle, Where in grim and boding silence Waits the bird of woe and wile.

Fain is Yaspard to encounter That fierce harbinger of gloom-- Fain to dare the spells of magic, Fain to foil the wrath of doom.

Hark! the solitary raven Croaks a note of death and pain, And a human call defiant Answers from the flood again.

Morning breaks: a snow-drift cover All the drear deserted earth; In young Yaspard's home is weeping, Quenched the fire upon his hearth.

But he broke the spells of evil, And he found a hero's grave.

When you pa.s.s the Hel-ya Water Cast a pebble to its wave.” [12]

[1] Haven.

[2] Holy lake.

[3] Lowland mists meet each other.

[4] Wanderer.

[5] Guarded by Christian rites from evil spirits, who are supposed to have great licence at Yule.

[6] Candles used on festive occasions.