Part 39 (2/2)
”The s.h.i.+p, well-laden as bark need be, Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea;-- The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, And gaily the garland[1] is fluttering aloft: Seven good fishes have spouted their last, And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast;[2]
Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall,-- And three for Burgh-Westra, the choicest of all.”
”Now the powers above look down and protect us!” said Bryce Snailsfoot; ”for it is mair than woman's wit that has spaed out that ferly. I saw them at North Ronaldshaw, that had seen the good bark, the Olave of Lerwick, that our worthy patron has such a great share in that she may be called his own in a manner, and they had broomed[3] the s.h.i.+p, and, as sure as there are stars in heaven, she answered them for seven fish, exact as Norna has telled us in her rhyme!”
”Umph--seven fish exactly? and you heard it at North Ronaldshaw?” said Captain Cleveland, ”and I suppose told it as a good piece of news when you came hither?”
”It never crossed my tongue, Captain,” answered the pedlar; ”I have kend mony chapmen, travelling merchants, and such like, neglect their goods to carry clashes and clavers up and down, from one countryside to another; but that is no traffic of mine. I dinna believe I have mentioned the Olave's having made up her cargo to three folks since I crossed to Dunrossness.”
”But if one of those three had spoken the news over again, and it is two to one that such a thing happened, the old lady prophesies upon velvet.”
Such was the speech of Cleveland, addressed to Magnus Troil, and heard without any applause. The Udaller's respect for his country extended to its superst.i.tions, and so did the interest which he took in his unfortunate kinswoman. If he never rendered a precise a.s.sent to her high supernatural pretensions, he was not at least desirous of hearing them disputed by others.
”Norna,” he said, ”his cousin,” (an emphasis on the word,) ”held no communication with Bryce Snailsfoot, or his acquaintances. He did not pretend to explain how she came by her information; but he had always remarked that Scotsmen, and indeed strangers in general, when they came to Zetland, were ready to find reasons for things which remained sufficiently obscure to those whose ancestors had dwelt there for ages.”
Captain Cleveland took the hint, and bowed, without attempting to defend his own scepticism.
”And now forward, my brave hearts,” said the Udaller; ”and may all have as good tidings as I have! Three whales cannot but yield--let me think how many hogsheads”----
There was an obvious reluctance on the part of the guests to be the next in consulting the oracle of the tent.
”Gude news are welcome to some folks, if they came frae the deil himsell,” said Mistress Baby Yellowley, addressing the Lady Glowrowrum,--for a similarity of disposition in some respects had made a sort of intimacy betwixt them--”but I think, my leddy, that this has ower mickle of rank witchcraft in it to have the countenance of douce Christian folks like you and me, my leddy.”
”There may be something in what you say, my dame,” replied the good Lady Glowrowrum; ”but we Hialtlanders are no just like other folks; and this woman, if she be a witch, being the Fowd's friend and near kinswoman, it will be ill taen if we haena our fortunes spaed like a' the rest of them; and sae my nieces may e'en step forward in their turn, and nae harm dune. They will hae time to repent, ye ken, in the course of nature, if there be ony thing wrang in it, Mistress Yellowley.”
While others remained under similar uncertainty and apprehension, Halcro, who saw by the knitting of the old Udaller's brows, and by a certain impatient shuffle of his right foot, like the motion of a man who with difficulty refrains from stamping, that his patience began to wax rather thin, gallantly declared, that he himself would, in his own person, and not as a procurator for others, put the next query to the Pythoness. He paused a minute--collected his rhymes, and thus addressed her:
CLAUD HALCRO.
”Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Thou hast conn'd full many a rhyme, That lives upon the surge of time: Tell me, shall my lays be sung, Like Hacon's of the golden tongue, Long after Halcro's dead and gone?
Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own One note to rival glorious John?”
The voice of the sibyl immediately replied, from her sanctuary,
NORNA.
”The infant loves the rattle's noise; Age, double childhood, hath its toys; But different far the descant rings, As strikes a different hand the strings.
The Eagle mounts the polar sky-- The Imber-goose, unskill'd to fly, Must be content to glide along, Where seal and sea-dog list his song.”
Halcro bit his lip, shrugged his shoulders, and then, instantly recovering his good-humour, and the ready, though slovenly power of extemporaneous composition, with which long habit had invested him, he gallantly rejoined,
CLAUD HALCRO.
”Be mine the Imber-goose to play, And haunt lone cave and silent bay:-- The archer's aim so shall I shun-- So shall I 'scape the levell'd gun-- Content my verse's tuneless jingle, With Thule's sounding tides to mingle, While, to the ear of wandering wight, Upon the distant headland's height, Soften'd by murmur of the sea, The rude sounds seem like harmony!”
As the little bard stepped back, with an alert gait, and satisfied air, general applause followed the spirited manner in which he had acquiesced in the doom which levelled him with an Imber-goose. But his resigned and courageous submission did not even yet encourage any other person to consult the redoubted Norna.
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