Part 4 (1/2)

To his thoughts the sacred name Of his mother Astrid came, And the tale she oft had told Of her flight by secret pa.s.ses Through the mountains and mora.s.ses, To the home of Hakon old.

Then strange memories crowded back Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack, And a hurried flight by sea; Of grim Vikings, and their rapture In the sea-fight, and the capture, And the life of slavery.

How a stranger watched his face In the Esthonian market-place, Scanned his features one by one, Saying, ”We should know each other; I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother, Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son!”

Then as Queen Allogia's page, Old in honors, young in age, Chief of all her men-at-arms; Till vague whispers, and mysterious, Reached King Valdemar, the imperious, Filling him with strange alarms.

Then his cruisings o'er the seas, Westward to the Hebrides, And to Scilly's rocky sh.o.r.e; And the hermit's cavern dismal, Christ's great name and rites baptismal, In the ocean's rush and roar.

All these thoughts of love and strife Glimmered through his lurid life, As the stars' intenser light Through the red flames o'er him trailing, As his s.h.i.+ps went sailing, sailing, Northward in the summer night.

Trained for either camp or court, Skilful in each manly sport, Young and beautiful and tall; Art of warfare, craft of chases, Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races, Excellent alike in all.

When at sea, with all his rowers, He along the bending oars Outside of his s.h.i.+p could run.

He the Smalsor Horn ascended, And his s.h.i.+ning s.h.i.+eld suspended On its summit, like a sun.

On the s.h.i.+p-rails he could stand, Wield his sword with either hand, And at once two javelins throw; At all feasts where ale was strongest Sat the merry monarch longest, First to come and last to go.

Norway never yet had seen One so beautiful of mien, One so royal in attire, When in arms completely furnished, Harness gold-inlaid and burnished, Mantle like a flame of fire.

Thus came Olaf to his own, When upon the night-wind blown Pa.s.sed that cry along the sh.o.r.e; And he answered, while the rifted Streamers o'er him shook and s.h.i.+fted, ”I accept thy challenge, Thor!”

III.

THORA OF RIMOL.

”Thora of Rimol! hide me! hide me!

Danger and shame and death betide me!

For Olaf the King is hunting me down Through field and forest, through thorp and town!”

Thus cried Jarl Hakon To Thora, the fairest of women.

”Hakon Jarl! for the love I bear thee Neither shall shame nor death come near thee!

But the hiding-place wherein thou must lie Is the cave underneath the swine in the sty.”

Thus to Jarl Hakon Said Thora, the fairest of women.

So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall Karker Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon darker, As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, Through the forest roads into Orkadale, Demanding Jarl Hakon Of Thora, the fairest of women.

”Rich and honored shall be whoever The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever!”

Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, Through the breathing-holes of the darksome cave.

Alone in her chamber Wept Thora, the fairest of women.

Said Karker, the crafty, ”I will not slay thee!

For all the king's gold I will never betray thee!”

”Then why dost thou turn so pale, O churl, And then again black as the earth?” said the Earl.

More pale and more faithful Was Thora, the fairest of women.