Part 35 (1/2)
”Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars s.h.i.+ne On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendour.
”I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.
”Bright in her father's hall s.h.i.+elds gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story.
”While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.
”She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight?
Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded?
”Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me,-- Fairest of all was she Among the Nors.e.m.e.n!-- When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty hors.e.m.e.n.
”Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us.
”And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, 'Death!' was the helmsman's hail, 'Death without quarter!'
Mids.h.i.+ps with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water!
”As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden.
”Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the sh.o.r.e Stretching to leeward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower Which to this very hour Stands looking seaward.
”There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes; Under that tower she lies; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another.
”Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, Oh, death was grateful!
”Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, _Skoal_! to the Northland! _skoal_!”
Thus the tale ended.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
THE REVENGE.
A BALLAD OF THE FLEET
Tennyson's (1807-92) ”The _Revenge_” finds a welcome here because it is a favourite with teachers of elocution and their audiences. It teaches us to hold life cheap when the nation's safety is at stake.
At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from away: ”Spanish s.h.i.+ps of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!”
Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: ”'Fore G.o.d, I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my s.h.i.+ps are out of gear, And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.
We are six s.h.i.+ps of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?”
Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: ”I know you are no coward; You fly them for a moment, to fight with them again.
But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ash.o.r.e.
I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.”
So Lord Howard pa.s.sed away with five s.h.i.+ps of war that day, Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land Very carefully and slow, Men of Bideford in Devon, And we laid them on the ballast down below; For we brought them all aboard, And they blest him in their pain that they were not left to Spain, To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.
He had only a hundred seamen to work the s.h.i.+p and to fight, And he sail'd away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.