Said, with hot and angry temper Then, with smile of joy defiant Loose his golden locks were flowing, XXI.-KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK. The vengeance of Eric the Earl. And the spears the champions hurl. The shouts are feeble and few. Ah! never shall Norway again See her sailors come back o'er the main; They all lie wounded or slain, Or asleep in the billows blue! And the stones they hurl with their In the midst of the stones and the spears, Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, His lips with anger are pale ; As a hunter into the den Of the bear, when he stands at bay. "Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries; When lo! on his wondering eyes, Two kingly figures arise, Two Olafs in warlike array! Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear Of King Olaf a word of cheer, In a whisper that none may hear, With a smile on his tremulous lip; Two shields raised high in the air, Two flashes of golden hair, Two scarlet meteors' glare, And both have leaped from the ship. As he swam beneath the main ; XXII THE NUN OF NIDAROS. In the convent of Drontheim, The voice of a stranger The voice of Saint John, The angry defiance, But not with the weapons Hath power o'er the nations! "As torrents in summer, That God at their fountains Day dawns and thou art not! "The dawn is not distant, Nor is the night starless; Love is eternal ! God is still God, and His faith shall not fail us; Christ is eternal !", INTERLUDE. A STRAIN of music closed the tale, I hear the prayer, with words that scorch Like sparks from an inverted torch, With threatenings of the last account. Reach me but as our dear Lord's Prayer, And as the Sermon on the Mount. With evergreens and boughs of palms, "I know that yonder Pharisee The new name written on the stone, throne, And I will give him the Morning Star! "Ah! to how many Faith has been THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. IN the heroic days when Ferdinand In a great castle near Valladolid, Moated and high and by fair woodlands hid, There dwelt, as from the chronicles we learn, An old Hidalgo proud and taciturn, Whose name has perished, with his towers of stone, And all his actions save this one alone; This one, so terrible, perhaps 'twere best If it, too, were forgotten with the rest; Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin; A double picture, with its gloom and glow, The splendour overhead, the death below. This sombre man counted each day as lost On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed; And when he chanced the passing Host to meet, He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street; Oft he confessed; and with each mutinous thought, As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought. In deep contrition scourged himself in At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen, And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green. His only pastime was to hunt the boar Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar, Or with his jingling mules to hurry down To some grand bull-fight in the neighbouring town, Or in the crowd with lighted taper stand, When Jews were burned, or banished from the land. Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy; The demon whose delight is to destroy Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone, "Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!" Were all the dream had left him as it fled. A joy at first, and then a growing care, As if a voice within him cried, "Beware!" A vague presentiment of impending doom, Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant room, Haunted him day and night; a formless fear That death to some one of his house was near, With dark surmises of a hidden crime, Made life itself a death before its time. Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of shame, A spy upon his daughters he became; With velvet slippers, noiseless on the floors, He glided softly through half-opened doors; Now in the room, and now upon the stair, He stood beside them ere they were And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, With all the fifty horsemen of his train, I His awful name resounding, like the blast Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed, Came to Valladolid, and there began To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban. To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate Demanded audience on affairs of state, And in a secret chamber stood before A venerable greybeard of fourscore, Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar; Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, And in his hand the mystic horn he held, Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled. He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, Then answered in a voice that made him quail: "Son of the Church! when Abraham of old To sacrifice his only son was told, He did not pause to parley nor protest, But hastened to obey the Lord's behest. In him it was accounted righteousness; The Holy Church expects of thee no less!" A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain, And Mercy from that hour implored in vain. Ah! who will e'er believe the words I say? His daughters he accused, and the same day They both were cast into the dungeon's gloom, That dismal antechamber of the tomb, Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the flame, The secret torture and the public shame. Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more The Hidalgo went, more eager than before, And said: "When Abraham offered up his son, He clave the wood wherewith it might be done. By his example taught, let me too bring Wood from the forest for my offering And the deep voice, without a pause, replied The ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead. With his own hands he lopped the boughs and bound Fagots, that crackled with foreboding sound, And on his mules, caparisoned and gay With bells and tassels, sent them on their way. Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, Again to the Inquisitor he went, And said: "Behold, the fagots I have brought, And now, lest my atonement be as nought, Grant me one more request, one last desire, With my own hand to light the funeral fire!" And Torquemada answered from his seat, "Son of the Church! thine offering is complete ; Her servants through all ages shall not cease To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace!" Upon the market-place, builded of stone The scaffold rose, whereon Death claimed his own. At the four corners, in stern attitude, Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood, Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes |