But still in dreams of the night
Beheld he the crimson light,
And heard the voice that defied
Him who was crucified,
And challenged him to the fight.
To Sigurd the Bishop
King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said,
"The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes
The old witchcraft still is spread."
Thus to King Olaf

Said Sigurd the Bishop.

"Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword,

Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;
All the Godoe Isles belong

To him and his heathen horde."
Thus went on speaking
Sigurd the Bishop.

"A warlock, a wizard is he,

And lord of the wind and the sea;
And whichever way he sails,
He has ever favoring gales,
By his craft in sorcery."

Here the sign of the cross
Made devoutly King Olaf.

"With rites that we both abhor,
He worships Odin and Thor;
So it cannot yet be said,
That all the old gods are dead,
And the warlocks are no more,"
Flushing with anger

Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Then King Olaf cried aloud:

"I will talk with this mighty Raud,
And along the Salten Fiord
Preach the Gospel with my sword,
Or be brought back in my shroud!"
So northward from Drontheim
Sailed King Olaf!

ΧΙ.

BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD.

LOUD the angry wind was wailing As King Olaf's ships came sailing Northward out of Drontheim haven

To the mouth of Salten Fiord.

Though the flying sea-spray drenches
Fore and aft the rowers' benches,
Not a single heart is craven

Of the champions there on board.
All without the Fiord was quite,
But within it storm and riot,

Such as on his Viking cruises

Raud the Strong was wont to ride. And the sea through all its tide-ways Swept the reeling vessels sideways, As the leaves are swept through sluices, When the flood-gates open wide.

"T is the warlock! 't is the demon Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen ; "But the Lord is not affrighted

By the witchcraft of his foes."

To the ship's bow he ascended,
By his choristers attended,
Round him were the tapers lighted,
And the sacred incense rose.

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd,
In his robes, as one transfigured,
And the Crucifix he planted

High amid the rain and mist.
Then with holy water sprinkled
All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled;
Loud the monks around him chanted,
Loud he read the Evangelist.

As into the Fiord they darted,
On each side the water parted;
Down a path like silver molten
Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships;

Steadily burned all night the tapers,
And the White Christ through the vapors
Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten,

As through John's Apocalypse,—

Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling
On the little Isle of Gelling;
Not a guard was at the doorway,

Not a glimmer of light was seen.

But at anchor, carved and gilded,
Lay the dragon-ship he builded;
'Twas the grandest ship in Norway,
With its crest and scales of green.

Up the stairway, softly creeping,
To the loft where Raud was sleeping,
With their fists they burst asunder

Bolt and bar that held the door.

Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, Dragged him from his bed and bound him, While he stared with stupid wonder,

At the look and garb they wore.

Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King! Little time have we for speaking, Choose between the good and evil:

Be baptized, or thou shalt die !

But in scorn the heathen scoffer Answered: "I disdain thine offer; Neither fear I God nor Devil;

Thee and thy Gospel I defy!"

Then between his jaws distended,
When his frantic struggles ended,
Through King Olaf's horn an adder,

Touched by fire, they forced to glide.

Sharp his tooth was as an arrow,
As he gnawed through bone and marrow;
But without a groan or shudder,

Raud the Strong blaspheming died. Then baptized they all that region, Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian,

Near him Kolbiorn had his place,
Like the King in garb and face,
So gallant and so hale;
Every cabin boy and varlet,
Wondered at his cloak of scarlet;
Like a river, frozen and star-lit,
Gleamed his coat of mail.

By the bulkhead, tall and dark,
Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark,
A figure gaunt and grand;
On his hairy arm imprinted
Was an anchor, azure-tinted;
Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted
Was his brawny hand.

Einar Tamberskelver, bare
To the winds his golden hair,
By the mainmast stood;
Graceful was his form, and slender,
And his eyes were deep and tender'
As a woman's, in the splendor
Of her maidenhood."

In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork
Watched the sailors at their work:
Heavens! how they swore!

Thirty men they each commanded,
Iron-sinewed, horny-handed,

Shoulders broad, and chests expanded,
Tugging at the oar.

These, and many more like these,
With King Olaf sailed the seas,

Till the waters vast

Filled them with a vague devotion,
With the freedom and the motion,
With the roll and roar of ocean

And the sounding blast.

When they landed from the fleet,

How they roared through Drontheim's street,
Boisterous as the gale!

How they laughed and stamped and pounded,
Till the tavern roof resounded,
And the host looked on astounded
As they drank the ale!

Never saw the wild North Sea
Such a gallant company

Sail its billows blue!

Never, while they cruised and quarrelled,
Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald,
Owned a ship so well apparelled,
Boasted such a crew!

XV.

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR.

A LITTLE bird in the air

Is singing of Thyri the fair,

The sister of Svend the Dane;
And the song of the garrulous bird
In the streets of the town is heard,
And repeated again and again.
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

To King Burislaf, it is said,
Was the beautiful Thyri wed,

And a sorrowful bride went she;
And after a week and a day,
She has fled away and away,
From his town by the stormy sea.
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

They say, that through heat and through cold,
Through weald, they say, and through wold,
By day and by night, they say,

She has fled; and the gossips report
She has come to King Olaf's court,
And the town is all in dismay.

Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

It is whispered King Olaf has seen,
Has talked with the beautiful queen;
And they wonder how it will end;
For surely, if here she remain,
It is war with King Svend the Dane,
And King Burislaf the Vend!

Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

O, greatest wonder of all!
It is published in hamlet and hall,
It roars like a flame that is fanned!
The King-yes, Olaf the King-
Has wedded her with his ring,

And Thyri is Queen in the land!
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

XVI.

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS.

NORTHWARD over Drontheim Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, Sang the lark and linnet

From the meadows green;

Weeping in her chamber,
Lonely and unhappy.
Sat the Drottning Thyri,

Sat King Olaf's Queen.

In at all the windows
Streamed the pleasant sunshine,
On the roof above her

Softly cooed the dove;

But the sound she heard not,
Nor the sunshine heeded,
For the thoughts of Thyri

Were not thoughts of love.

Then King Olaf entered, Beautiful as morning, Like the sun at Easter Shone his happy fate;

In his hand he carried Angelicas uprooted, With delicious fragrance Filling all the place.

Like a rainy midnight
Sat the Drottning Thyri,
Even the smile of Olaf

Could not cheer her gloom;

Nor the stalks he gave her With a gracious gesture, And with words as pleasant As their own perfume.

In her hands he placed them,
And her jewelled fingers

Through the green leaves glistened

Like the dews of morn;

But she cast them from her, Haughty and indignant,

On the floor she threw them With a look of scorn.

"Richer presents," said she,
"Gave King Harald Gormson
To the Queen, my mother,

Than such worthless weeds;
"When he ravaged Norway
Laying waste the kingdom,
Seizing scatt and treasure
For her royal needs.

"But thou darest not venture Through the Sound to Vendland, My domains to rescue

From King Burislaf;

"Lest King Svend of Denmark, Forked Beard, my brother, Scatter all thy vessels

As the wind the chaff."

Then up sprang King Olaf,
Like a reindeer bounding,
With an oath be answered

Thus the luckless Queen:
"Never yet did Olaf
Fear King Svend of Denmark;
Tais right hand shall hale him
By his forked chin!"

Then he left the chamber,
Thundering through the doorway, '
Loud his steps resounded

Down the outer stair.

Smarting with the insult,
Through the streets of Drontheim
Strede he red and wrathful, -
With his stately air.

All his ships he gathered,
Summoned all his forces,
Making his war levy

In the region round;

Down the coast of Norway,
Like a flock of sea-gulls,
Sailed the fleet of Olaf

Through the Danish Sound

With his own hand fearless, Steered he the Long Serpent, Strained the creaking cordage, Bent each boom and gaff;

Till in Vendland landing,
The domains of Thyri
He redeemed and rescued
From King Burislaf.

Then said Olaf, langhing, "Not ten yoke of oxen Have the power to draw us Like a woman's hair!

"Now will I confess it, Better things are jewels Than angelica stalks are For a Queen to wear."

XVIL

KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD.

LOUDLY the sailors cheered Svend of the Forked Beard, As with his fleet he steered Southward to Vendland;