Through shadows and horrors,
In worlds underground,

Through sounds that appall

And through sights that confound,
I sought the Weird women
Within their dark cell,

And made them surrender
Futurity's spell;

I made them rune over
The dim scroll so free,

And mutter how Fate sped

With lovers like me;

Yes, maiden, I forced them

To read forth my doom,

To say how I should fare

As jolly bridegroom.

So Jarl Egill's love dared the world of grim shadows.

They waxed and they waned,

They passed to and fro,

While lurid fires gleamed o'er

Their faces of snow;

Their stony eyes moveless,

Did glare on me long,

Then sullen they chanted:

'The Sword and the Song

Prevail with the gentle,
Sore chasten the rude,
And sway to their purpose
Each evil-shaped mood!'

Fair Daughter of Einar,
I've sung the dark lay

That the Weird sisters runed, and

Which thou must obey.

So fondly Jarl Egill loved Einar's proud daughter.

The curl of that proud lip,

The flash of that eye,

The swell of that bosom,

So full and so high,

Like foam of sea-billow,

Thy white bosom shows,

Like flash of red levin
Thine eagle eye glows:
Ha! firmly and boldly,

So stately and free,

Thy foot treads this chamber,

As bark rides the sea:

This likes me

this likes me,

Stout maiden of mould,

Thou wooest to purpose;

Bold hearts love the bold.

So shouted Jarl Egill, and clutched the proud maiden.

Away and away then,

I have thy small hand;

Joy with me, ―our tall bark

Now bears toward the strand;
I call it the Raven,

The wing of black night,

That shadows forth ruin

O'er islands of light:

Once more on its long deck,

Behind us the gale,

Thou shalt see how before it

Great kingdoms do quail:

Thou shalt see then how truly,

My noble-souled maid,

The ransom of kings can

Be won by this blade.

So bravely Jarl Egill did soothe the pale trembler.

Ay, gaze on its large hilt,

One wedge of red gold;

But doat on its blade, gilt

With blood of the bold.

The hilt is right seemly,

But nobler the blade,

That swart Velint's hammer

With cunning spells made;

I call it the Adder,

Death lurks in its bite,

Through bone and proof-harness

It scatters pale light.

Fair Daughter of Einar,

Deem high of the fate

That makes thee, like this blade,

Proud Egill's loved mate!

So Jarl Egill bore off Torf Einar's bright daughter.

4

THE SWORD CHANT OF THORSTEIN RAUDI.

'Tis not the gray hawk's flight
O'er mountain and mere;

'T is not the fleet hound's course

Tracking the deer;

'Tis not the light hoof print
Of black steed or gray,
Though sweltering it gallop
A long summer's day;
Which mete forth the Lordships

I challenge as mine;

Ha ha! 't is the good brand
I clutch in my strong hand,

That can their broad marches

And numbers define.

LAND GIVER! I kiss thee.

Dull builders of houses,

Base tillers of earth,