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THE GRANDMOTHER.

265

In the manger with the oxen; and the kings; and soft and slow

O'er the middle of the pages guide our fingers as

we go,

Reading some of that good Latin, speaks to God from us you know.

Grandam, see, the light is failing — failing; and upon the hearth,

And around the blackened ingle, leaps the shadow in its mirth.

Ha! perhaps the sprites are coming! yes, they'll soon be at the door;

Wake, oh, wake! and if you're praying, dearest grandam, pray no more;

Sure, you do not wish to fright us, you who cheered us aye before?

But thine arms are colder, colder; and thine eyes so closed are:

'Twas but lately you did tell us of another world afar; And of heaven you were discoursing, and the grave where people lie

--

Told us life was short and fleeting, and of death – that all must die.

What is death? dear grandam, tell us what it is.

You don't reply!

-

Long time did those slender voices moan and murmur all alone;

Still the aged dame awaked not, though the golden morning shone.

266

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

Soon was heard the dismal tolling of the solemn funeral bell;

Mournfully the air resounded; and, as silent evening fell,

One who passed that door half-opened those two little ones espied,

With the holy book before them, kneeling at the lone bedside.

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

LONGFELLOW.

SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,

Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?

Then from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,

As when the northern skies

Gleam in December;
And like the water's flow,
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe

From the heart's chamber:

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

"I was a Viking old!

My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told!
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse!
For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern land,
By the wide Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon ;

And, with my skates fast bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,

While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,

Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

"But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew

With the marauders.

267

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THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.

66

Bright in her father's hall
Shields 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?

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