It may be so,-but this is selfish sorrow A weakness and a wickedness to borrow, The wailings of to-day, for what to-morrow Lay me then gently in my narrow dwelling, And though thy bosom should with grief be swelling, It were in vain,-for Time hath long been knelling,— Sad one, depart! MOURNFULLY! O, mournfully This midnight wind doth sigh, Of ages long gone by! It speaks a tale of other years,— Mournfully! O, mournfully, This midnight wind doth moan! It stirs some chord of memory In each dull, heavy tone: The voices of the much-loved dead Seem floating thereupon, All, all my fond heart cherished Mournfully! O, mournfully This midnight wind doth swell, With its quaint, pensive minstrelsy, To the dreamy joys of early years, Ere yet grief's canker fell On the heart's bloom,-aye! well may tears! Start at that parting knell! THE WOOLLE SOLE OF JARL EGILL SKALLAGRIM. BRIGHT maiden of Orkney, star of the blue sea! Fair daughter of Einar, golden-haired maid! The lord of yon brown bark, and lord of this blade,— The joy of the ocean, of warfare and wind, Hath borne him to woo thee, and thou must be kind. So stoutly Jarl Egill wooed Torf Einar's daughter. In Jutland, in Iceland, on Neustria's shore, It is a Vikingir that bends his proud knee, And swears by Great Freya his bride thou must be! So Jarl Egill swore when his great heart was fullest. Thy white arms are locked in broad bracelets of gold; But gifts yet more princely Jarl Egill bestows: While mad waves and winds shall thy true subjects be. So richly Jarl Egill endowed his bright bride. Nay, frown not, nor shrink thus, nor toss so thy head, 'T is a Vikingir asks thee, Land-maiden, to wed! He skills not to woo thee, in trembling and fear, Though lords of the land may thus troop with the deer. The cradle he rocked in so sound and so long, Hath framed him a heart and a hand that are strong: He comes then as Jarl should, sword belted to side, To win thee and wear thee with glory and pride. So sternly Jarl Egill wooed, and smote his long brand. Thy father, thy brethren, thy kin, keep from me The maiden I've sworn shall be Queen of the sea! A truce with that folly,-yon sea-strand can show If this eye missed its aim, or this arm failed its blow: I had not well taken three strides on this land, Ere a Jarl and his six sons in death bit the sand. Nay, weep not, pale maid, though in battle should fall The kemps who would keep thy bridegroom from the hall. So carped Jarl Egill, and kissed the bright weeper. Through shadows and horrors, in worlds underground, Through sounds that appall and through sights that con found, I sought the Weird women within their dark cell, I made them run over the dim scroll so free, And mutter how fate sped with lovers like me; 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, Away and away then, I have thy small hand; I call it the Raven, the wing of black night, |