The wary bowman, matched against his | That chatter loudest as they mean the peers, Long doubting, singles yet once more the best. Who is it needs such flawless shafts as Fate? What archer of his arrows is so choice, Or hits the white so surely? They are men, The chosen of her quiver; nor for her Will every reed suffice, or cross-grained stick At random from life's vulgar fagot plucked: Such answer household ends; but she will have Souls straight and clear, of toughest fibre, sound Down to the heart of heart; from these she strips All needless stuff, all sapwood; seasons them; From circumstance untoward feathers plucks Crumpled and cheap; and barbs with iron will: The hour that passes is her quiver-boy: When she draws bow, 't is not across the wind, Nor 'gainst the sun her haste-snatched arrow sings, For sun and wind have plighted faith to her: Ere men have heard the sinew twang, behold In the butt's heart her trembling messenger! least ; Swift-willed is thrice-willed; late means nevermore; Impatient is her foot, nor turns again." He ceased; upon his bosom sank his beard Sadly, as one who oft had seen her pass Nor stayed her: and forthwith the frothy tide Of interrupted wassail roared along; But Biörn, the son of Heriulf, sat apart Musing, and, with his eyes upon the fire, Saw shapes of arrows, lost as soon as seen. "A ship," he muttered, “is a wingëd bridge That leadeth every way to man's desire, And ocean the wide gate to manful luck"; And then with that resolve his heart was bent, Which, like a humming shaft, through many a stripe Of day and night, across the unpathwayed seas Shot the brave prow that cut on Vinland sands The first rune in the Saga of the West. III. GUDRIDA'S PROPHECY. Four weeks they sailed, a speck in skyshut seas, Life, where was never life that knew itself, But tumbled lubber-like in blowing whales ; Thought, where the like had never been before Since Thought primeval brooded the abyss ; Alone as men were never in the world. They saw the icy foundlings of the sea, White cliffs of silence, beautiful by day, Or looming, sudden-perilous, at night In monstrous hush; or sometimes in the dark The waves broke ominous with paly gleams Crushed by the prow in sparkles of cold fire. Then came green stripes of sea that promised land But brought it not, and on the thirtieth day Low in the West were wooded shores like cloud. They shouted as men shout with sudden hope; But Biörn was silent, such strange loss there is Between the dream's fulfilment and the dream, Such sad abatement in the goal attained. Then Gudrida, that was a prophetess, Rapt with strange influence from Atlantis, sang: Her words: the vision was the dreaming shore's. Looms there the New Land: Locked in the shadow Little it looks there, Slim as a cloud-streak; It shall fold peoples Even as a shepherd Foldeth his flock. Silent it sleeps now; Great ships shall seek it, Swarming as salmon; Noise of its numbers Two seas shall hear. Man from the Northland, Dark hair and fair hair, Red blood and blue blood, There shall be mingled; Force of the ferment Makes the New Man. Pick of all kindreds, King's blood shall theirs be, Them waits the New Land; Leaving their sons' sons Here men shall grow up They shall make over Here is no singer; These the old gods hate, These hate the old gods, Here the wolf Fenrir Here the gods' Twilight Doubt not, my Northmen; Over the ruin See I the promise; Crisp waves the cornfield, There lies the New Land; sound; Were yon stone alone in question, this | A conjuring-spell to free the imprisoned would please me well,' Mahmood said; "but, with the block there, I my truth must sell. At last his vainly wearied limbs he laid Beneath a sacred laurel's flickering shade, And sleep about his brain her cobweb wound. |