of heaven, They whispered invitation in the winds, And breath came from them, mightier than the wind, To strain the lagging sails of his resolve, Till that grew passion which before was wish, And youth seemed all too costly to be staked On the soiled cards wherewith men played their game, Letting Time pocket up the larger life, Lost with base gain of raiment, food, and roof. "What helpeth lightness of the feet?" they said, "Oblivion runs with swifter foot than they ; Or strength of sinew? New men come as strong, And those sleep nameless; or renown in war? Swords grave no name on the longmemoried rock But moss shall hide it; they alone who wring Some secret purpose from the unwilling gods Survive in song for yer a ttle while II. THORWALD'S LAY. So Biörn went comfortless but for his thought, And by his thought the more discomforted, Till Eric Thurlson kept his Yule-tide feast: And thither came he, called among the rest, Silent, lone-minded, a church-door to mirth: But, ere deep draughts forbade such serious song As the grave Skald might chant, nor after blush, Then Eric looked at Thorwald, where he sat, Mute as a cloud amid the stormy hall, And said: "O Skald, sing now an olden song, Such as our fathers heard who led great lives; And, as the bravest on a shield is borne Along the waving host that shouts hin king, So rode their thrones upon the thronging seas!" Then the old man arose; white-haired he stood, White-bearded, and with eyes that looked afar From their still region of perpetual 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 That chatter loudest as they mean the 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 winged 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. Pick of all kindreds, King's blood shall theirs be, Them waits the New Land; Leaving their sons' sons All things save song-craft, Plant long in growing, Thrusting its tap-root Deep in the Gone. Here men shall grow up Strong from self-helping; Eyes for the present Bring they as eagles', Blind to the Past. They shall make over Creed, law, and custom; Driving-men, doughty Builders of empire, Builders of men. Here are no singers; Loathsome is change. Those 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; There lies the New Land; Then from your strong loins Jealous, the old gods Shut it in shadow, Wisely they ward it, Egg of the serpent, Bane to them all. Stronger and sweeter New gods shall seek it Fill it with man-folk Wise for the future. Wise from the past. Here all is all men's, Might makes no master Walking the New Earth, Is it Thor's hammer Here shall a realm rise Weak was the Old World, Beauty of promise, Thee shall awaken Mahmood paused a moment, silenced by the silent face That, with eyes of stone unwavering, awed the ancient place. Then the Brahmins knelt before him, by his doubt made bold, Pledging for their idol's ransom countless gems and gold. Gold was yellow dirt to Mahmood, but of precious use, Since from it the roots of power suck a potent juice. "Were yon stone alone in question, this would please me well,' Mahmood said; "but, with the block there, I my truth must sell. "Wealth and rule slip down with For tune, as her wheel turns round; He who keeps his faith, he only cannot be discrowned. "Little were a change of station, loss of life or crown, But the wreck were past retrieving if the Man fell down." So his iron mace he lifted, smote with |