E. M. Smith-Dampier

“ In the harp a voice that moaned and mourned on a woeful word;
“Lo, is it naught?” said the voice in the sobbing strings that sighed—
With the wind it wailed and rose, with the wind it sank and died.
Spell-bound he, Herluin, lay, and watched like one in a dream,
The moonbeams quiver and dance, and the long reeds sway in the stream,
Till again, an icy breath, the wind came whispering,
And stirred his stiffened hair, and sighed from string to string,
And sobbed into speech ”

“ Like the moan of mourning waves the song of its sombre pines.
The minstrel’s out on the moor; while far and faint in the wind
Ring the bells of All Souls’ Eve in the town he has left behind.{67}
Beneath the sombre pine he has laid him down to sleep,
With his harp beside his head; and night grows dark and deep. ”

“ Son of Vikings, well dost thou
To give me the sword from out the howe;
Better to me the boon, I say,
Than were I to conquer all Norroway.
Angantheow:
Little, daughter, dost thou know
Wherefore thou rejoicest so!
Fond, thou speakest words of woe.{9}
Thou shalt bear a son at length
Who will trust in Tyrfing’s strength;
Heidrek, thus his name shall run,
Richer than all beneath the sun.
Herwor:
I must fare to my steeds of the sea ”

“ Say, wilt thou come to be true-love o’ mine?”
“Away with thee, thou gipsy! I scorn thy words so free!
Counts and mighty princes have come a-wooing me!”
“Good sooth, I am no gipsy, tho’ thou biddest me begone;
I am the proudest king’s son that e’er the sun shone on.{25}
“I have goodly acres, and fields so fair and broad;
I have serving maidens, who shall spread thy board.
“I have a goodly garden of herbs a-growing green,
Where thou, my love, shalt wander, out and in.
“I have three dappled palfreys a-tossing of their crest,
That thou and I, my sweetheart, may ride among the best.” ”

“ When the heart has ceased to beat, and the blood has ceased to flow.{71}
“Ay, strange to the shuddering soul, when the heart has ceased to beat,
And it sees the wan corse lie, unheeding at its feet!—
“I hear a rush in the firs, a rush as of hastening horse—
Like the forelocks of fiery steeds the branches waver and toss.
“See, see where Odin’s war-maids to choose the dead draw nigh!
They come with the shout o’ the storm along the scurrying sky. ”

“ The witch-wife came to him.
“Now hearken to me, thou goodly knight!
And, if thou grant me grace,
I’ll work a spell shall serve thee well
For love of thy fair young face.
“Oh a maid am I from dawn till dusk—
But by night of a magic rune,
And a weird of woe, a wolf I go
O’ nights beneath the moon.{81}
“Thou shalt slay three hosts in Ironwood
That the wolf her fill may feed—
Then as lover true, when the fight is done,
Shalt pay the maiden’s meed.”
Sir Arngrim looked upon the witch,
And her face was fair to see. ”

“ Dead, they are dead, the gods in whom we have put our trust;
The hopes of heroes’ hearts are ashes and dross and dust.
“We have seen our flesh the sport of the crows and the creeping things—
We have seen the moss and the lichen grow over the bones of kings—
“The firs from us have fed their writhen boughs and thin
Our burning blood springs up in the cold green sap o’ the whin—
“A whirl of withered leaves in the desolate land of death,
Such are our haughty hosts, and our foes are wind and breath.{73}
“I found in thy harp a voice ”

“ NOTE.—Swafurlami, a king of the seed of Odin, stole the sword Tyrfing (ripper) from the dwarfs who forged it. They laid on it a curse—that it should bring death to its bearer; that no wound made by it should be healed; and that three deeds of woe should be wrought by it. Swafurlami is slain by Arngrim, who inherits the sword. Eyfura, his wife, has twelve sons, all of whom become Vikings. Angantheow, the eldest, and his brothers, are eventually all slain near Upsala by Hjalmar, and his brother Arrow-Odd; but Hjalmar, being wounded by Tyrfing, has only time to sing his death-song before he dies. ”

“ That the writhen boughs of the thorn-tree trace
O’ nights across the moon.”
“And what’s the guerdon he shall gain
By grace of the Fairy-queen?”
“Oh, a hope that’s lost and a love that’s crossed,
And tears and toil and tene,
“And feet astray in the paths of day,
And a song that cannot be sung—
For elfin music is wind and breath
When the matin-bell is rung.
“For the cock crows shrill, and the dew lies chill,
And the faint stars die, withdrawn ”

“ But keep in the scabbard Hjalmar’s bane.
Touch not the edges, with venom dight,
Worse than a plague to living wight.
Daughter, farewell! The power and pith
Fain would I endue thee with
Of us twelve men, the life and breath
The sons of Arngrim lost in death!
Herwor:
All is accomplished ”

“ Angantheow’s daughter, Herwor (by his wife Tofa) is brought up as a bond-maid, in ignorance of her parentage. When at last she learns it, the war-fury comes upon her; she arms herself as an Amazon, and goes to Munarvoe in Samsey, in quest of the dwarf-doomed weapon. The following poem concerns her dialogue with her dead father, his yielding up to her of Tyrfing, and his prophecy of the further doom its possession will bring upon her race.
The maid at eve in Munarvoe
Saw the herdsman homeward go.
Shepherd:
Who walketh alone so late i’ the isle? ”

“ The “Drowning of John Remorsson” is, according to Professor Gründtvig, in treatment, though not in subject, a Danish parallel to the Scottish “Sir Patrick Spens.” “Agnes and the Merman” seems to me interesting, as having possibly suggested to Matthew Arnold his “Forsaken Merman.”
With regard to “The Awakening of Angantheow” and “The Lay of Thrym,” I have little but apologies to offer. No one can be more sensible than myself of their short-comings. My excuse is, that I could learn {vi} of no other English metrical versions—and we all know who rush in where angels fear to tread! ”

“ I rede thee, Sir Dalebo Jonsen.”
“I pray thee, dear Sir Dalebo, now sheathe thy shining brand!
For freely will I give thee mine only daughter’s hand!
I pray thee, Sir Dalebo Jonsen!{44}”
“What reck I of your wenches, or your serving-maids so gay?
I have mine own true sweetheart, that’s fairer far than they!
I say it, Dalebo Jonsen!”
{45} THE LUCK OF THE LINDEN-TREE
Of two true-lovers this tale I tell,
That loved each other long and well.
(We tread the dance so featly.)
Their love it nourished as fair and free
As the branch grows green on the linden-tree. ”

“ Ho, morn of shrieks and slaughter, when my Danes and I came down,
Driving our foes like flocks, and sacked the trembling town!—
“When I struck to my battle-song, and the swords rang round my head
That I heard not mine own voice, and knew not that I bled!
“Woe worth the brand that broke! Woe worth the blinding blow!
Woe worth, woe worth the day when I felt my life-blood flow!
“I felt my life-blood flow; I felt my strength and my wit,
My heart and my hope and my valour flow drop by drop with it.{69}
“Under these pines I fell, and under these pines I woke ”