Chapter 9

The shouting of Gisli, the chieftain, Rock'd the blue hazes, and cloven In twain by sharp prow of the west wind, To north and to south fled the thick mist.

As in burnish'd walls of Valhalla, In cleft of the mist stood the chieftain, And up to the blue shield of Heaven, Flung the load shaft of his laughter.

Smote the mist, with shrill spear the swift wind. Grey shapes fled like ghosts on the Hell way; Bay'd after their long locks hoarse Gylfag, Stared at them, triumphant, the eagles.

To mate and to eaglets, the eagle Shriek'd, "Gone is my foe of the deep mist, "Rent by the vast hands of the kind Gods, "Who knows the knife-pangs of our hunger!"

Shrill whistled the winds as his dun wings Strove with it feather by feather; Loud grated the rock as his talons Its breast spurned slowly his red eyes.

Like fires seemed to flame in the swift wind, At his sides the darts of his hunger-- At his ears the shriek of his eaglets-- In his breast the love of the quarry.

Unfurl'd to the northward and southward His wings broke the air, and to eastward His breast gave its iron; and God-ward Pierc'd the shrill voice of his hunger.

Bared were his great sides as he laboured Up the first steep blue of the broad sky; His gaze on the fields of his freedom, To the God's spoke the prayers of his gyres.

Bared were his vast sides as he glided Black in the sharp blue of the north sky: Black over the white of the tall cliffs, Black over the arrow of Gisli.

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THE SONG OF THE ARROW.

What know I, As I bite the blue veins of the throbbing sky; To the quarry's breast Hot from the sides of the sleek smooth nest?

What know I Of the will of the tense bow from which I fly? What the need or jest, That feathers my flight to its bloody rest.

What know I Of the will of the bow that speeds me on high? What doth the shrill bow Of the hand on its singing soul-string know?

Flame-swift speed I-- And the dove and the eagle shriek out and die; Whence comes my sharp zest For the heart of the quarry? the Gods know best.

Deep pierc'd the red gaze of the eagle-- The breast of a cygnet below him; Beneath his dun wing from the eastward Shrill-chaunted the long shaft of Gisli!

Beneath his dun wing from the westward Shook a shaft that laugh'd in its biting-- Met in the fierce breast of the eagle The arrows of Gisli and Brynhild!

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