CHAPTER XI.

And the Singing Swan sailed again into the western seas, in the late spring and early summer, at the time which the Latins call "Mensus Madius."

And because of the long voyage the provisions were exhausted, and the ship also needed rest and repairing.

And Halfred's blood brethren said to him, when they came into the waters of the island of Hibernia--

"Both men and stores need caring for: we will land at King Thorul's sea castle, and provide all that we need on board. Far famed is King Thorul's hall; there they have great skill on the harp. Come with us to the city; rejoice thy heart in human fellowship, for there thou cans't not, as heretofore, lie upon the ship. Even to the Singing Swan will many people come, workmen and traders, and thou wouldst not be alone under thy stars. Shall we not steer for the green island?"

And Halfred nodded, and Hartvik joyfully turned the helm sharp to the west.

When, however, they saw the towers of Thorul's hall rise from the waves in the morning light, Halfred, with his own hand, lowered the smaller boat, which lay fastened on the deck near the helm, and said--

"When ye have rejoiced yourselves at King Thorurs court, and have provided for the ship, seek me, after twenty nights, on yonder small rocky island."

And he took arrow, and bow, and fishing hook, sprang into the boat, and rowed to the island.

But, the Singing Swan sailed further to the west.

And Halfred landed upon the small rocky island; he found a fitting bay, and drew his boat high up upon the white sand of the shore.

And then there came floating to him on the air something which was strange and yet well known to him. Only under the golden stars of Greece and Rome had he ever heretofore enjoyed the intoxication of such fragrance.

There is, that is to say, a flower of the delicate hue of a maiden's cheek, "Rosa" the Latins call it, and its fragrance is as the kiss of pure maiden lips.

And this flower had the Roman heroes, so long as they were powerful in these western lands, carefully tended in their houses and gardens. Long since, however, had the Roman heroes vanished, their stately dwellings were abandoned and ruined, their gardens grown wild.

And wild also had grown the maiden tinted flower which they call Rosa, and had spread all over the island, and flourished luxuriantly everywhere, and breathed forth a strong intoxicating perfume.

On these small islands which lie round about the great western island of Hibernia, the air is always mild; the snow seldom there remains lying on the land, and only slightly, and for a short time are the streams frozen.

And the singing birds which elsewhere retreat before the frost, rest for the winter in these retreats, where meadows, shrubs, and trees, remain green even in the severest seasons. For it rains often there, and moist is the breath of the billows rolling around.

And the heathen people, therefore, call these islands "Baldur's Islands," for Baldur they name the God of the spring dawning.

And as Halfred climbed up the hill from the shore, all the underwood and sweet-springing thorns were in full bloom; white thorn and red thorn and black thorn and the wild roses.

And also the many splendid fruit trees which the Roman heroes had brought with them from the south and the east, were in full bloom.

And from every shrub and tree resounded the sweet tones of the grey brown singing bird, which the Latins call "Luscinia," the Greeks "Philomela," but we, the "Nightingale."

And Halfred strode upwards and inland, by the side of a clear rapid stream, which flowed over white pebbles, through light green copsewood. On the height he came to a transparent copse of alders, young beeches, and slender white birches. There lovely broad-winged butterflies flitted over the beautiful flowers in the sunny glades. Deep in the thicket sang the thrush. The tops and pliant boughs of the birches nodded and waved.

And then there came to him, borne on the morning wind, yet other sounds than the song of the nightingale, far clearer and softer, as from the lightly-touched strings of a harp; but which sounded far more beautiful than any harp playing, either of his own or any other Skald, which he had ever heard.

And from high above, as if from heaven, the tones appeared to come. Halfred followed the sounds, which powerfully moved and allured him.

No sound since the last dying shriek of his harp had reached his soul through his ears. These harp tones aroused his soul. He believed that elves or Bragi, the song God, were harping in the air.

He wished not to scare the singer, but to listen. Softly he passed on, choosing his steps; the wood-grass betrayed him not, for it was soft, long, and thick.

He had now come quite near to the sound, yet still he saw not the singer. Cautiously he parted the thick white thorn bushes, and perceived then a small green mound, upon which stood in a circle six beeches. But the seventh, the tallest, stood in the centre, and towered above them all; and around its trunk wound an ornamental staircase made of white wood; and made of the same white wood there was a slight platform fitted in where the broad branches of the beech spread themselves out. The railing of both staircase and platform was ingeniously carved.

From this airy bower floated down the wonderful tones.

Halfred drew nearer, and spied through the branches and the crevices of the platform. His heart throbbed high with amazement, awe, and yearning.

There he saw the player.

On the railing leaned a boy who was wonderfully beautiful, so beautiful, Halfred said to me, that never had he seen such beauty upon earth--so beautiful as the elves must be, in which the heathen people believe.

He was altogether white--his slender face was white as the stone which the Greeks call "Alabaster;" the folded garment which reached from his neck to his knees was white, and white were the leathern shoes upon his feet.

But the eyes and hair of the boy were like gold.

And Halfred said to me that the eyes were the golden brown of the eagle's eyes. In the shining hair, however, which a net of the same colour confined, instead of a hat, played hither and thither, bright sun-tinted gleams, as though a sunbeam had lost itself therein, and now vainly sought to find an outlet.

And the boy played upon a small three-sided stringed instrument, such as only the Skalds of Hibernia carry, and played a wholly unknown melody.

And he played and sang so beautifully, that Halfred had never yet heard such playing and singing; mournful and yet blissful at the same time, was the melody, like the pain of yearning, which yet for no pleasure of the earth would the heart resign.

And Halfred told me that for the first time since that midsummer night a warm breath passed again over his soul.

And the beautiful boy in the airy bower enchained his eyes, and the mournful yearning song entranced his soul.

And for the first time, for many, many years, his breast could heave with a full drawn breath.

And tears filled his eyes, and restored and healed him, and made him young once more, like cool dew upon the heath after a burning sun.

And at the close of every two lines the words of the song rang harmoniously together, like--and yet again not altogether entirely like--as though two voices sought each other in sound and echo.

Or as when man and woman, one and yet two, are folded together in a kiss.

The boy sang in the soft lisping Irish language, which Halfred well knew. But that closing concord had he never heard, and it resounded far more pleasingly upon the ear than did the dead consonant staves of the Skalds.

And this was the boy's song,--

"On light slender branches blowing White rose yearns through May's young bloom-- Sun God, 'tis for thee I'm glowing, When wilt thou, thy bright face showing, Quaff full deep my fresh perfume? When wilt thou, for ardour sighing, Greet my flowers in trembling bliss? Come, and must I rue thee dying, Leave within my chalice lying, Fiery sweet, thy fervid kiss."

Here closed the boy's song and playing with a clear resounding chord on the strings.

And as soon as he ceased, and had hung his harp on the boughs, lo! there came flying from the nearest shrub two snow-white doves, which lighted one on the right, the other on the left shoulder of the boy, who smiling stroked their heads, and slowly, thoughtfully, with stately, and yet almost timed step, came down the white wooden stairs, and stood upon the beautiful flowery turf of the greenwood glade.

Halfred dreaded that he might terrify the gentle harper if he stepped suddenly out of the thicket before him.

Therefore he called to him first, from a distance, in a soft voice, slowly drawing nearer.

"Hail, gentle boy! If thou art mortal, may the Gods be gracious to thee. If thou art thyself a God, or as I surmise one of the light elves, then be not ungracious to me, a mortal man."

Then the boy turned slowly towards him, without seeming to be terrified, or even surprised, and as Halfred now drew nearer, he said in a melodious vibrating voice--

"Welcome, Halfred. Art thou come at last? I have tarried long for thee."

And he offered him both hands; the glance of the golden eyes sinking deep into Halfred's soul.

Halfred, however, dared not to touch those hands. He felt, from the very depths of his being, a quickening warmth uprise, and send rippling through body and soul a quiver of delight--of joy in surpassing beauty--but also of holy awe, as in the presence of gods or spirits; for he had no longer any doubt that it was no earthly being who stood before him.

Voice and breath almost failed him as he asked--

"Who hath proclaimed to thee Halfred's coming, and name!"

"The moonlight."

"Then art thou indeed, as I had already perceived, the prince of the light elves, to whom moon and stars speak words. Be gracious to me, O loveliest of the Gods."

Then the boy smiled. "I am a child of earth, like thyself, Halfred. Draw nearer. Take my hands."

"But who art thou, if thou art mortal!" asked Halfred, still hesitating.

"Thoril, King Thorul's orphan grandchild."

"And wherefore dwellest thou here alone, on this small island, as though hidden, and not in King Thorul's hall?"

"He dreamed thrice that danger threatened me, in the month when the wild roses blow; a strange ship which should come into his harbour would carry me away, never to be seen again.

"To render me quite safe against this danger he sent me here to this small outlying island, at which, because of its circling cliffs, no ship can land. Only Moëngal, his ancient armour-bearer, and his wife, my foster-mother, are with me; yonder, in that small wooden house, behind the beech mound, we live. But so long as the dear lord shines, and the gay butterflies flit over the flowers, I tarry here in hidden airy bower."

"But, thou wonderful boy, if thou art really a child of earth, how could the moon reveal to thee my coming and my name?"

"I sleep not in the moonlight, because it entices me out and upwards. It lifts me by force from my couch, and upwards to itself. With closed eyes, they say, I wander then away on the narrowest ridges of the roof; and far away, through forest and mountain, I see what shall happen in the future, and the distance.

"Carefully they guarded me, therefore, in the king's hall. But here, the clear moon looks freely through the rifts in our cottage roof.

"And I saw, seven nights ago, a ship, with a swan on the prow, that drew nearer and nearer. On the deck lay sleepless a dark-bearded man, with a noble countenance. 'Halfred,' his two friends called him.

"And ever nearer floated the sailing Swan. But when, one cloudy night, the moon shone not upon my pillow, and my eyes could not see the ship, and the man, then yearning seized upon me for that noble countenance. And I laid my pillow and my head, since then, ever carefully under the full flood of the moonlight. And night after night I gazed again on that lofty forehead and these palid temples.

"But still more beautiful and lordly art thou, than thy dream picture; and never have I seen a man to equal thee."

"But thou," cried Halfred, seizing both the singer's hands, "art like Baldur in spring beauty, gentle boy.

"Never have I seen such perfect charm in youth or in maiden. Like sunshine upon chilled limbs, like Chios wine through parched throat, flows thy beauty through my eyes deep into my soul. Thou art as the blackbird's song and the wood flowers: as the evening star in golden clouds; thou art as the most wonderful song which ever resounded from the lips of a Skald; thyself, as thou livest and movest, thou art pure poetry.

"O Thoril, golden boy, how gentle thou art! how thou hast quickened my grief-worn heart. O Thoril, leave me never again!

"Take up once more thy magic harp; uplift once more that sweet song, which has awakened my soul from the sleep of death.

"O come, let me lay my heavy head upon thy knee, and gaze in thy sunny wondrous face, while thou tunest thy harp, and playest and singest."

And thus they both did.

And trustfully flew one of the doves from Thoril's hand to Halfred's broad shoulder, and cooed lovingly to the other.

And when the song was ended, Halfred seized again the two hands of the boy, and drew them slowly slowly over his forehead, and his moist eyes.

And it all was as it stands written in the sacred books of the Jews, of the King full of sadness and heaviness, who could only be healed by the harp-playing of the son of Jesse.