Part 10

But see! he falls! “The King is down!” Who’ll guard the walls? Who’ll save the town? “The King is slain! we fight in vain! Alack, alack, the King is slain!”

The panic-stricken soldiers, Pale-faced, from street to street Flee wildly, as the enemy Pursue their flying feet: “The King is slain, the town is lost! Who can withstand great Ivar’s host!”

But look! what stranger legions Against the hostile tide Leap forth in shining armor And bold advancing ride, Ride on and ever onward, Beat back the hostile tide?

“The gods! the gods! Valhalla Has sent its warriors down To fight against our Ivar! To battle for the town!” And in dismay and terror Is hushed the conquering cry. From street to street, In swift retreat, And over fallen battlement, The pale besiegers fly— Fly fast and far; nor pause they Till, on the northern shore, They see the birchen forests, And hear the breakers roar.

Meanwhile, with peals of gladness The rescued city rang, And loud their great deliverance The joyous people sang, And loud they sang the praises Of him, the unknown knight, Who led his valiant legions To battle for the right.

So loud and long their praises, Awaking from his swoon, The King o’erheard, and seeing Who wore the chieftain’s plume, Aghast, stood up and questioned, Hand on his horse’s rein, “What art thou—man or spirit? And what may be thy name?”

“I am, O King, no spirit; And Eric is my name;— Prince Eric, son of Eric, Who sleeps on yonder plain.”

“What! Eric? son of Eric? Ah, I have heard of thee, How wise and well thou rulest Beside the western sea. But why dost thou come hither To drive away the foe, And earn my people’s praises, Since well thou seem’st to know That it was I, In years gone by, Who laid thy father low?”

“Not for thy people’s praises I hither led my band, But with, O king, thy favor, To win thy daughter’s hand.”

“Great soul and gallant suitor! Well doth he play his part, Who, seeking hand of daughter, Doth steal the father’s heart.”

But Princess Gerda saw not: She heeded naught of all, Nor gazed she from the window High up the palace wall. “Wherefore the loud rejoicing, Wherefore the triumph vain, Since he is dead—my father,— Since he, the King, is slain?”

With streaming eyes she greeted Two ent’ring at the door, Aye, even him who bowed so low His white plumes swept the floor; The other—lo! her father! Behold his spirit come! She stood in trembling wonder; Her pallid lips were dumb.

“Fear not, O Princess Gerda! If thou wilt turn the key, How gladly will I offer To be a guide for thee!”

So spake the Prince; and Gerda In listening paler grew; Recalling guide and venture, The words, the voice she knew. “They come to me from spirit-land! Two heroes are they, tall and grand, And clad in armor bright!” And in her fear, As they drew near, The quaint old room reeled round her, And all was black as night.

But when again the Princess Her blue eyes opened wide, And saw the good King kneeling And smiling at her side, And heard him softly whisper, “Behold, my little one, I bring to thee a suitor Will please me for a son”— She bowed in sweet submission, And meekly answered she: “Whatever please my father, That also pleaseth me.”

And in the royal city, And all the country thro’, Were festal cheer and gladness Where late were war and woe; For the good King’s dominions And those the sea beside, Were wed when Princess Gerda Became brave Eric’s bride.

JUNGENTHOR, THE GIANT.

O Giant Jungenthor, What a mighty one was he! He was so big, he was so strong, Whenever he walked the world along The people would turn in terror, The people would turn and flee— Oh, oh, Jungenthor, Such a mighty one was he!

Oh, Giant Jungenthor, What a terrible one was he! Whenever he went to take a ride, The bald old oaks would step aside, The pines would bend the knee: And at the sound of his heavy tread The hills would tremble and quake with dread, The islands would rise to see— Oh, oh, Jungenthor, Such a terrible one was he!

Oh, Giant Jungenthor, What a dreadful one was he! Whenever he happened to say a word, For miles and for miles his voice was heard, Like the thunder’s roar and rumble; The stones would rock and the timbers shake, The glass in the windows all would break, The chairs and tables tumble; The kettles and pans would play and prance, About the shelves would the dishes dance, The clock would stop and the doors swing wide, The cats would scamper, the dogs would hide, The pigs would squeal and grumble; The cocks would crow and the geese would fly, The women would scream, the children cry, The men look pale and humble; And that is the way it would be— Oh, oh, Jungenthor, Such a dreadful one was he!

Where dwelt Jungenthor, Where in the world dwelt he? Not on the mountains clad with snow, Not in the valleys deep below, Not by the surging sea; Not in the desert white with sand, Not in the icy Northern land, Not in the South Countrie. Oh, oh, Jungenthor, Where in the world dwelt he?

Under the mountains clad with snow, Under the valleys deep below, Under the surging sea; Under the desert white with sand, Under the icy Northern land, Under the South Countrie; Down, down, under them all— They but the floor, and roof, and wall— There in a cavern high and wide (For the round earth was but a shell; Who and whoever knew so well As Jungenthor what was inside?) There, there, there did he dwell, There, and oh there dwelt he.

What do you guess was there inside That earth-bound cavern, high and wide? Oh, there were millions of chambers roomy, Oh, there were galleries long and gloomy, Oh, there were wondrous sights! Here the ceilings were golden-beamed, There the pavement with jewels gleamed, With marbles and malachites; Diamonds were set in the roof for stars, The rafters were made of silver bars, The columns of crystal clear. Oh, in that cavern, high and wide, Had ever a daring mortal tried To travel alone and without a guide, He had lost his way And gone astray And wandered many a year; And if he had met the giant, He surely had died of fear.

But there was a fairy who knew the way: Often by night and often by day To a dense forest she would go, And there, in a cave all dark and low, A rock as heavy as iron, And as bright and as black as coal, Swift, when her wand she lifted, Away and away would roll; And down would she clamber, clamber, Through hundreds of miles of gloom, On the rounds of a golden ladder That led to a wonderful room— Oh, a wonderful, wonderful chamber, Flooded with amber light; For there, at the centre of the earth, A mighty fire on a mighty hearth Burned ruddy, and warm, and bright; Burned ruddy and bright forever, With billows of orange flame, And the giant’s occupation Was—never to let it wane. And there would the fairy find him Stirring the coals red hot: “Good-morrow to you, Jungenthor!” So would the fairy say; “And what and what does Winnikin want, And what does she want to-day?” So would the giant grumble; But Winnikin feared him not.

And, now, “O Giant Jungenthor!” Did her tale of wrong begin, “There are two wicked cities— A trouble to Winnikin, The rich they are proud and cruel, The poor they will lie and steal, And trouble is always brewing That Winnikin cannot heal; And the friendly care and watching Of the fairies they are not worth; O Jungenthor, those cities Are blots on the face of the earth!”

As soon as he guessed her errand, The giant poked the fire Till it roared, and hissed, and crackled, Till the flames curled high and higher, And billows of smoke and cinders From the chimney-top rolled out, And darkened the sky at noonday, And shadowed the land about. Then he filled ten billion barrels With the soot that trickled down, And up through the chimney hurled them, Up through the chimney brown; And lo! when the morning’s sunlight Shone through the clouds of smoke, In those two wicked cities Neither prince nor beggar woke; For the soot from the giant’s chimney Had deluged the country wide; And over those wicked cities It rolled in a turbid tide. All in the night They were buried from sight. “Ha, ha!” laughed Giant Jungenthor, “Is Winnikin satisfied?”

And this was the fairy’s errand When she came another time: “O Jungenthor, a monarch Has builded a palace fine; Aided by dwarf and elfin He has builded it tall and grand. With marble white from the quarry, Not hewn by mortal hand; For night by night In the pale moonlight Did we hammer and delve away, To get the great stones ready For the workmen of the day. O Jungenthor, we labored, Behold, for a thankless King! For he has cut down the forest Where oft, in a merry ring, Did the fairies dance and frolic, Or among the branches swing. After all our toil and trouble He has destroyed our trees, And the sight of his gorgeous palace Winnikin does not please.”

As soon as her story ended Did the angry giant frown; He lifted his voice of thunder, And the palace toppled down. Oh! he roared so loud That the frightened crowd Fled from the tumbling town, And the thankless monarch stumbled, And fell, and broke his crown. And forth from his firelit cavern Did the giant peep and grin, Then growled at the fay beside him— “Does _that_ please Winnikin?”

And such were the fairy’s errands, As from time to time she came To Jungenthor the giant, Feeding the flood of flame; And such were the tales she told him Of trouble, and wrong, and grief, And thus and so Would the giant go To Winnikin’s relief.

Once came the fairy, weeping, “O Jungenthor!” said she, “O mighty giant, listen To the news I bring to thee.

“All up among the mountains, Amid the forests dim, There stands a ruined castle, A castle old and grim: And in its shade at evening The elves are wont to meet, To dance upon the mosses And sway with lilies sweet. Well, yestere’en, it happened, Just at the midnight hour, While we were making merry, Forth from the vine-wreathed tower There came a plaintive moaning, And I alone who heard Flew up the twining ivy, As lightly as a bird, And found on high a dungeon Beneath the shattered roof, And there a pale young captive From mortal aid aloof, By heavy, clanking irons Chained to the wall of stone. O Jungenthor, good reason Has he to weep and moan! And this is what he told me, And this is what he told; Now hear, O mighty giant, What fiends the earth doth hold:

“‘All up a mountain pathway, That winds through forests green, There rode three gallant horsemen And nevermore were seen. Three other gallant horsemen Rode up in search of them, Rode up the narrow pathway— And came not back again. And after went three others The mountain searching o’er— It fared with those three others As with them that went before. And all the people marveled, And all were filled with fear, And no one dared to venture The mountain pathway near.

“‘Now, one of those nine horsemen Was a knight of our good King; And so a prize he offered To any who should bring A true report and trusty Of all those hapless men Who ventured up the mountain And ne’er came down again. Whoso should dare the pathway And bring a true report, Thus he should be rewarded— Oh, he should dwell at court, And all should do him honor, And the King should make him knight, And give to him a war-horse And a suit of armor bright!

“‘Now, we are seven brothers, So hale, and strong, and tall, Save me, who am the seventh, The youngest of them all; And for my lowly stature, Fair face, and yellow curls, The rest they loved to taunt me And tease the livelong day, The while we watched the cattle Or turned the new-mown hay. “Go hence, go hence, fair lily, And haste thee,” they would say; “Lest thou shouldst tan or freckle Beneath the burning sun, Go get thyself a bonnet To shield thee, gentle one! Go gossip with old women! Go spin and sew with girls!”

“‘Aweary of their mocking And jests at last I grew, And much I thought and pondered What brave deed I might do, Their cruel scorn to silence; And when I heard the news, A chance such prize of winning How could I well refuse? So, thro’ the brooding midnight, The while the others slept, Across the fields and pastures All silently I crept; And when mine eyes I lifted At breaking of the day, I saw afar the mountain, Toward which I took my way. And on, and on I journeyed, Till, just as night came down, I passed into the forest Among the shadows brown. Then up the winding pathway I hurried on, in fear, ’Till, through the darkness shining Forth from a ruin near, A light I spied, and thither I turned, in hope I might Find food—for I was hungry— And shelter for the night. I reached the door, and ent’ring (I thought the place an inn, For there were sounds of feasting And merriment within), Fierce men, with cruel weapons, A table gathered ’round, Sprang up and seized me, helpless, And with these fetters bound. “What brings thee here, thou stripling?” In anger questioned they. “O sirs,” I answered, trembling, “I’ve journeyed all the day; For food, and rest, and shelter I chanced to turn this way, But since I am not welcome, Let me pass on, I pray.”

“Ha, not so fast, young villain! We know that is a lie. What errand brings thee hither? Confess thou art a spy!” “It is a peaceful errand, O sirs,” I answered then; “I seek nine gallant horsemen. And have ye heard of them? They rode this way, nor ever Returned, and I would bring Some tidings of the missing To our good lord, the King.” At that, with peals of laughter The dreary place did ring. “Thou’lt see thy gallant horsemen Ere thou shalt see the King!” They said, and roughly dragged me Along the banquet-hall, And up into this lonesome tower, And chained me to the wall. “Lie there, lie there and rest thee!” They cried in mocking tones; “Thou’rt welcome to thy lodging— And the lichens on the stones!”

“‘O fairy, now for many days Have I thus helpless lain; No food but these gray mosses, No drink but pearls of rain That through the sunken ceiling Drop to me where I lie, When the blessed clouds in pity Creep downward from the sky. O fairy, I beseech thee, Release me ere I die! For they who keep this castle Are robbers fierce and bold, I’ve learned from bloody stories By one and other told, As night by night, grown merry With wine, their voices rise, And come to me with secrets Through the long galleries. They gather here at midnight From all the country o’er, To hide their plundered treasure Beneath the stone-paved floor, To talk of their adventures And feast till break of day, When quick they mount their horses, And swiftly ride away To seek the mountain-passes And lie in wait for prey. The very steeds that bear them Were stolen, and they tell Of three who once rode hither, On whom they, waiting, fell And slew, and of three others Who up the mountain came, And yet again three others; And all did fare the same. And now—for who could doubt it?— Those were the missing nine! Oh! I would bear the tidings, The prize it should be mine, But that thus bound with irons And helpless here I lie. Good fairy, I beseech thee, Release me ere I die!’

“Such was the tale he told me. O Jungenthor, I plead That thou wilt lift thy mighty arm And help him in his need.”

When the fairy had finished speaking, The giant stood up and knocked Again and again on the ceiling, Till the ruined castle rocked, And the roof fell in With a deafening din, And the stones fell out And tumbled about; And the thieves who merrily feasted, Or ever they could take flight, The earth gaped wide and swallowed, Then closed and covered from sight. “Ha, ha!” laughed Giant Jungenthor, “Haven’t I served them right?”

But there was one part of the castle— The tow’r where the young lad lay— Left standing (and who denieth That it stands there to this day?) The door it had flown wide open At the knocking of Jungenthor, The iron chain It had snapped in twain, And the captive was free once more.

And still in his clanking fetters, Wasted, and weak, and wan, He crawled away to the forest, He wandered and wandered on. Bewildered and faint, all slowly Here and there did he stray, Till he saw a snow-white charger, With saddle and trappings gay, Feeding among the herbage, And him did he mount straightway, Saying, “Good steed, O speed, O speed! And carry me, carry me, carry me Safe to the King this day!”

Then the beautiful snow-white charger, As tho’ he had understood, Galloped adown the mountain, Down and on through the wood; And, eager, as one long absent Seeking his home again, The road to the royal city He took when he reached the plain; And the folk in the fields at labor, And the passers to and fro, Lifted their eyes in wonder, Seeing him speeding so— For ever the farther he traveled The faster he seemed to go.

The King from the palace window Looked forth at set of sun, And along the dusty highway Saw a horse and rider come; And he watched till the snow-white charger Paused at the palace gate, Then he turned to the courtiers round him, Saying in wonder great, “Look, ye! it is the war horse Of my brave knight, Harald, he Who rode on the fated mission. Bring the rider to me!”

And into the royal presence, Trembling, the young lad came, Wasted, and wan, and pallid, Feebly dragging his chain. “Who art thou?” the King demanded, Marveling at the sight; “Whence dost thou come, and wherefore, And why in this woeful plight?”

Then the youth made timid answer— “O my gracious lord the King, I am a humble peasant, And tidings I come to bring Of the fate of the missing horsemen.” Bidding the lad come near, Eager the King did question, And the courtiers all, Both great and small, Crowded about to hear.

When the boy had told his story The King laid hand on his head;— “If thou wert but ten years older I would make thee a knight,” he said. “Alas!” sighed the boy, recalling The scorn and the cruel jeers Of his brothers, “I am not worthy, Because of my youthful years!” And wasted, and weak, and pallid, He sank with a weary moan, His fetters clanking around him, There at the foot of the throne. Then the King’s fair little daughter, Who had listened with tearful eyes, Spake softly, “Have pity, my father! Hath he not won the prize?”

“Arise!” said the good King, smiling, “Forsooth I will keep my word,” (And, saying, the young lad’s shoulder Lightly he touched with his sword); “Forsooth I will keep my promise, Since the little one pleads thy claim! Henceforth shall they know thee only As the Knight of the Golden Mane. The steed that hath borne thee hither Henceforward thine own shall be, And when thou art grown to fit it Mine armor I’ll give to thee.” Then to the servitors turning— “Unbind him without delay, Tho’ these chains were a badge of honor And clanked in his praise to-day.”

And the youthful knight thereafter At the court of the King abode, Like a prince did he go appareled, And the snow-white steed he rode. And the King’s own suit of armor He wore when a man he grew— Helmet, and shield, and coat of mail, And the good King’s broad-sword, too. And so valiant was he in warfare, And so wise alway, that his fame Afar did ring, And the foes of the King Trembled to hear his name.

Now, once to the royal city The people by thousands came (For that day did he wed the princess, She who pleaded his claim); And there were six stalwart brothers In the gay and festive throng, And low did they make obeisance As grandly he rode along; But sudden, amazed and awe-struck Were they when the warrior bold— In his bright and dazzling armor, With his flowing locks of gold— Halted to give them greeting; Sudden they blanched with shame, For, behold, their long-lost brother Was the Knight of the Golden Mane!

And none of all this had happened, And the castle, so grim and gray, Might have been the home of robbers Unto this very day; And the poor young lad imprisoned, Bound by the iron chain, Had clambered the lonely mountain And tried for the prize in vain, But for the giant’s knocking. And from this and from that you see, When the fairy asked help of Jungenthor, Just the way it would be— Oh, oh, Jungenthor, Such a mighty one was he!

LITTLE FLORENCE.

O Florence, little Florence, With your face so bonny-bright, With your hair so full of sunshine, With your eyes so full of light,

With your head so full of frolic, With your heart so full of love, If you could only tell me, Could tell me, pretty dove!

Do the little laughing cherubs Slide down the moonbeams white, And whisper funny stories, And talk to you all night?—

The funny bits of ballads You babble now and then, In a sweeter, softer language Than other mortals ken.