Ye sounds, so low and calm, Seemed to me like an angel's psalm! Go, mingle yet once more With the perpetual roar Of the pine forest, dark and hoar! Tongues of the dead, not lost, Glimmer, as funeral lamps, Of the vast plain where Death encamps! BALLADS. THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. THE following Ballad was suggested to me while riding on the seashore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded armour; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the Old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early ancestors. "SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest! Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, Why dost thou haunt me?" Then, from those cavernous eyes And, like the water's flow From the heart's chamber. "I was a Viking old! My deeds, though manifold, No Saga taught thee! Take heed, that in thy verse "Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon ; And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. "Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, Oft through the forest dark Sang from the meadow. "But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led; "Many a wassail-bout Wore the long Winter out; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk's tale 'Once, as I told in glee And as the white stars shine "I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest "Bright in her father's hall When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrel stand To hear my story. "While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, "She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, Should not the dove so white "Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. |