Journeys Through Bookland Volume V Part 28

Sir William of Saint Clair is down; We may not leave him here!"

But thicker, thicker grew the swarm, And sharper shot the rain, And the horses reared amid the press, But they would not charge again.

"Now Jesu help thee," said Lord James, "Thou kind and true Saint Clair!

An' if I may not bring thee off, I'll die beside thee there!"

Then in his stirrups up he stood, So lionlike and bold, And held the precious heart aloft All in its case of gold.

He flung it from him, far ahead, And never spake he more, But--"Pa.s.s thou first, thou dauntless heart, As thou wert wont of yore!"

The roar of fight rose fiercer yet, And heavier still the stour, Till the spears of Spain came s.h.i.+vering in, And swept away the Moor.

"Now praised be G.o.d, the day is won!

They fly o'er flood and fell,-- Why dost thou draw the rein so hard, Good knight, that fought so well?"

"O, ride ye on, Lord King!" he said, "And leave the dead to me, For I must keep the dreariest watch That ever I shall dree!

"There lies, above his master's heart, The Douglas, stark and grim; And woe is me I should be here, Not side by side with him!

"The world grows cold, my arm is old, And thin my lyart hair, And all that I loved best on earth Is stretched before me there.

"O Bothwell banks! that bloom so bright Beneath the sun of May, The heaviest cloud that ever blew Is bound for you this day.

"And Scotland! thou mayst veil thy head In sorrow and in pain: The sorest stroke upon thy brow Hath fallen this day in Spain!

"We'll bear them back unto our s.h.i.+p, We'll bear them o'er the sea, And lay them in the hallowed earth Within our own countrie.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HELD THE HEART ALOFT]

"And be thou strong of heart, Lord King, For this I tell thee sure, The sod that drank the Douglas' blood Shall never bear the Moor!"

The King he lighted from his horse, He flung his brand away, And took the Douglas by the hand, So stately as he lay.

"G.o.d give thee rest, thou valiant soul!

That fought so well for Spain; I'd rather half my land were gone, So that thou wert here again!"

We bore the good Lord James away, And the priceless heart we bore, And heavily we steered our s.h.i.+p Towards the Scottish sh.o.r.e.

No welcome greeted our return, Nor clang of martial tread, But all were dumb and hushed as death Before the mighty dead.

We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk, The heart in fair Melrose; And woful men were we that day,-- G.o.d grant their souls repose!

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

_By_ HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!

Who with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me!

Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me?"

Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the northern skies Gleam in December; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking[1] old!

My deeds, though manifold, No Skald[2] in song has told, No Saga[3] taught thee!

[Footnote 1: _Vikings_ was the name given to the bold Norse seamen who in the eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries infested the northern seas.

Tradition maintains that a band of these rovers discovered America centuries before Columbus.]

[Footnote 2: A skald was a Norse poet who celebrated in song the deeds of warriors.]

[Footnote 3: A saga is an ancient Scandinavian legend or tradition, relating mythical or historical events.]

"Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehea.r.s.e, Else dread a dead man's curse; For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon;[4]

And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on.

[Footnote 4: A gerfalcon is a large falcon of Northern Europe.]

"Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the werewolf's[5] bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow.

[Footnote 5: According to a popular superst.i.tion, a werewolf is a man, who, at times, is transformed into a wolf. Such a wolf is much more savage than a real wolf, and is especially fond of human flesh. This superst.i.tion has at some time existed among almost all peoples.]

"But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's[6] crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders.

Wild was the life we led; Many the souls that sped,

[Footnote 6: _Corsair_ is but another name for a pirate.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: I WAS A VIKING OLD]

Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders.

"Many a wa.s.sail-bout[7]

Wore the long Winter out; Often our midnight shout Set the c.o.c.ks crowing, As we the Berserk's[8] tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o'erflowing.

[Footnote 7: A wa.s.sail-bout is a drinking bout, or carouse.]

[Footnote 8: _Berserk_, or _Berserker_, was the name given in heathen times in Scandinavia to a wild warrior or champion. The Berserkers, it is said, had fits of madness, when they foamed at the mouth and howled like beasts, rus.h.i.+ng into battle naked and defenseless. It was believed that at such times they were proof against wounds either from fire or from steel.]

"Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars s.h.i.+ne On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted.

Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall s.h.i.+elds gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chaunting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed.