Journeys Through Bookland Volume Iii Part 37

Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat, left and right He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

"Halt!"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast.

"Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast.

It s.h.i.+vered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara s.n.a.t.c.hed the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill.

And shook it forth with a royal will.

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;

The n.o.bler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word:

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of freedom and union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town!

BEOWULF AND GRENDEL

NOTE.--The oldest poem in the English language is Beowulf, which covers some six thousand lines. When it was written is not exactly known, but the original is still in existence in the British Museum.

It was written in Anglo-Saxon and could not be read and understood by us to-day. It has, however, been translated and turned into modern English, and its quaintness of phrasing gives it a very peculiar charm of its own.

An old Anglo-Saxon poem bears little resemblance to ours. There is no rhyme, and the lines are not equal in length, and there does not seem to be much music in it. One of its poetic characteristics is alliteration; that is, several words in the same line begin with the same or similar sounds. It is a n.o.ble old poem, however, and of great interest, for it shows us what the old Saxon gleemen sang at their feasts for the entertainment of their guests, as they sat about the blazing fires in the huge, rude halls, drinking their mead.

The chief incident in the poem is Beowulf's battle with Grendel, and a description of that, taken indirectly from the poem, is the story that follows. After this combat Beowulf returned to his home, in time was made king, and after a stormy life died from wounds received in combat with a terrible fire fiend.

When the history of the Danes begins they had no kings and suffered much at the hands of their neighbors. Then by way of the sea, from some unknown land, came Scef, who subdued the neighboring tribes and established the Danish throne on a firm foundation. His son and his son's son followed him, but the latter sailed away as his grandfather had come, and the race of ruler G.o.ds was ended.

Left to themselves, the Danes chose a king who ruled long and well and left his son Hrothgar to make of them a wealthy and prosperous people.

After years of warfare, when the prosperity of Hrothgar was fully established, it came into his mind to build a great hall where he and his warriors and counselors could meet around one common banquet table and where, as they drank their mead, they could discuss means for increasing their power and making better the condition of their peoples. High-arched and beautiful was the great mead-palace, with towering pinnacles and marvelous walls, and the name that he gave to the palace was Heorot, the HART or, as some say, the HEART. When the n.o.ble building was finished, Hrothgar's heart was filled with joy, and he gave to his counselors a n.o.ble feast, at which he presented them with rings and ornaments and entertained them with music on the harps and the inspiring songs of the Skalds.

Far away in the marshes, in the dark and solemn land where dwelt the Jotuns, the giants who warred against G.o.d's people, lived the grim and ferocious Grendel, more terrible than any of his brethren. From out of the fastnesses of his gloomy home he saw the fair building of Hrothgar and grew jealous of the Danish king, hating the united people, for peace and harmony were evil in his sight.

The feast was long over, and the thanes and warriors slept in the banquet hall, worn out by their rejoicing, but dreaming only of the peaceful days to follow their long years of warfare. Into the midst of the hall crept Grendel, and seized in his mighty arms full thirty of the sleeping men and carried them away to his noisome home, where he feasted at leisure upon their bodies.

The next morning there was grief and terror among the remaining Danes, for they knew that no human being could have wrought such havoc and that no human power could prevail against the monster who preyed upon them.

The next night Grendel came again and levied his second tribute, and again there was mourning and desolation in the land. Thus for twelve years the monster giant came at intervals and carried away many of the n.o.blest in the kingdom. Then were there empty homes everywhere in the land, and sorrow and suffering came where joy and peace had rested.

Strange as it may seem, Hrothgar himself was never touched, though he sat the night long watching his n.o.bles as they slept in the mead-hall, hoping himself to deliver them from the awful power that hara.s.sed them. But night after night Grendel came, and while Hrothgar remained unharmed he was equally powerless to stay the ravages of the giant.

Hrothgar bowed his head in sorrow and prayed to his G.o.ds to send help before all his n.o.ble va.s.sals perished.

Far to the westward, among strange people, lived a man, the strongest and greatest of his race, Beowulf by name. To him came the news of Grendel's deeds and of Hrothgar's sorrow, and his soul was filled with a fiery ambition to free the Danes. From among his warriors he selected fifteen of the boldest and strongest, and put out to sea in a new s.h.i.+p, pitched within and without, to seek the land of the Danes and to offer his help to Hrothgar. Over the white sea waves dashed the n.o.ble vessel, flinging the foam aside from her swanlike prow until before her showed the cliffs and wind-swept mountain sides of Denmark.

Giving thanks to G.o.d for their prosperous voyage, they landed, donned their heavy armor and marched in silence to the palace Heorot.

Entering the hall with clanking armor they set their brazen s.h.i.+elds against the wall, piled their steel-headed spears in a heap by the door, and bowed to Hrothgar, who, bowed with sorrow and years, sat silently among his earls. When Beowulf rose among his warriors he towered high above them, G.o.dlike in his glittering armor. Hrothgar looked on him in wonder, but felt that he saw in the mighty man a deliverer sent in answer to his prayer.

Before Hrothgar could recover from his surprise and delight, Beowulf stretched forth his powerful arms and spoke: "Hail, Hrothgar, king of the Danes. Many a time and oft have I fought with the Jotuns, evil and powerful, and every time have I overcome, and now have I come unto the land of the Danes to undertake battle with the fierce Grendel. No human weapon hath power against a Jotun, so here in your mead-hall leave I my weapons all, and empty-handed and alone will I pit my strength against the horrid Grendel. Man to man, strength to strength, will I fight, till victory is mine or death befalleth me.

"If I perish, give my companions my shroud and send it home by them in my new s.h.i.+p across the sea. Let there be no mourning for me, for to every man Fate cometh at last."

Hrothgar answered, "n.o.ble you are, O Beowulf, and powerful, but terrible indeed is Grendel. Many a time at eventide have my warriors fearlessly vowed to await the coming of Grendel and to fight with him as you propose; but when morning came, the floor of Heorot was deep with their blood, but no other trace of them remained. Before, however, we accept your valiant offer, sit this night at meat, where, by our old and honored custom, we incite each other to heroic deeds and valorous behavior, when night shall come and Grendel claim his prey."

A royal feast it was that the old king gave that night, and the golden mead flowed from the twisted cups in living streams, while the Skalds sang the valorous deeds of heroic Danes of old.

Then rose Beowulf to speak. "To-night Grendel cometh again, expecting no one to fight him for many a time hath he levied his toll and escaped without harm. Here alone with myself will I keep vigil, and alone will I fight the foul fiend. To-morrow morning the sun will glorify my victory or I shall be a corpse in the dark and noisome home of the ogre."

The eye of the gray-haired king grew bright again as he listened to the brave words of Beowulf, and from her throne the queen in her bejeweled garments stepped down to Beowulf and presented him the loving-cup with words of gracious encouragement.

"No more shall Grendel feast upon the bodies of royal Danes, for to- night his foul body shall feel the powerful grip of my mighty hands,"

said Beowulf.

To their proper resting places in the hall stepped the Danish warriors, one by one, filing in a steady line past the great Beowulf, to whom each gave kindly greeting. Last of all came Hrothgar, and as he pa.s.sed, he grasped the strong fingers of Beowulf and said, "To your keeping I leave my great hall, Heorot. Never before have I pa.s.sed the duty on to any man. Be thou brave and valiant, and if victory cometh to thee no reward shall be too great for thy service."

And so the king departed, and silence fell over Heorot.

Left alone, Beowulf laid aside his iron mail, took off his brazen helmet and ungirded his trusty sword. Then unarmed and unprotected he lay down upon his bed. All about the palace slept, but Beowulf could find no rest upon his couch.

In the dim light of the early morn, forth from the pale mists of the marshes, stalked Grendel, up to the door of the many-windowed Heorot.

Fire-strengthened were the iron bands with which the doors were bound, but he tore them away like wisps of straw and walked across the sounding tiles of the many-colored floor. Like strokes of vivid lightning flashed the fire from his eyes, making before him all things as clear as noonday. Beowulf, on his sleepless couch, held his breath as the fierce ogre gloated savagely over the bountiful feast he saw spread before him in the bodies of the sleeping Danes. With moistening lips he trod among the silent braves, and Beowulf saw him choose the strongest and n.o.blest of them all. Quickly the monster stooped, seized the sleeping earl, and with one fierce stroke of his ma.s.sive jaw, tore open the throat of the warrior and drank his steaming blood. Then he tore the corpse limb from limb and with horrid glee crunched the bones of his victim's hands.