In The Yule-Log Glow Volume Iii Part 2

And he loosened the belt at his waist, And in front of the singer placed His sword.

"Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, Wherewith at a stroke he hewed The millstone through and through, And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong Were neither so broad nor so long Nor so true."

Then the Scald took his harp and sang, And loud through the music rang The sound of that s.h.i.+ning word; And the harp-strings a clangor made As if they were struck with the blade Of a sword.

And the Berserks round about Broke forth into a shout That made the rafters ring; They smote with their fists on the board, And shouted, "Long live the sword And the King!"

But the king said, "O my son, I miss the bright word in one Of thy measures and thy rhymes."

And Halfred the Scald replied, "In another 'twas multiplied Three times."

Then King Olaf raised the hilt Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, And said, "Do not refuse; Count well the gain and the loss, Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: Choose!"

And Halfred the Scald said, "This, In the name of the Lord, I kiss, Who on it was crucified!"

And a shout went round the board, "In the name of Christ the Lord Who died!"

Then over the waste of snows The noonday sun uprose Through the driving mists revealed, Like the lifting of the Host, By incense-clouds almost Concealed.

On the s.h.i.+ning wall a vast And shadowy cross was cast From the hilt of the lifted sword, And in foaming cups of ale The Berserks drank "Was-hael!

To the Lord!"

_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._

HALBERT AND HOB.

Here is a thing that happened. Like wild beasts whelped, for den, In a wild part of North England, there lived once two wild men, Inhabiting one homestead, neither a hovel nor hut, Time out of mind their birthright: father and son, these,--but,-- Such a son, such a father! Most wildness by degrees Softens away: yet, last of their line, the wildest and worst were these.

Criminals, then? Why, no: they did not murder and rob; But give them a word, they returned a blow,--old Halbert as young Hob: Harsh and fierce of word, rough and savage of deed, Hated or feared the more--who knows?--the genuine wild-beast breed.

Thus were they found by the few spa.r.s.e folk of the country-side; But how fared each with other? E'en beasts couch, hide by hide.

In a growling, grudged agreement: so father son lay curled The closelier up in their den because the last of their kind in the world.

Still, beast irks beast on occasion. One Christmas night of snow, Came father and son to words--such words! more cruel because the blow To crown each word was wanting, while taunt matched gibe, and curse Competed with oath in wager, like pastime in h.e.l.l,--nay, worse: For pastime turned to earnest, as up there sprang at last The son at the throat of the father, seized him, and held him fast.

"Out of this house you go!"--there followed a hideous oath-- "This oven where now we bake, too hot to hold us both!

If there's snow outside, there's coolness: out with you, bide a spell In the drift, and save the s.e.xton the charge of a parish sh.e.l.l!"

Now, the old trunk was tough, was solid as stump of oak Untouched at the core by a thousand years: much less had its seventy broke One whipcord nerve in the muscly ma.s.s from neck to shoulder-blade Of the mountainous man, whereon his child's rash hand like a feather weighed.

Nevertheless at once did the mammoth shut his eyes, Drop chin to breast, drop hands to sides, stand stiffened,--arms and thighs All of a piece--struck mute, much as a sentry stands, Patient to take the enemy's fire: his captain so commands.

Whereat the son's wrath flew to fury at such sheer scorn Of his puny strength by the giant eld thus acting the babe new-born: And "Neither will this turn serve!" yelled he. "Out with you! Trundle, log!

If you cannot tramp and trudge like a man, try all-fours like a dog!"

Still the old man stood mute. So, logwise,--down to floor Pulled from his fireside place, dragged on from hearth to door,-- Was he pushed, a very log, staircase along, until A certain turn in the steps was reached, a yard from the house-door sill.

Then the father opened his eyes,--each spark of their rage extinct,-- Temples, late black, dead-blanched, right-hand with left-hand linked,-- He faced his son submissive; when slow the accents came, They were strangely mild though his son's rash hand on his neck lay all the same.

"Halbert, on such a night of a Christmas long ago, For such a cause, with such a gesture, did I drag--so-- My father down thus far: but, softening here, I heard A voice in my heart, and stopped: you wait for an outer word.

"For your own sake, not mine, soften you too! Untrod Leave this last step we reach, nor brave the finger of G.o.d!

I dared not pa.s.s its lifting: I did well. I nor blame Nor praise you. I stopped here: Halbert, do you the same!"

Straightway the son relaxed his hold of the father's throat.

They mounted, side by side, to the room again: no note Took either of each, no sign made each to either: last As first, in absolute silence, their Christmas-night they pa.s.sed.

At dawn, the father sate on, dead, in the selfsame place, With an outburst blackening still the old bad fighting-face: But the son crouched all a-tremble like any lamb new-yeaned.

When he went to the burial, some one's staff he borrowed,--tottered and leaned.

But his lips were loose, not locked,--kept muttering, mumbling. "There!

At his cursing and swearing!" the youngsters cried; but the elders thought, "In prayer."

A boy threw stones; he picked them up and stored them in his vest; So tottered, muttered, mumbled he, till he died, perhaps found rest.

"Is there a reason in nature for these hard hearts?" O Lear, That a reason out of nature must turn them soft, seems clear!

_Robert Browning._

GOOD KING WENCESLAS.

Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even; Brightly shone the moon that night, Tho' the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gathering winter fuel.

"Hither, page, and stand by me, If thou know'st it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he?

Where and what his dwelling?"

"Sire, he lives a good league hence, Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs. .h.i.ther: Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither."

Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together Thro' the rude wind's wild lament And the bitter weather.

"Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer."

"Mark my footsteps, good my page; Tread thou in them boldly: Thou shalt find the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the saint had printed.

Therefore, Christian men, be sure, Wealth or rank possessing, Ye who now will bless the poor, Shall yourselves find blessing.

_Translated from the Latin, by J. M. Neale._

THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST.