Do you not know me? does no voice within Answer my cry, and say we are akin?"The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport To keep a mad man for thy Fool at court!"And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace.
In solemn state the Holy Week went by, And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;The presence of the Angel, with its light, Before the sun rose, made the city bright, And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.
Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, He felt within a power unfelt before, And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, He heard the rushing garments of the Lord Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.
And now the visit ending, and once more Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again The land was made resplendent with his train, Flashing along the towns of Italy Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.
And when once more within Palermo's wall, And, seated on the throne in his great hall, He heard the Angelus from convent towers, As if the better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, And with a gesture bade the rest retire;And when they were alone, the Angel said, "Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, And in some cloister's school of penitence, Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!"The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face A holy light illumined all the place, And through the open window, loud and clear, They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, Above the stir and tumult of the street:
"He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree!"And through the chant a second melody Rose like the throbbing of a single string:
"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"
King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!
But all apparelled as in days of old, With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;And when his courtiers came, they found him there Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in, silent prayer.
INTERLUDE
And then the blue-eyed Norseman told A Saga of the days of old.
"There is," said he, "a wondrous book Of Legends in the old Norse tongue, Of the dead kings of Norroway,--Legends that once were told or sung In many a smoky fireside nook Of Iceland, in the ancient day, By wandering Saga-man or Scald;Heimskringla is the volume called;
And he who looks may find therein The story that I now begin."And in each pause the story made Upon his violin he played, As an appropriate interlude, Fragments of old Norwegian tunes That bound in one the separate runes, And held the mind in perfect mood, Entwining and encircling all The strange and antiquated rhymes with melodies of olden times;As over some half-ruined wall, Disjointed and about to fall, Fresh woodbines climb and interlace, And keep the loosened stones in place.
THE MUSICIAN'S TALE
THE SAGA OF KING OLAF
I
THE CHALLENGE OF THOR
I am the God Thor, I am the War God, I am the Thunderer!
Here in my Northland, My fastness and fortress, Reign I forever!
Here amid icebergs Rule I the nations;
This is my hammer, Miolner the mighty;
Giants and sorcerers Cannot withstand it!
These are the gauntlets Wherewith I wield it, And hurl it afar off;This is my girdle;
Whenever I brace it, Strength is redoubled!
The light thou beholdest Stream through the heavens, In flashes of crimson, Is but my red beard Blown by the night-wind, Affrighting the nations!
Jove is my brother;
Mine eyes are the lightning;
The wheels of my chariot Roll in the thunder, The blows of my hammer Ring in the earthquake!
Force rules the world still, Has ruled it, shall rule it;Meekness is weakness, Strength is triumphant, Over the whole earth Still is it Thor's-Day!
Thou art a God too, O Galilean!
And thus single-handed Unto the combat, Gauntlet or Gospel, Here I defy thee!
II
KING OLAF'S RETURN
And King Olaf heard the cry, Saw the red light in the sky, Laid his hand upon his sword, As he leaned upon the railing, And his ships went sailing, sailing Northward into Drontheim fiord.
There he stood as one who dreamed;
And the red light glanced and gleamed On the armor that he wore;And he shouted, as the rifled Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, "I accept thy challenge, Thor!"To avenge his father slain, And reconquer realm and reign, Came the youthful Olaf home, Through the midnight sailing, sailing, Listening to the wild wind's wailing, And the dashing of the foam.
To his thoughts the sacred name Of his mother Astrid came, And the tale she oft had told Of her flight by secret passes Through the mountains and morasses, To the home of Hakon old.
Then strange memories crowded back Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack, And a hurried flight by sea;Of grim Vikings, and the rapture Of the sea-fight, and the capture, And the life of slavery.
How a stranger watched his face In the Esthonian market-place, Scanned his features one by one, Saying, "We should know each other;I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother, Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son!"Then as Queen Allogia's page, Old in honors, young in age, Chief of all her men-at-arms;Till vague whispers, and mysterious, Reached King Valdemar, the imperious, Filling him with strange alarms.
Then his cruisings o'er the seas, Westward to the Hebrides, And to Scilly's rocky shore;And the hermit's cavern dismal, Christ's great name and rites baptismal in the ocean's rush and roar.
All these thoughts of love and strife Glimmered through his lurid life, As the stars' intenser light Through the red flames o'er him trailing, As his ships went sailing, sailing, Northward in the summer night.