With sound most like a groan, and then was hush'd. ̧ Is none who on such spot such sounds could hear But to his heart the blood had faster rush'd; Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was dear It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear.
Yet Harold and his page no signs have traced
Within the castle, that of danger show'd;
For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, As through their precincts the adventurers trode. The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and broad, Each tower presenting to their scrutiny
A hall in which a king might make abode;
And fast beside, garnish'd both proud and high,
Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might lie.
As if a bridal there of late had been,
Deck'd stood the table in each gorgeous hall;
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween,
Since date of that unhallow'd festival.
Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all
Of tarnish'd gold, or silver nothing clear,
With throne begilt, and canopy of pall,
And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments sear— Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof appear.
In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung
A dusky crimson curtain o'er the bed,
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung
The wasted relics of a monarch dead;
Barbaric ornaments around were spread,
Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious
And golden circlets meet for monarch's head;
While grinn'd, as if in scorn among them thrown, The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust bestrown.
For these were they who, drunken with delight,
On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head,
For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light,
Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread.
For human bliss and woe in the frail thread
Of human life are all so closely twined,
That till the shears of Fate the texture shred,
The close succession cannot be disjoin'd;
Nor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes behind.
But where the work of vengeance had been done, In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight; There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, Still in the posture as to death when dight. For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright; And that, as one who struggled long in dying; One bony hand held knife, as if to smite; One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying; One lay across the door, as kill'd in act of flying.
The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see,—
For his chafed thought return'd to Metelill;-
And "Well," he said, "hath woman's perfidy,
Empty as air, as water volatile,
Been here avenged. The origin of ill
Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine saith; Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill
Can show example where a woman's breath
Hath made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept her faith."
The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh'd,
And his half-filling eyes he dried,
And said, "The theme I should but wrong,
Unless it were my dying song,
(Our Scalds have said, in dying hour
The Northern harp has treble power,)
Else could I tell of woman's faith,
Defying danger, scorn, and death.
Firm was that faith,- -as diamond stone
Pure and unflaw'd,-her love unknown,
And unrequited;-firm and pure,
Her stainless faith could all endure;
From clime to clime,-from place to place,
Through want, and danger, and disgrace,
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace.-
All this she did, and guerdon none
Required, save that her burial-stone
Should make at length the secret known,
Thus hath a faithful woman done.'-
Not in each breast such truth is laid,
But Eivir was a Danish maid."-
"Thou art a wild enthusiast," said
Count Harold, "for thy Danish maid;
And yet, young Gunnar, I will own
Hers were a faith to rest upon.
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone,
And all resembling her are gone.
What maid e'er show'd such constancy
In plighted faith, like thine to me?
But couch thee, boy; the darksome shade
Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd
Because the dead are by.
They were as we; our little day
O'erspent, and we shall be as they.
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid,
Thy couch upon my mantle made,
That thou mayst think, should fear invade,
Thy master slumbers nigh."
Thus couch'd they in that dread abode,
Until the beams of dawning glow'd.
An alter'd man Lord Harold rose,
When he beheld that dawn unclose—
There's trouble in his eyes,
And traces on his brow and cheek
Of mingled awe and wonder speak:
"My page," he said, "arise ;Leave we this place, my page.”. He utter'd till the castle door
They cross'd-but there he paused and said,
'My wildness hath awaked the dead
Disturb'd the sacred tomb!
Methought this night I stood on high,
Where Hecla roars in middle sky,
And in her cavern'd gulfs could spy
The central place of doom;
And there before my mortal eye
Souls of the dead came flitting by,
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry,
Bore to that evil den!
My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain
Was wilder'd at the elvish train,
With shriek and howl, dragg'd on amain
Those who had late been men.
"With haggard eyes and steaming hair
Jutta the Sorceress was there,
And there pass'd Wulfstane, lately slain,
All crush'd and foul with bloody stain.-
More had I seen, but that uprose
A whirlwind wild, and swept the snows;
And with such sound as when at need
A champion spurs his horse to speed,
Three armed knights rush on, who lead
Caparison'd a sable steed.
Sable their harness, and there came
Through their closed visors sparks of flame.
The first proclaim'd, in sounds of fear,
'Harold the Dauntless, welcome here!'
The next cried, Jubilee! we've won
Count Witikind the Waster's son!'
And the third rider sternly spoke,
'Mount, in the name of Zernebock !—
From us, O Harold, were thy powers,-
Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, is ours;
Nor think, a vassal thou of hell,
With hell can strive.' The fiend spoke true!
My inmost soul the summons knew.
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