Enough of woe hast thou wrought on

the land,

The husbandman folds his arms in despair;

Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, Let the ocean repose in her dark strength;

Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armoury of Odin;

Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north-western heaven,

Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the

Reim-kennar.

Eagle of the far north-western waters, Thou hast heard the voice of the Reimkennar,

Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding,

And folded them in peace by thy side. My blessing be on thy retiring path; When thou stoopest from thy place on high,

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown ocean,

Rest till destiny shall again awaken i thee;

Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of the Reimkennar.

Chap. vi.

A LAST FAREWELL. CLAUD HALCRO sings :— FAREWELL to Northmaven,

Grey Hillswicke, farewell! To the calms of thy haven,

The storms on thy fell, To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary! We meet not again!

Farewell the wild ferry,

Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave. There's a maid may look over These wild waves in vain,For the skiff of her lover

He comes not again!

The vows thou hast broke,

On the wild currents fling them; On the quicksand and rock

Let the mermaidens sing them; New sweetness they 'll give her Bewildering strain;

But there's one who will never
Believe them again.

O were there an island,

Though ever so wild,
Where woman could smile, and
No man be beguiled-
Too tempting a snare

To poor mortals were given;
And the hope would fix there,

That should anchor in heaven. Chap. XII.

HAROLD HARFAGER.

THE sun is rising dimly red,
The wind is wailing low and dread;
From his cliff the eagle sallies,
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys,
In the mist the ravens hover,
Peep the wild dogs from the cover,
Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling,
Each in his wild accents telling,
'Soon we feast on dead and dying,
Fair-hair'd Harold's flag is flying.'

Many a crest on air is streaming, Many a helmet darkly gleaming, Many an arm the axe uprears, Doom'd to hew the wood of spears. D d

NORNA sings:

FOR leagues along the watery way, Through gulf and stream my course

has been ;

The billows know my Runic lay,
And smooth their crests to silent

green.

The billows know my Runic lay,The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still;

But human hearts, more wild than they,

Know but the rule of wayward will.

One hour is mine, in all the year,

To tell my woes,-and one alone; When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here,

When dies the mystic light, 'tis

gone.

TROLLD'S REPLY.

A THOUSAND winters dark have flown Since o'er the threshold of my Stone A votaress pass'd, my power to own. Visitor bold

Of the mansion of Trolld,

Maiden, haughty of heart,
Who hast hither presum'd,-
Ungifted, undoom'd,

Thou shalt not depart !
The power thou dost covet
O'er tempest and wave,
Shall be thine, thou proud maiden!
By beach and by cave,

By stack and by skerry, by noup1 and by voe2,

By air and by wick, and by helyer and gio3,

4

And by every wild shore which the northern winds know

And the northern tides lave.

But tho' this shall be given thee, thou desperately brave,

The lamp is lit, the flame is clear,

To you I come to tell my tale,
Awake, arise, my tale to hear!

NORNA'S INVOCATION.

DWELLERS of the mountain, rise,
Trolld the powerful, Haims the wise!
Ye who taught weak woman's tongue
Words that sway the wise and strong;
Ye who taught weak woman's hand
How to wield the magic wand,
And wake the gales on Foulah's steep
Or lull wild Sumburgh's waves to
sleep!

Still live ye yet? Not yours the pow'r

Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour. What are ye now but empty names, Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims, That, lightly spoken, lightly heard, Float on the air like thistle's beard?

shalt have

sea;

NORNA.

The infant loves the rattle's noise;
Age, double childhood, hath its toys;
But different far the descant rings,
As strikes a different hand the strings.
The eagle mounts the polar sky-
The Imber-goose, unskill'd to fly,
Must be content to glide along,
Where seal and sea-dog list his song.

CLAUD HALCRO.

Be mine the Imber-goose to play,
And haunt lone cave and silent bay;
The archer's aim so shall I shun—
So shall I 'scape the levell'd gun—
Content my verses' tuneless jingle,
With Thule's sounding tides to mingle,
While, to the ear of wondering wight,
Upon the distant headland's height,
Soften'd by murmur of the sea,
The rude sounds seem like harmony!
Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
A gallant bark from far abroad,
Saint Magnus hath her in his road,

soft,

And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft: Seven good fishes have spouted their last,

A silken and a scarlet crew,

Deep stored with precious merchan

dise,

Of gold, and goods of rare device

yard and mast;

Two are for Lerwick, and two for

Kirkwall,

Three for Burgh Westra, the choicest of all.

CLAUD HALCRO.

Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
Thou hast conn'd full many a rhyme,
That lives upon the surge of time:
Tell me, shall my lays be sung,
Like Hacon's of the golden tongue,
Long after Halcro's dead and gone?
Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own
One note to rival glorious John?

In bark and crew, in goods and gold?

NORNA.

Gold is ruddy, fair, and free,
Blood is crimson, and dark to see;
I look'd out on Saint Magnus Bay,
And I saw a falcon that struck her
prey,-

A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore,

And talons and singles are dripping

with gore;

Let him that asks after them look on his hand,

And if there is blood on 't, he's one of their band.