"Not slaves and peasants shall they be, But men of note and high degree, Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting!"Then to their Temple strode he in, And loud behind him heard the din Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting.
There in the Temple, carved in wood, The image of great Odin stood, And other gods, with Thor supreme among them.
King Olaf smote them with the blade Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid, And downward shattered to the pavement flung them.
At the same moment rose without, From the contending crowd, a shout, A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing.
And there upon the trampled plain The farmer iron-Beard lay slain, Midway between the assailed and the assailing.
King Olaf from the doorway spoke.
"Choose ye between two things, my folk, To be baptized or given up to slaughter!"And seeing their leader stark and dead, The people with a murmur said, "O King, baptize us with thy holy water";So all the Drontheim land became A Christian land in name and fame, In the old gods no more believing and trusting.
And as a blood-atonement, soon King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun;And thus in peace ended the Drontheim Hus-Ting!
VIII
GUDRUN
On King Olaf's bridal night Shines the moon with tender light, And across the chamber streams Its tide of dreams.
At the fatal midnight hour, When all evil things have power, In the glimmer of the moon Stands Gudrun.
Close against her heaving breast Something in her hand is pressed Like an icicle, its sheen Is cold and keen.
On the cairn are fixed her eyes Where her murdered father lies, And a voice remote and drear She seems to hear.
What a bridal night is this!
Cold will be the dagger's kiss;
Laden with the chill of death Is its breath.
Like the drifting snow she sweeps To the couch where Olaf sleeps;Suddenly he wakes and stirs, His eyes meet hers.
"What is that," King Olaf said, "Gleams so bright above thy head?
Wherefore standest thou so white In pale moonlight?""'T is the bodkin that I wear When at night I bind my hair;It woke me falling on the floor;
'T is nothing more."
"Forests have ears, and fields have eyes;Often treachery lurking lies Underneath the fairest hair!
Gudrun beware!"
Ere the earliest peep of morn Blew King Olaf's bugle-horn;And forever sundered ride Bridegroom and bride!
IX
THANGBRAND THE PRIEST
Short of stature, large of limb, Burly face and russet beard, All the women stared at him, When in Iceland he appeared.
"Look!" they said, With nodding head, "There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."All the prayers he knew by rote, He could preach like Chrysostome, From the Fathers he could quote, He had even been at Rome, A learned clerk, A man of mark, Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest,He was quarrelsome and loud, And impatient of control, Boisterous in the market crowd, Boisterous at the wassail-bowl, Everywhere Would drink and swear, Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's PriestIn his house this malcontent Could the King no longer bear, So to Iceland he was sent To convert the heathen there, And away One summer day Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
There in Iceland, o'er their books Pored the people day and night, But he did not like their looks, Nor the songs they used to write.
"All this rhyme Is waste of time!"
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
To the alehouse, where he sat Came the Scalds and Saga-men;Is it to be wondered at, That they quarrelled now and then, When o'er his beer Began to leer Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest?
All the folk in Altafiord Boasted of their island grand;Saying in a single word, "Iceland is the finest land That the sun Doth shine upon!"Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
And he answered: "What's the use Of this bragging up and down, When three women and one goose Make a market in your town!"Every Scald Satires scrawled On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
Something worse they did than that;
And what vexed him most of all Was a figure in shovel hat, Drawn in charcoal on the wall;With words that go Sprawling below, "This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."Hardly knowing what he did, Then he smote them might and main, Thorvald Veile and Veterlid Lay there in the alehouse slain.
"To-day we are gold, To-morrow mould!"
Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
Much in fear of axe and rope, Back to Norway sailed he then.
"O, King Olaf! little hope Is there of these Iceland men!"Meekly said, With bending head, Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.
X
RAUD THE STRONG
"All the old gods are dead, All the wild warlocks fled;But the White Christ lives and reigns, And throughout my wide domains His Gospel shall be spread!"On the Evangelists Thus swore King Olaf.
But still in dreams of the night Beheld he the crimson light, And heard the voice that defied Him who was crucified, And challenged him to the fight.
To Sigurd the Bishop King Olaf confessed it.
And Sigurd the Bishop said, "The old gods are not dead, For the great Thor still reigns, And among the Jarls and Thanes The old witchcraft still is spread."Thus to King Olaf Said Sigurd the Bishop.
"Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword, Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;All the Godoe Isles belong To him and his heathen horde."Thus went on speaking Sigurd the Bishop.
"A warlock, a wizard is he, And lord of the wind and the sea;And whichever way he sails, He has ever favoring gales, By his craft in sorcery."Here the sign of the cross Made devoutly King Olaf.
"With rites that we both abhor, He worships Odin and Thor;So it cannot yet be said, That all the old gods are dead, And the warlocks are no more,"Flushing with anger Said Sigurd the Bishop.
Then King Olaf cried aloud:
"I will talk with this mighty Raud, And along the Salten Fiord Preach the Gospel with my sword, Or be brought back in my shroud!"So northward from Drontheim Sailed King Olaf!
XI
BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD
Loud the anngy wind was wailing As King Olaf's ships came sailing Northward out of Drontheim haven To the mouth of Salten Fiord.
