Sigvald Jarl was a famous Sea Rover, who, when unengaged in his predatory expeditions, resided at Jomsborg, in Denmark. He was the terror of the Norwegian coasts, which he ravaged and pillaged almost at his pleasure. Hacon Jarl, who at that time sat on the Norwegian throne, being informed that Sigvald meditated a grand descent, and knowing that he himself was unable to oppose him, had recourse to his God, Thorgerd, to whom he sacrificed his son Erling. In what manner Thorgerd assisted him and his forces, when the Danes landed, will best be learned from the bold song which the circumstance gave rise to, and which the following is a feeble attempt to translate.
When from our ships we bounded, I heard, with fear astounded, The storm of Thorgerd's waking, From Northern vapours breaking;
With flinty masses blended, Gigantic hail descended, And thick and fiercely rattled Against us there embattled.
To aid the hostile maces, It drifted in our faces;
It drifted, dealing slaughter, And blood ran out like water -
Ran reeking, red, and horrid, From batter'd cheek and forehead;
We plied our swords, but no men Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen.
And demon Thorgerd raging To see us still engaging, Shot, downward from the heaven, His shafts of flaming levin;
Then sank our brave in numbers, To cold eternal slumbers;
There lay the good and gallant, Renown'd for warlike talent.
Our captain, this perceiving, The signal made for leaving, And with his ship departed, Downcast and broken-hearted;
War, death, and consternation, Pursu'd our embarkation;
We did our best, but no men Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen.
THE ELDER-WITCH.
According to the Danish tradition, there is a female Elf in the elder tree, which she leaves every midnight; and, having strolled among the fields, returns to it before morning.
Though tall the oak, and firm its stem, Though far abroad its boughs are spread, Though high the poplar lifts its head, I have no song for them.
A theme more bright, more bright would be The winsome, winsome elder tree, Beneath whose shade I sit reclin'd; -
It holds a witch within its bark, A lovely witch who haunts the dark, And fills with love my mind.
When ghosts, at midnight, leave their graves, And rous'd is every phantom thing;
When mermaids rise and sweetly sing In concert with the waves;
When Palnatoka, on his steed, Pursues the elves across the mead, Or gallops, gallops o'er the sea, The witch within the elder's bark, The lovely witch who haunts the dark, Comes out, comes out to me.
Of leaves the fairies make our bed;
The knight, who moulders 'neath the elm,
Starts up with spear and rusted helm, -
By him the grace is said;
And though her kiss is cold at times, And does not scent of earthly climes, Though glaring is her eye, yet still The witch within the elder's bark, The lovely witch who haunts the dark, I prize, and ever will.
Yet, once I lov'd a mortal maid, And gaz'd, enraptur'd, on her charms, Oft circled in each other's arms, Together, here we stray'd; -
But, soon, she found a fairer youth, And I a fairer maid, forsooth!
And one more true, more true to me, The witch within the elder's bark, The lovely witch who haunts the dark, Has been more true to me.
ODE.
FROM THE GAELIC.
"Is luaimnach mo chodal an nochd."
Oh restless, to night, are my slumbers;
Life yet I retain, but not gladness;
My heart in my bosom is wither'd, And sorrow sits heavy upon me.
For cold, in her grave-hill, is lying The maid whom I gaz'd on, so fondly, Whose teeth were like chalk from the quarry, Whose voice was more sweet than harp music.
Like foam that subsides on the water, Just where the wild swan has been playing;
Like snow, by the sunny beam melted, My love, thou wert gone on a sudden.
Salt tears I let fall in abundance, When memory bringeth before me That eye, like the placid blue heaven;
That cheek, like the rose in its glory.
Sweet object of warmest affection, Why could not thy beauty protect thee?
Why, sparing so many a thistle, Did Death cut so lovely a blossom?
Here pine I, forlorn and abandon'd, Where once I was cheerful and merry:
No joy shall e'er shine on my visage, Until my last hour's arrival.
O, like the top grain on the corn-ear, Or, like the young pine, 'mong the bushes;
Or, like the moon, 'mong the stars shining, Wert thou, O my love, amongst women!
