THE DEATH-RAVEN. FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER.
The silken sail, which caught the summer breeze, Drove the light vessel through the azure seas;
Upon the lofty deck, Dame Sigrid lay, And watch'd the setting of the orb of day:
Then, all at once, the smiling sky grew dark, The breakers rav'd, and sinking seem'd the bark;
The wild Death-raven, perch'd upon the mast, Scream'd 'mid the tumult, and awoke the blast.
Dame Sigrid saw the demon bird on high, And tear-drops started in her beauteous eye;
Her cheeks, which late like blushing roses bloom'd, Had now the pallid hue of fear assum'd:
"O wild death-raven, calm thy frightful rage, Nor war with one who warfare cannot wage.
Tame yonder billows, make them cease to roar, And I will give thee pounds of golden ore."
"With gold thou must not hope to pay the brave, For gold I will not calm a single wave, For gold I will not hush the stormy air, And yet my heart is mov'd by thy despair;
Give me the treasure hid beneath thy belt, And straight yon clouds in harmless rain shall melt, And down I'll thunder, with my claws of steel.
Upon the merman clinging to your keel."
"What I conceal'd beneath my girdle bear, Is thine--irrevocably thine--I swear.
Thou hast refus'd a great and noble prey, To get possession of my closet key.
Lo! here it is, and, when within thy maw, May'st thou much comfort from the morsel draw!"
The polish'd steel upon the deck she cast, And off the raven flutter'd from the mast.
Then down at once he plung'd amid the main, And clove the merman's frightful head in twain;
The foam-clad billows to repose he brought, And tam'd the tempest with the speed of thought;
Then, with a thrice-repeated demon cry, He soar'd aloft and vanish'd in the sky:
A soft wind blew the ship towards the land, And soon Dame Sigrid reach'd the wish'd-for strand.
Once, late at eve, she play'd upon her harp, Close by the lake where slowly swam the carp;
And, as the moon-beam down upon her shone, She thought of Norway, and its pine-woods lone.
"Yet love I Denmark," said she, "and the Danes, For o'er them Alf, my mighty husband, reigns."
Then 'neath her girdle something mov'd and yearn'd, And into terror all her bliss was turn'd.
"Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . "
Long sat she, then, and neither spoke nor stirr'd.
Faint, through the mist which rob'd the sky in gray, The pale stars glimmer'd from the milky way.
"Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . "
She strove in vain to breathe another word.
Above her head, its leaf the aspen shook -
Moist as her cheek, and pallid as her look.
Full five months pass'd, ere she, 'mid night and gloom, Brought forth with pain an infant from her womb:
They baptiz'd it, at midnight's murky hour, Lest it should fall within the demon's power.
It was a boy, more lovely than the morn, Yet Sigrid's heart with bitter care was torn.
Deep in a grot, through which a brook did flow, With crystal drops they sprinkled Harrald's brow.
He grew and grew, till upon Danish ground No youth to match the stripling could be found;
He was at once so graceful and so strong -
His look was fire, and his speech was song.
When yet a child, he tam'd the battle steed, And only thought of war and daring deed;
But yet Queen Sigrid nurs'd prophetic fears, And when she view'd him, always swam in tears.
One evening late, she lay upon her bed, (King Alf, her noble spouse, was long since dead)
She felt so languid, and her aching breast With more than usual sorrow was oppress'd.
Ah, then she heard a sudden sound that thrill'd Her every nerve, and life's warm current chill'd:-
The bird of death had through the casement flown, And thus he scream'd to her, in frightful tone:
"The wealthy bird came towering, Came scowering, O'er hill and stream.
'Look here, look here, thou needy bird, How gay my feathers gleam.'
"The needy bird came fluttering, Came muttering, And sadly sang, 'Look here, look here, thou wealthy bird, How loose my feathers hang.'
"Remember, Queen, the stormy day, When cast away Thou wast so nigh:-
Thou wast the needy bird that day, And unto me didst cry.
"Death-raven now comes towering, Comes scowering, O'er hill and stream;
But when wilt thou, Dame Sigrid fair, Thy plighted word redeem."
A hollow moan from Sigrid's bosom came, While he survey'd her with his eye of flame:
"Fly," said she; "demon monster, get thee hence!
My humble pray'r shall be my son's defence."
She cross'd herself, and then the fiend flew out;
But first, contemptuously he danc'd about, And sang, "No pray'r shall save him from my rage;
In Christian blood my thirst I will assuage."
Young Harrald seiz'd his scarlet cap, and cried, "I'll probe the grief my mother fain would hide;"
Then, rushing into her apartment fair, "O mother," said he, "wherefore sitt'st thou there, Far from thy family at dead of night, With lips so mute, and cheeks so ghastly white?
Tell me what lies so heavy at thy heart;
Grief, when confided, loses half its smart."
"O Harrald," sigh'd she, yielding to his pray'r, "Creatures are swarming in the earth and air, Who, wild with wickedness, and hot with wrath, Wage war on those who follow virtue's path.
One of those fiends is on the watch for thee, Arm'd with a promise wrung by him from me:
His blood-shot eyes in narrow sockets roll, And every night he leaves his mirksome hole.
"He was a kind of God, in former days;
Kings worshipp'd him, and minstrels sang his praise;
But when Christ's doctrine through the dark North flam'd, His, and all evil spirits' might was tam'd.
He now is but a raven; yet is still Full strong enough to work on thee his will:
Lost is the wretch who in his power falls -
Vainly he shrieks, in vain for mercy calls."
She whisper'd to him then, with bloodless lip, What had befallen her on board the ship;
But youthful Harrald listen'd undismay'd, And merely gripp'd the handle of his blade.
"My son," she murmur'd, when her tale was told, "Fear withers me, but thou look'st blythe and bold."
