Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DEATH OF ARNKEL, by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE Poet's Biography First Line: Across the roaring board in helgafell Last Line: Virtue, nor welfare of th' unsceptred state. Subject(s): Mythology - Norse | ||||||||
ACROSS the roaring board in Helgafell, Above the clash of ringing horns of ale, The guests of Snorri, reddened with the frost, Weighed all their comrades through a winter night, Disputing which was first in thew and brain And courteous acts of manhood; some averred Their host, the shifty Snorri, first of men, While some were bent to Arnkel, some to Styrr. Then Thorleif Kimbi shouted down the hall, "Folly and windy talk! the stalwart limbs Of Styrr, and that sharp goodly face of thine, All-cunning Snorri, make one man, not twain, -- One man in friendship and in rede, not twain, -- Nor that man worthy to be named for skill, Or strength, or beauty, or for popular arts, With Arnkel, son of Thorolf the grim ghost. Wit has he, though not lacking therewithal In sinew; see to it, comrades, lest he crush The savage leaders of our oligarchy, Vast, indolent, mere iron masks of men, Unfit for civic uses; his the hand To gather all our forces like the reins Of patient steeds, and drive us at his will, Unless we stir betimes, and are his bane." So from his turbulent mouth the shaft struck home, Venomed with envy and the jealous pride Of birth; and ere they roared themselves to rest, The chieftains vowed that Arnkel must be slain, Nor waited many days; for one clear night Freystein, the spy, as near his sheep he watched, Saw Arnkel fetching hay from Orlygstad, With three young thralls of his own household folk, And left the fold, and crept across the fell, And wakened from their first sweet midnight sleep The sons of Thorbrand, and went on, and roused Snorri, who dreamed of blood and dear revenge. Then through the frosty moonlit night they sped, Warmed to the heart with hopes of murderous play, Nine men from Snorri's house; and by the sea At Alptafjord they met the six men armed With Thorleif; scarcely greeted they, but skimmed Along the black shore of the flashing fjord, Lit by the large moon in a cloudless sky; Over the swelling, waving ice they flew, Grinding the tufts of grass beneath their sleighs, So silent, that the twigs of juniper Snapped under them, sharp, like a cracking whip, Echoing, and so to Orlygstad they came. But Arnkel saw them through the cold bright air, And turned, and bade the three young thralls haste home, To bring back others of their kith to fight; So, maddened by base fear, they rushed, and one Or ever he neared the homestead, as he fled, Slipped on the forehead of a mountain-force, And volleying down from icy plane to plane, Woke all the echoes of that waterfall, And died, while numb with fright the others ran. But Arnkel bowed, and loosened from his sleigh The iron runner with its shining point, And leaped upon the fence, and set his back Against the haystack; through the frosty night Its warm deep odour passed into his brain. But Snorri and his fellows with no word Sprang from their sleighs, and met below the fence, And reaching upwards with their brawny arms, Smote hard at Arnkel. With the runner he, Cleaving with both hands, parried blow on blow, Till, shaft by shaft, their spears splintered and snapt; Nor would they yet have reached him, but that he, Gathering a mighty stroke at Thorleif's head, Dashed down his runner on the icy fence And shivered it, while backwards Thorleif fell, Bending the slimness of his supple loins, Unwounded. So a moment's space they stood Silent. Then from the haystack at his back His glittering sword and buckler Arnkel seized, And like a wild-cat clomb the stack, and stood Thigh-deep astride upon the quivering hay, Raining down thrusts and blinding all his foes With moony lightnings from the flashing steel. But Thorleif clambered up behind his back; And Snorri, with his shield before his face, Harried him through the wavering veil of hay; And Styrr, like some great monster of the fells, Swayed his huge broadsword in his knotted fists, And swept it, singing, through the helm and brain, And deep sank Arnkel on the bloody stack. They wrapped his corse in hay, and left him there; To whom within the silence of the night Came that dark ghost, his father, whose black face Affrights the maidens in the milking-stead; And till afar along the frozen road The tinkling of the sleighs he heard, and knew That, all too late, the thralls of Arnkel came, He hung above the body of his son, Casting no shadow in the dazzling moon, Cursing the gods with inarticulate voice, And cursing that too-envious mood of men That brooks no towering excellence, nor heeds Virtue, nor welfare of th' unsceptred state. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUNES ON WELAND'S SWORD by RUDYARD KIPLING THE DESCENT OF ODIN; AN ODE by THOMAS GRAY THE FATAL SISTERS by THOMAS GRAY VALKYRIUR SONG by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE LONGBEARDS' SAGA, A.D. 400 by CHARLES KINGSLEY THE TRAGEDY OF ASGARD: LOKI'S INSULTING by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR THE TRAGEDY OF ASGARD: MIMIR'S WELL by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR THE TRAGEDY OF ASGARD: NAGELFARI by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR FEBRUARY IN ROME by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE |
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