Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONGS OF NEW SWEDEN: 6. ERIC THE ARCHER, by ARTHUR PETERSON



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONGS OF NEW SWEDEN: 6. ERIC THE ARCHER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A hostelry in upland town
Last Line: And rolf the ganger sailed the seas.
Subject(s): Vikings


1

A hostelry in Upland town;
Outside the rain was pouring down;
Within the night
With mirth was bright,
And wassail did the tempest drown;
The fire was warm, the ale was good,
The landlord in a jovial mood,
And merrily ran the Norseman's blood.

2

Grouped round the blazing logs of Yule,
Tales of their forefathers they told;
Of vikings who the seas did rule,
Skillful in storm, in battle bold;
Of one whose boat,
'Tis said, did float
Once on this broad South River's breast:
Whose men did land
Where now doth stand
The Hall of Printz; whose life was quest;
Who, eagle-like, espied the West
Long ere the illustrious Genoese
Sensed land upon the Haytian breeze;
Whose galleys sailed from Norway down,
Tost thither by tempestuous seas,
Unto a spot before ne'er told,
The Vinland of the Sagas old,
A region, henceforth, of renown --
The Paradise of Leif the bold;
Unto a fair and fruitful land
Where, though unplanted by man's hand,
The purple grape filled all the wood,
And, though unsown, from green to gold,
Ripened the corn upon the wold,
And everything, save man, seemed good;
Unto that land beyond the seas
Where now, amidst primeval trees
Embowered, stands fair Upland town,
A new-world gem in Sweden's crown.

3

Last spoke, with details long drawn out,
A learned burgher, hale and stout;
His hair and beard with years were gray,
But red his cheeks as apples gay,
And bright his eyes
As though youth's skies
Danced over him but yesterday.
A man of mark was he, and bore
A name well-known on Sweden's shore,
For of his blood those brothers twain
Who figure in great Vasa's reign,
Divines both bold and erudite,
Born or to reason or to fight.

4

Their chairs his listeners nearer pull;
He drains the glass which has been full,
And, while the lights and shadows flit
Over the groups that round him sit,
Relates the tale which here is writ.

ERIC THE ARCHER

PART FIRST

There was a king in Norroway,
Whose name was Gorm the Red;
His beard was like a sunrise gay,
And like the north-light dread
His royal head.

Of fir the banquet hall was built
Where oft he wassailed long;
When on the waves his ships did tilt,
Served was he, right or wrong,
By vikings strong.

Round the far Mediterranean's capes
His white-winged galleys flew;
And like phantasmagoric shapes
Rose from the waters blue.
Whence? No man knew.

For here were famous cities old,
Whose treasures none could tell;
But each and all before the bold
Stroke of the Norsemen fell,
From fiord and dell.

And here were dark-eyed maidens sweet,
With lips like fruit divine:
O booty for a viking meet,
When, homeward-bound, in line
His galleys shine!

And here, to mark his warlike flight,
A banner Gorm had made;
Whereon, upon a field of white,
A raven was displayed,
Worked in black braid.

It was the bird of Odin great,
His ancestor divine;
From Heaven it bore the word of Fate,
And victory did assign,
Or woe condign.

A raven o'er his helmed brow
Perched in auspicious ease;
A raven decked his galley's prow,
Sitting above the seas,
Where swept the breeze.

A mighty and a merry king,
In sooth, was Gorm the Red;
And, next to battle, loved the ring
Of song, or dancer's tread;
Gloom from him fled.

Like Solomon of old he sipped
The sweets from many a flower;
Each sea wherein his galleys dipped
Saw maids with beauty's dower
Culled for his bower.

But grizzled grew the mighty Gorm,
And grim his merry face,
And came a time when woman's form
Suffered he not to grace
His dais-place.

Where did the Goddess Freya stay,
Where did she roam or rest,
That nevermore in Norroway
Was maid meet to be pressed
To kingly breast?

So gloomily, in the banquet-hall,
He sat and bit his beard;
And by him when he strode, so tall,
No woman's face appeared;
Shunned was he and feared.

At last, howe'er, a viking bold
Sought out the king and said
That in a Lapland village old,
Lived one whom Thor might wed,
Or Odin dread.

A maiden gentle as the fawn,
And chaste as the new moon,
And beautiful as summer-dawn;
The gods of Asgard soon
Would grasp such boon.

Far up the coast of Norroway,
Where red the Aurora rolled,
Nestled this fishing-village gray,
Within the azure fold
Of fiord so cold.

Then Gorm bethought him of a youth
Ready to do or die,
And in his simple word was truth,
And in his frank blue eye
Shone honor high.

Eric the Archer was he called;
So swift and sure his arrow
That, lightning-like, so sang the scald,
Armor, flesh, bone and marrow
Its fang would harrow.

To him then spoke King Gorm the Red:
"Take thou good galleys three,
And, that to her I may be wed,
This maiden o'er the sea
Bring back to me."

PART SECOND

1

Sped the archer Eric then,
Gathered ships and arms and men,
Sailed away into the north,
Where the beard of Thor streams forth,
Sailed away unto that land
Ruled, 'twas said, by warlock's hand,
Land of Lapp and Finn, whose shape
Endeth in the polar cape.

2

Bright the ships of Eric shone
In these waters gray and lone;
Golden-headed,
Ocean-wedded,
Stared his dragons o'er the deep.
Save when anchored,
Or age-cankered,
Ne'er the Norseman's horses sleep!
Red the warriors' shields did ride
All along each dragon's side;
Scales impenetrable seemed
When athwart the coast they gleamed.
Thus, with banner and with spear,
Bringing wonderment and fear,
Sailed the archer Eric forth,
Till the Arctic seas he felt;
Far away into the north,
Where the maiden, Signe, dwelt.

3

Round and round the polar sun,
Like a wheel, each day did run;
Never sank in all his flight,
But, when it should be midnight,
Over earth and ocean he
Cast a light of mystery,
Wherein all things seemed to be
Things of unreality;
Cast a preternatural light,
Like the ether which makes bright
Dreamland to a dreamer's sight.

4

Last his galleys Eric brought
Safely to the haven sought,
And right garrulous found the folk,
When of Signe fair he spoke.
Ne'er was such a lovely face
Seen before in all this place;
Such a charming foot and hand
In this or any other land;
Freya, with her golden hair,
Than this maid was not more fair.

5

From his galleys and their men
Went the archer Eric then,
And the maiden Signe found
In her simple raiment gowned.
When she heard his steps draw near,
Quickly she, in sudden fear,
Turned, as does the startled deer:
Sure a king was he who came,
Red his mantle as a flame,
Round his neck a golden torque,
Beard divided like a fork,
On his helm a raven sat,
And upon the shield he bore,
Outlined on its surface flat,
Likewise perched the bird of war.

6

Low he bowed before the maid,
Who her heart did thus upbraid:
Heart, why shouldst thou be afraid
Of a prince so fair and tall?
May be at my feet his all
Lays he as, by beauty won,
Kings in sagas old have done.

7

Then the word of Gorm the Red
Eric spoke; but nothing said
Of the love which filled his heart
As he watched the blushes start
On the maiden's cheeks and brow;
Not for him was Signe now;
Said no word, and made no sign
Of the heart which in him bled;
But, across the bitter brine,
Bore her to King Gorm the Red.

PART THIRD

The king was drinking in his hall,
The day was growing dim,
When, ere the autumn night did fall,
This word was brought to him.

The ships had come; no longer he
A fitting mate should lack;
Bold Eric, with his galleys three,
Had brought the maiden back.

Like snow was Signe's forehead fair,
Her eyes like sapphires bright,
And fays had spun her golden hair
Out of the fine sunlight.

If but the king this maid would place
Before his royal eyes,
He'd own such loveliness would grace
Valhalla's companies.

Then loudly laughed King Gorm the Red;
For many a night and day;
Not thus had wagged his grizzled head,
Nor been his mood so gay.

"Go bid my bride be fitly dressed;
And bid her wear the ring
Of that dark princess I did wrest
From Sicily's proud king;

"Ay, bid her choose whatever silk
Is fairest to her taste;
And rubies red, and pearls of milk,
Which now their beauty waste;

"For if right well she pleases me,
And well she will, I ween,
Ere sinks to-morrow in the sea
This girl shall be my queen."

He swore, with wagging head, an oath;
By Odin great he swore;
And one and all, to laugh not loath,
Joined in the merry roar.

The sun of morning-tide had run
Full half-way up the sky
When, fairer than that morning sun,
Rose Signe with a sigh.

She chose a silk of blue to grace
Her young and slender form,
And in her golden locks did place
The jewels of King Gorm.

A monarch great was he who brought
Such treasures o'er the sea;
"But rather would I live unsought,
Than be his bride," said she.

Now with the brooch that suits her best,
And in her silk of blue,
Her gentle body she hath dressed,
Though sad her spirit true.

And to the king's house she doth go,
Where, in his banquet-hall,
Already walks Gorm to and fro,
And for his bride doth call.

Admiringly the vikings stare,
Opens the scald his eyes;
So beauteous she the very air
Seems smitten with surprise.

Right down before the monarch's feet
Her loveliness she throws;
Ah, surely, such a suppliant sweet
Friends round her finds, not foes!

"O king," she cries, "O royal Gorm,
Who rulest all this land,
Fairer than mine should be the form
Of maid who seeks thy hand.

"Free then, I pray, this peasant life,
Decked now in raiment gay;
One nobler take thou for thy wife,
And bid me go my way!"

The king in mute surprise did stare,
While, moveless, on the floor
Yet Signe knelt; a sight so fair
Gorm ne'er had seen before.

He spoke at last. "What, dost thou fear
The king, my pretty one?
Fear not, but listen. Far and near,
In climes of snow and sun

"I've roamed, an eagle strong and fleet;
But ne'er beheld my eyes,
In any land, a maid so meet
To be my queen. Arise!"

He stooped above her golden head,
He took her hand so white;
Her face was like that of one dead,
It was a piteous sight.

"O king," she said, "my lips are cold,
I cannot marry thee;
There is another who doth hold
The heart thou seek'st from me."

Watching the scene with troubled eye,
Not far off, Eric stood;
A sudden joy, he scarce knew why,
Thrilled, at these words, his blood.

Then dropped King Gorm his manner bland,
And Signe's gentle cheek,
though lightly, struck with angry hand,
She standing wan and weak.

Like frightened deer, that scents the chase,
But knows not where to fly,
Then, suddenly, with wild eyes, a place
Of refuge doth descry,

The maiden gazed upon the throng
Of strange and bearded men
Until, a friend her foes among,
The archer she did ken.

Toward him whose face she knew so well
Straight flew this quarry sweet;
Then, with a cry distressful, fell,
Unconscious, at his feet.

"Ho, ho," the monarch, scowling, cried,
"All now, methinks, I know;
To steal his king's intended bride
My bowman was not slow!"

Spoke out the archer Eric then:
"O king, wrong is thy thought;
This maiden, with my ships and men,
From Lapland's shore I brought;

"But never uttered I one word,
Nor, knowingly, made sign,
Which could with love for me have stirred
Her heart, that should be thine."

"Thou liest," roared the enkindled Gorm,
His face convulsed with rage;
Round them the berserkers did swarm,
And saga-tellers sage:

"Thou liest, and if thou hadst not blood
Of Odin in thy veins,
This night a wheeling raven's food
Thou shouldst be for thy pains.

"Howbeit, since one of my kith
Thou art, if not my kin,
And I a warrior bargain with,
This maiden thou may'st win.

"Right oft have I thy merry jest
At other bowmen heard;
Thy boast that thou, of all the best,
Couldst wing the flying bird,

"And (so unerring that dart's flight
Which thou on string dost lay)
Couldst pierce with ease an apple bright,
Paces three-score away.

"Seek, therefore, cunning for thy hand,
And teach thy heart to dare,
For on the morrow thou shalt stand
Before this maiden fair

"And, ere her beauty thou dost wed,
An apple round and gay
Shalt shoot from off her golden head,
Paces three-score away."

PART FOURTH

1

Bright rose the morning
O'er Norway's mountains,
Hamlets and blue fiords,
And on Gorm's dwelling
Fell the sun's lances.
Outside the great-hall
Touched they the helmets
Of captains and warriors,
Standing accoutered,
Waiting in silence
For the king's order.
Gay the men's mantles,
Blue like the ocean;
But, like the moor-land
In dreary mid-winter,
Sad were their faces.
Soon from his prison
Were they to lead forth
Eric the Archer;
Him whom they all loved,
Him who in battle
Oft-times had led them.
When in mid-welkin
The sun shone at noontide,
Then would the monarch's
Word be accomplished,
Mandate most cruel.
Then with his long-bow,
Yew tipped with silver,
Won from the Briton,
Eric the Archer
At a red apple
Placed on the golden
Tresses of Signe
Daringly would shoot.
May mighty Odin
Guide the swift arrow!

2

Pale from his prison
Came forth the archer,
But in his bosom
Stoutly his heart beat,
And in his glances
Glittered a purpose.

3

Only when saw he
Signe the maiden
Standing so calmly
Under the linden,
Clad in the gray gown
As he first met her,
Over his blue eyes
(Dim for a moment)
Passed he his fingers,
And unto Odin,
Blessed All-Father,
Rose a prayer fervent.

4

Then on her bright head
Placed he an apple,
And her eyes covered,
Lest she should tremble
When from his long-bow
Flew the swift arrow.
No word of passion,
No word of parting,
Spoke he unto her;
No kiss between them
Passed for a token;
But without language
(So 'tis with lovers)
Held they last converse;
And without kisses
Each knew the other.

5

On a black stallion,
Splendid with trappings,
Sat the Red Monarch.
Stern was his visage,
Cruel his gray eye,
As on the people
Gazed he at noontide;
Noting fair Signe
Under the linden,
And, in his red cloak,
Eric the Archer,
Who from his quiver
Drew forth two arrows.

6

Silent the people,
Silent the soldiers,
Scarce breathed the women,
Deftly the archer
One of the arrows
Stuck in his girdle,
Fitting the other
Into his long-bow;
Then, with aim steady,
Shot toward the maiden.

7

Cleft was the apple.
Down on the green sward
Tumbled the bright halves.
But like an aspen
Trembled the maiden.
She who so calmly
Waited the arrow,
Standing like statue
Carved out of marble,
Motionless, silent;
Now felt her bosom
Rising and falling,
Heaving like ocean,
Heard her heart beating
Hard as a hammer,
And o'er her blue eyes
Pressed her slim fingers,
Shivering and weeping.

8

Shouted the people,
Wept all the women,
Swore every gray-beard
Ne'er was such shooting,
Laughed the grim vikings
With pride and with pleasure,
Better than Eric
Never lived bowman.
Only the old king
Crimsoned with anger,
"Wherefore that arrow
Stuck in thy girdle?
One would have done thee."

9

Answered the archer:
"King, for thy bosom
That was intended,
Had my hand failed me."

10

Then to the cruel
Eyes of the other
Hate flew and fury;
Demons of Nastrond
Glared from those windows;
And, as if stricken
By the fierce lightning
Of his own passion,
Down from his saddle,
Dead on the greensward,
Rolled the Red Monarch.

11

Few there were loved him;
Tyrant imperious
He in his winter;
Stern, unrelenting.
But he a viking
Wonderful had been;
And like a viking's
His mausoleum.

12

On a high mountain,
Covered with forests,
Save where it lifted,
Clear of all mantle,
Sternly its bare head --
Which like a war-god
Sat by the ocean,
Stars on his forehead;
Pines in his right hand,
Dreaming of battle --
Here, on the summit,
Laid they the monarch.

13

Then, in the temple
Holy of Balder;
One day were wedded
Eric the Archer,
Signe the maiden.
Merry with music
The bridal procession;
Mighty the banquet
When in the great-hall
Eric held wassail.
Heir to the throne he,
Royal his race was,
Offspring of Odin.
High in the king's seat
Drank he the brown ale;
Round him his warriors
Jovially feasted;
And close beside him,
Fair as a lily
In a wild forest,
Or as a bright star
Shining 'mid storm-clouds,
Sat his Queen, Signe.

FINALE

The clock in Upland's inn struck one;
The burgher's old-world tale was done;
He ceased; and for a moment's space,
None speaking, silence filled the place;
Broken only by the sound of rain
And wind in tree and on the pane;
Then, and its warmth the tempest drowned,
The applause of hand and voice went round.

But in the narrator's bearded face,
Fired by this saga of his race,
Lingered a look, as though, in dreams,
Still he rehearsed Odinic themes,
And, from this peaceful Upland far,
Wandered within that past of war.
And, truly, like a viking old,
Skillful in storm, in battle bold,
He seemed: one born on this late stage,
But made for that heroic age,
When Harold scoured the Hebrides,
And Rolf the Ganger sailed the seas.





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