(Old Norse Measure.)
Prince Harold stood on Eilan Maree,
And his glance swept the waters wistfully.
"The Tryst I have kept, why tarries my bride,
"Why hastes she not to her lover's side?
"O wan was her cheek, and sickly its hue
"When honour compelled me to whisper adieu.
"When the fierce God of Battles summoned me forth
"To fight for my Sire in the restless North;
"Then close to my breast mine own love hung,
"And fondly around me her arms were flung,
"'Return, O Harold, return to me,
"I'll meet thee on beautiful Eilan Maree' --
"But see! on the water gleams a sail,
"She comes," ---- but the chieftain's cheek grows pale,
For he scans the Galley gliding nigh,
And he marks the flag that flutters on high.
The flag is black: to his boat he leaps,
And with nervous oar the water sweeps.
O soon shall his eyne behold the maid --
He hears the doleful chaunt for the Dead,
A moment more, and his boat draws near;
He sees on the Galley a lofty Bier,
On the Bier his own true love at rest,
And her hands are folded o'er her breast.
"Margaret!" shrill is the chieftain's cry,
The solitudes echo his agony.
A gleam! -- he raises his hunting-knife,
He strikes at the shrine of his own dear life,
Without a groan he yields his breath;
He totters and falls in the clasp of Death.
Full swiftly 'twas done; from the Bier up-sprung
The Maid, and her shriek o'er the waters rang.
She gazed on the Dead; in her wild despair
Her shrieks horror-laden beat the air.
"O Harold 'tis I who have murdered thee,
"I trysted to meet thee on Eilan Maree,
"The living, the loving, I met thee as dead,
"Ill fated the jest of a foolish maid,
"And as thou diest for love of me
"I may not remain, I follow thee."
She spake, and sudden the dagger addressed
With unfalt'ring hand to her snowy breast.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Within one grave the twain are laid,
Harold the true and the faithful amid --
They sleep beneath a carved stone
On Eilan Maree sequestered and lone.
I'd love to have you drop by!--Barbara
