Men looked to see the King arise, The death of men within his eyes.

Men looked to see his bitter sword That once cleared s.h.i.+ps from board to board.

But in the hall no sword gleamed wide, His hand fell down along his side.

No red there came into his cheek, He fell aback as one made weak.

His wan cheek brushed the high-seat's side, And in the noon of day he died.

So lieth King Gorm beneath the gra.s.s, But from mouth to mouth this tale did pa.s.s.

And Harald reigned and went his way, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun._ And still is the story told to-day, _So grey is the sea when day is done._

ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS

PUELLae

Whence comest thou, and whither goest thou?

Abide! abide! longer the shadows grow; What hopest thou the dark to thee will show?

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

AMANS

Why should I name the land across the sea Wherein I first took hold on misery?

Why should I name the land that flees from me?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

PUELLae

What wilt thou do within the desert place Whereto thou turnest now thy careful face?

Stay but a while to tell us of thy case.

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

AMANS

What, nigh the journey's end shall I abide, When in the waste mine own love wanders wide, When from all men for me she still doth hide?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

PUELLae

Nay, nay; but rather she forgetteth thee, To sit upon the sh.o.r.e of some warm sea, Or in green gardens where sweet fountains be.

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

AMANS

Will ye then keep me from the wilderness, Where I at least, alone with my distress, The quiet land of changing dreams may bless?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

PUELLae

Forget the false forgetter and be wise, And 'mid these clinging hands and loving eyes, Dream, not in vain, thou knowest paradise.

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

AMANS

Ah! with your sweet eyes shorten not the day, Nor let your gentle hands my journey stay!

Perchance love is not wholly cast away.

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

PUELLae

Pluck love away as thou wouldst pluck a thorn From out thy flesh; for why shouldst thou be born To bear a life so wasted and forlorn?

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

AMANS

Yea, why then was I born, since hope is pain, And life a lingering death, and faith but vain, And love the loss of all I seemed to gain?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

PUELLae

Dost thou believe that this shall ever be, That in our land no face thou e'er shalt see, No voice thou e'er shalt hear to gladden thee?

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.