The Ravens of Odin

TALL, serene, stood mighty Odin
On the lofty Valhal’s crest,
Gazed upon the deep untrodden
In the tempest-boding west;
And the murmured prayers of mortals,
Upward borne to heaven’s portals,
Wave-like beat upon his breast.

On his ample shoulder perching
Sat a raven black as night;
And its eyes were shrewd and searching:
While another, snowy white,
Screaming round his helmet fluttered;
Deep-hid oracles it uttered,
Cloudward rising in its flight.

Where the glacier peaks of Norway
O’er the sunny valleys loom,
Like huge Trolls who guard the doorway
To the silent land of doom,
Sits a blue-eyed Northland maiden,
Heavy-hearted, sorrow-laden,
Fairer far than spring-time’s bloom.

Lo, he comes, the fair-haired Viking,
Whom she pledged her love and faith;
He the proud and valiant sea-king, —
Southland trembles at his wrath.
Round his banner warriors rally,
As he steers his daring galley
O’er the billow’s stormy path.

Lo, he comes! What happy tremblings
Through the maiden’s bosom dart!
And how sweet those coy dissemblings
Of the grief that fills her heart!
For the sea hides many a danger,
Hurricane and blood-avenger;
And young love is loath to part.

In his loving arms he holds her —
All her sorrow is forgot;
To his bosom close he folds her,
Where his heart beats fast and hot:
“ Stay thy tears, and hush thy yearning;
Loving, parting, and returning
Is the Northland warrior’s lot.”

Like the mists that veil the brimming
Splendor of the glacier lake
Rose the tears, her bright eyes dimming,
As to him she gently spake:
“May the mighty Odin speed thee,
Balder safe to haven lead thee,
For thy loving maiden’s sake.”

Quoth the Viking : “ Maiden fairer
Than the lily on the lea,
May the wrathful Thunder-bearer
Plunge me deep into the sea,
If to thee, my love’s sweet haven ” —
From the copse a coal-black raven
Rose and screamed full bodingly.

Tall, serene, stood mighty Odin
On the lofty Valhal’s crest,
Gazed upon the deep untrodden
In the tempest-boding west;
Saw a gallant Northland vessel
With the fierce-voiced storm-winds wrestle,
Rudderless and sore distressed.

In the prow, with head uplifted,
Stood the chief, like wrathful Thor;
Through his locks the snow-flakes drifted,
Bleached their hue from gold to hoar.
’Mid the crash of mast and rafter
Norsemen leapt through death, with laughter,
Up to Valhal’s wide-flung door.

And anon on Odin’s shoulder
Perched the bird of sorrow’s hue;
And the dark’ning air grew colder
All around him, as he flew.
Woe, ah woe, the pledge is broken!
Two black feathers, death’s sad token,
To the wanton winds he threw.

In the silvery birch-trees’ shadow
Sat the blue-eyed Northland maid,
And the breeze that skimmed the meadow
With her golden tresses played;
Sang to her its thrilling story
Of her Viking’s love and glory,
As it danced along the glade.

And the maid with tender yearning
Rose and wandered down the lea,
Pulled a daisy flower, and turning,
Plucked its petals musingly;
Murmuring, as she saw them falling
On the wind and past recalling,
“ Will he e’er come back to me? ”

Ah, but o’er the meadow cheery
Straight a dismal silence spread,
And as answer to her query
Came a croaking, hoarse and dread.
Two black feathers slowly lighted
On her breast, and there united.
“ Ah,” she whispered, “he is dead! ”