THE SKELETON IN ARMOR
by: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807-1882)
- "PEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
- Who, with thy hollow breast
- Still in rude armor drest,
- Comest to daunt me!
- Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
- But with thy fleshless palms
- Stretched, as if asking alms,
- Why dost thou haunt me?"
-
- Then, from those cavernous eyes
- Pale flashes seemed to rise,
- As when the Northern skies
- Gleam in December;
- And, like the water's flow
- Under December's snow,
- Came a dull voice of woe
- From the heart's chamber.
-
- "I was a Viking old!
- My deeds, though manifold,
- No Skald in song has told,
- No Saga taught thee!
- Take heed, that in thy verse
- Thou dost the tale rehearse,
- Else dread a dead man's curse;
- For this I sought thee.
-
- "Far in the Northern Land,
- By the wild Baltic's strand,
- I, with my childish hand,
- Tamed the gerfalcon;
- And, with my skates fast-bound,
- Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
- That the poor whimpering hound
- Trembled to walk on.
-
- "Oft to his frozen lair
- Tracked I the grisly bear,
- While from my path the hare
- Fled like a shadow;
- Oft through the forest dark
- Followed the were-wolf's bark,
- Until the soaring lark
- Sang from the meadow.
-
- "But when I older grew,
- Joining the corsair's crew,
- O'er the dark sea I flew
- With the marauders.
- Wild was the life we led;
- Many the souls that sped,
- Many the hearts that bled,
- By our stern orders.
-
- "Many a wassail-bout
- Wore the long winter out;
- Often our midnight shout
- Set the cocks crowing.
- As we the Berserk's tale
- Measured in cups of ale,
- Draining the oaken pail,
- Filled to o'erflowing.
-
- "Once as I told in glee
- Tales from the stormy sea,
- Soft eyes did gaze on me,
- Burning yet tender;
- And as the white stars shine
- On the dark Norway pine,
- On that dark heart of mine
- Fell their soft splendor.
-
- "I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
- Yielding, yet half afraid,
- And in the forest's shade
- Our vows were plighted.
- Under its loosened vest
- Fluttered her little breast,
- Like birds within their nest
- By the hawk frighted.
-
- "Bright in her father's hall
- Shields gleamed upon the wall,
- Loud sang the minstrels all,
- Chanting his glory;
- When of old Hildebrand
- I asked his daughter's hand,
- Mute did the minstrels stand
- To hear my story.
-
- "While the brown ale he quaffed,
- Loud then the champion laughed,
- And as the wind-gusts waft
- The sea-foam brightly,
- So the loud laugh of scorn,
- Out of those lips unshorn,
- From the deep drinking-horn
- Blew the foam lightly.
-
- "She was a Prince's child,
- I but a Viking wild,
- And though she blushed and smiled,
- I was discarded!
- Should not the dove so white
- Follow the sea-mew's flight,
- Why did they leave that night
- Her nest unguarded?
-
- "Scarce had I put to sea,
- Bearing the maid with me,
- Fairest of all was she
- Among the Norsemen!
- When on the white sea-strand,
- Waving his arméd hand,
- Saw we old Hildebrand,
- With twenty horsemen.
-
- "Then launched they to the blast,
- Bent like a reed each mast,
- Yet we were gaining fast,
- When the wind failed us;
- And with a sudden flaw
- Came round the gusty Skaw,
- So that our foe we saw
- Laugh as he hailed us.
-
- "And as to catch the gale
- Round veered the flapping sail,
- 'Death!' was the helmsman's hail,
- 'Death without quarter!'
- Midships with iron keel,
- Struck we her ribs of steel;
- Down her black hulk did reel
- Through the black water!
-
- "As with his wings aslant,
- Sails the fierce cormorant,
- Seeking some rocky haunt,
- With his prey laden,
- So toward the open main,
- Beating to sea again,
- Through the wild hurricane,
- Bore I the maiden.
-
- "Three weeks we westward bore,
- And when the storm was o'er,
- Cloudlike we saw the shore
- Stretching to leeward;
- There for my lady's bower
- Built I a lofty tower,
- Which, to this very hour,
- Stands looking seaward.
-
- "There lived we many years;
- Time dried the maiden's tears;
- She had forgot her fears,
- She was a mother;
- Death closed her mild blue eyes,
- Under that tower she lies;
- Ne'er shall the sun arise
- On such another!
-
- "Still grew my bosom then,
- Still as a stagnant fen!
- Hateful to me were men,
- The sunlight hateful!
- In the vast forest here,
- Clad in my warlike gear,
- Fell I upon my spear,
- Oh, death was grateful!
-
- "Thus, seamed with many scars,
- Bursting these prison bars,
- Up to its native stars
- My soul ascended!
- There from the flowing bowl
- Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
- Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"
- --Thus the tale ended.
"The Skeleton in Armor"
is reprinted from Historic Ballads and Poems. Ed. Rupert
S. Holland. Philadelphia: George W. Jacobs & Co., 1912. |
MORE POEMS BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |
|