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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. 
 
 'opyright No.. 
 
 Shelf..i.C^LS 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
DEC 23 
 
 >9(J0 
 
H, WHAT RIDDLES 
 THESE WOMEN BE! 
 
AH, WHAT RIDDLES 
 THESE WOMEN BE! 
 
 By / 
 
 WILLIAM YOUNG 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 R . H. RUSSELL 
 
 M C M 
 
95202 
 
 nrr 
 
 Library of Conprcrs* 
 
 "two Copies Receded 
 DEC 28 1900 
 
 ~ Copyright entry 
 
 SECOND COPY 
 
 Delivered to 
 
 ORDEH DIVISION 
 JAN 3 1901 
 
 ,/|r 
 
 Copyright, 1900 
 
 By 
 Robert Howard Russell 
 
M M M 
 
"<&% W$d& fttotJles Cijese ^omen Be!" 
 
 PROEM 
 
 EN MARK'S daughter was wooed and won 
 By Sigurd, the Jarl of Orkney's son; 
 And the ocean-rovers of West and East 
 Turned their prows to the wedding feast. 
 
 Kings, and Jarls, of the East and the West — 
 Vikings, out of the Jomsborg nest — 
 Norse marauder, and pirate Dane — 
 Lords of the mainland and the main- 
 Lords of the capes, and lords of the isles — 
 Storming over the trackless miles, 
 Bird-like, clangorous, wing and wing — 
 Storming, and wrangling, and ravening 
 In many a mid-sea fray, they came; 
 And as birds to the beacon's flame 
 Cluster out of the windy dark, 
 So, on banner and battle-mark, 
 Kite, and falcon, and sea-mew, there, 
 Drooped their plumes in the torches' glare — 
 Hung, and hover' d, as if in dread 
 Of the great War-Raven overhead. 
 — And there, while the harpers harp'd and sang, 
 And the sounding rafters above them rang, 
 The meats were hewn, and the mead was pour'd, 
 Till the ruddy faces above the board 
 
Glow'd and gloom' d in the fitful light, 
 As over a city sacked by night, 
 And the trenchers of beaten silver lay 
 Clash' d together, and cast away. 
 
 Then, when the maws were glutted all, 
 
 Rang, on a sudden, the Berserk call, 
 
 And the war-horns answer' d with raucous roar. 
 
 — Swift as Loki, over the floor 
 
 Flash' d a youth, from whose nimble hands 
 
 Leap'd, and glitter' d in air, the brands, 
 
 That oft and oft through the arrows' hail 
 
 Had riven the Saxon and Southron mail — 
 
 Leap'd, and glitter'd, and wheel'd, and cross'd; 
 
 And ever were caught by their hilts and toss'd 
 
 In curves of splendor; and downward drew, 
 
 Meteor-like, and leap'd anew. 
 
 — Thus was danced to its flaming close 
 
 The Dance of Swords; and a strain arose, 
 
 Alien, amorous — born afar, 
 
 Under the Southland's fervid star, 
 
 Where the wassail-cup of the Aesir spills, 
 
 Nightly, over the blushing hills, 
 
 And the brown elf-maidens trip and twine, 
 
 Wreath'd with the purple-cluster'd vine — 
 
 A dream of the youth and the wanderings 
 
 Of the hoary harper who swept the strings. 
 
 Alien, amorous, sweet, and strange — 
 
With many a liquid lapse and change! 
 Like to the lure of a mating bird, 
 Passion-throated! And they that heard, 
 Pierced with its poignant thrill, were fain 
 To murmur the rhythmic, low refrain. 
 Rhythmic, rapturous, full, and strong, 
 Sweird the chords; and the swaying throng 
 Rose on the eddying waves of sound, 
 Soft eyes brimming, and hair unbound — 
 Rose, and mated, and clasped, and swung. 
 To the trancing cadence of harp and tongue — 
 Dame and warrior, maid and page. 
 — Ah! but chill is the blood of age — 
 Woful sluggish, and wintry chill ; 
 And three at the board-side linger'd still: — 
 Danish Harald, and Svein the Gray, 
 And Skarli — mighty at feast and fray, 
 In the days of Harald of Norroway. 
 
 Grim sea-harriers, they! Not one 
 
 Of the three but had looked on the midnight sun, 
 
 And many a fearsome sight had seen 
 
 The upper and nether deeps between. 
 
 Now, on the high-seats perched aside, 
 
 Mute, they gazed on the rainbow tide 
 
 Of the revel, surging — around, about — 
 
 And the white arms tossing above the rout. 
 
 Long they gazed, in the taper's shine, 
 
Heavy-lidded, and gave no sign. — 
 For haply each in his fancy heard, 
 In the chanted song, or the spoken word, 
 Or the rippling laugh, as it seemed, the tone 
 Of another voice that he once had known — 
 Heard, and listen* d again to hear — 
 Or a face of the many drifting near, 
 Wraith-like, out of the days gone by, 
 Smote itself on his dreaming eye: 
 Till up spake Skarli— the eldest, he — 
 Sighing, and speaking for all the three, 
 "Ah! what riddles these women be!" 
 
 Then, like a fount that wakes and flows, 
 Under the glacier's hoary snows, 
 When the South Wind calls, and the copses ring, 
 In the vale beneath, to the pipes of Spring, 
 Flow'd his speech, in a stream that well'd, 
 Feeble at first, from the deeps of eld — 
 Weird, and babbled, and waxed to flood. 
 His cold eye quicken* d, the mantling blood 
 Showed in his lean cheek, weather-tann'd, 
 And furrow'd, like to the brown sea-sand; 
 And his life's low sun, as he told his tale, 
 On the high-seats, over the foaming ale, 
 Warm'd him again, with the crimson ray 
 That flashes at morn— and at close of day. 
 
THE SAGA OF SKARLI THE STRONG 
 
 EIF the Wise, on a night of strife, 
 Saved a maid, whom he took to wife — 
 Helga, daughter of Ulf the Red, 
 And a sea-witch mother — or so 'twas said. 
 
 " Fair she was, as a dream of sin ! 
 
 Smooth, and supple, and white of skin! — 
 
 So wondrous fair, and so lustrous white, 
 
 That the gleam of her beauty abashed the sight! 
 
 But dusk, her hair; and with amber glow, 
 
 As of a fire that slumbers low, 
 
 Her eyes look'd forth from the constant shade, 
 
 That her long, dark, languorous lashes made. — 
 
 I thought of the house-cat's sleepy purr, 
 
 And swift strength under the velvet fur, 
 
 Soft to stroke, as I look'd at her. 
 
 " Leif the Wise, by the ancient rule, 
 
 Once he was married was Leif the Fool : — 
 
 Sail'd no more on the far foray; 
 
 Shunn'd his fellows; and night and day 
 
 Guarded his treasure with jealous greed: 
 
 Frown* d, if ever an eye took heed 
 
 Of her lissome grace, as she moved and swayed, 
 
 In her clinging, undulous robes arrayed, 
 
 Or sat at feast — where she seldom came — 
 
Letting her keen eyes' lambent flame 
 
 Play and flicker about the board. 
 
 — Once it happ'd, to the Folden fjord, 
 
 As we sat at the high Spring Festival, 
 
 Came a Lapp, that was Harald's thrall — 
 
 A warlock, born with the gift to see 
 
 The past, and all that was yet to be. 
 
 And the secret wish, he was famed to read; 
 
 And the thought that runneth before the deed. 
 
 So we had him before us; and half in jest, 
 
 And half with an awe that none confess' d, 
 
 Late, when the tapers were flaring dim, 
 
 Making merry, we question'd him. 
 
 'Tell me, thou swart-faced Troll,' quoth I, 
 
 1 What is my thought ? ' And he made reply, 
 
 'Thou thinkest O Jarl, that the fairest prize 
 
 Of the Aesir hath fallen to Leif the Wise ; 
 
 And thou thinkest, as thou art Skarli the Strong, 
 
 That unto thee should the prize belong.' 
 
 "Hush'd, as after a thunder-blast, 
 
 The great hall gaped; and I sat aghast, 
 
 Shaping my lips to ' Thou lying knave ! ' 
 
 But the words rang hollow. A rosy wave, 
 
 As swift to come, and as swift to go, 
 
 As the North Light, flooded the bosom's snow 
 
 And the face of Helga; and ere it died, 
 
 Her eye, with a single flash aside, 
 
Spake with mine — and at once I knew 
 
 That the words of the warlock imp were true. 
 
 "Eyeing me there, with his hellish art, 
 
 He had cleft the core of my inmost heart, 
 
 And unto the sight of all laid bare 
 
 What scarcely myself had dream' d was there — 
 
 A long-pent, smouldering, deep desire, 
 
 That now upleap'd like a raging fire; 
 
 And rife, and surging through all my frame, 
 
 It kindled my very blood to flame — 
 
 So fiercely it lusted and long'd for her. 
 
 — But I heard about me the buzz and stir 
 
 Of the loosen' d tongues; and above the crowd. 
 
 Saw, where it loom'd like a thunder-cloud, 
 
 The scowl of Leif; and again, 'Thou knave, 
 
 Thou liest,' I cried to the Lapp; and drave 
 
 My goblet full at his grinning face. — 
 
 And lo! there was nothing but empty space. 
 
 " Of all that follow' d— the pale affright, 
 
 The stealing looks, and the silent flight 
 
 Of the sober' d guests, till the last had flown — 
 
 Nought I heeded but this alone: — 
 
 That the arm of Leif had enclasp' d her waist, 
 
 And drooping over it, lily-faced, 
 
 She seem'd like a victim borne away 
 
 By a hated tyrant, to be his prey; 
 
And my soul was drawn from out of my breast, 
 
 To follow after, and seize and wrest 
 
 The prize from his grasp — as the Lapp had said. 
 
 — Pacing alone, till the dawn was red, 
 
 As the caged wolf paces, I sought for flaw 
 
 In the right, or the might of the churlish law 
 
 That stay'd me from her; but none I found. 
 
 His she was, and my hands were bound. 
 
 Nor yet did the morning cure my ill. 
 
 Nor the night that follow' d. In torment, still, 
 
 And nursing my burning thoughts, I strode, 
 
 As one who tramps on a weary road — 
 
 A course that ever, when all is done, 
 
 Ends where its travail and toil begun — 
 
 And once, soft-footed, and like a thief, 
 
 I stole by the darken' d house of Leif. 
 
 " Barred, and grated, it hugged its own ; 
 
 Breathing, it seem'd, from its every stone: — 
 
 'Jarl thou art, and Skarli the Strong; 
 
 But the Aesir abide, and their arms are long; 
 
 And the ban of the law on thy strength is laid. 
 
 Go thy ways, for a thing afraid, 
 
 Thou skulking shadow ! ' And home I crept, 
 
 Loathing myself, till I could have wept; 
 
 And cursing myself, in my deep self-scorn: — 
 
 ■ For any woman of woman born, 
 
 Shall I play the fool? I am sick to death, 
 
 But for a whiff of the salt sea's breath.' 
 
"So I leap'd to ship; and with three-score sail, 
 
 Forth I sallied: and bane and bale 
 
 To the Jarl of Halogaland I bore; 
 
 And stoop' d, and wasted the Bretland shore. 
 
 Southward, as far as the Tempsa's wave, 
 
 Sire and dam to the sword I gave, 
 
 And fired the thatch, and throttled the brood, 
 
 And pillar' d the sky with smoke, and strew' d 
 
 The land with ashes. Yet, none the less, 
 
 My heart was heavy. A weariness 
 
 Even of slaughter upon me grew; 
 
 And the old-time yearning abode and drew. 
 
 That one last look that her eye had sent 
 
 Burn'd, and beckon* d, and ne'er was spent — 
 
 Like a watch-light laid on a vessel's track, 
 
 Glow'd, and quiver'd, and wooed me back. 
 
 "So from my roving I turn'd again, 
 
 Deep with the spoil of the Enskirmen; 
 
 And pushing ahead with my swiftest prow — 
 
 The Valkyr — stranded and rotting now, 
 
 On the Selund shallows — I came at last, 
 
 On a midnight sullen and overcast, 
 
 To the Rocks of the Jotun, that north and south 
 
 Stand, like fangs, at the harbor's mouth. 
 
 Loud I signal'd, and heard the loor 
 
 Of the horns that answer' d, till hill and moor 
 
 Blazed their welcome. — But all so black 
 
Lower' d the night, and the crowding pack 
 
 Of the sea-fog muster' d and hemmed us in 
 
 With a reek so sodden that wing nor fin 
 
 Might tempt the passage; and heaving o'er 
 
 My deep-sea grapple, and chafing sore, 
 
 I cast myself on the deck, and lay, 
 
 Sleepless, waiting the break of day. 
 
 — Whether ye credit me or no, 
 
 Thus it happ'd, and I tell it so. 
 
 — There as I lay, when the night was old, 
 
 Praying for morn — while the Valkyr roll'd 
 
 In the pitchy wallow, and only she 
 
 And I were awake on the brooding sea — 
 
 There as I lay, and with scheming brain 
 
 Toss'd in the darkness, and strove in vain 
 
 To turn my trouble — my every sense 
 
 Wakeful as now, and my wits as tense 
 
 As bow-strings — sudden, it seem'd, the spell 
 
 Of a numbing horror upon me fell; 
 
 And all as real, and all as near 
 
 As now I see you, and touch you, here — 
 
 Even as near, and as close at hand — 
 
 I saw the Lapp by the bulwark stand! 
 
 "Light there was none, but the ghostly, dim 
 Glow of the sea, that he brought with him. 
 From face and garment it flicker' d pale; 
 And I felt the springs of my being fail, 
 
As I hearken'd again to his voice, that broke 
 On the stillness, like to a raven's croak: — 
 'Well hast thou done, from the over-sea 
 To answer the summons I sent to thee, 
 
 mighty Jarl ! But the Aesir wait 
 Never for him that cometh late; 
 
 And thy fairest fortune, while thou dost lie 
 Here in the offing, doth pass thee by.' 
 — Then, for I answer' d him not, but dumb 
 Lay and awaited the word to come, 
 Low he louted, and with a vile, 
 Venomous leer of craft and guile, 
 His secret into my ear he gave, 
 As a knave might whisper a brother knave: — 
 'This very night, on the ebbing tide, 
 Leif the Wise, with his three-month's bride, 
 And all his treasures, in jealous fear — 
 For the fame of thy coming hath reach' d his ear- 
 Steals away, through the mist to go 
 To the Jarl of the Isles, thy dearest foe. 
 "And say to Skarli the Strong," saith he, 
 "That prize nor praise shall he have of me."' 
 
 "Deep in his chuckling throat he laugh' d; 
 And the sound of his laughter seem'd to waft 
 And bear him into the rayless gloom. — 
 Stricken, as if with the bolt of doom, 
 
 1 saw him vanish, nor spake, nor stirred; 
 
But lay in a helpless trance, and heard 
 
 The tide's low wash, and the breathings deep 
 
 Of my fellows, outstretch' d in their peaceful sleep; 
 
 And the chill of the grave-mound o'er me ran. 
 
 Here was an end of plot and plan. 
 
 Fled ! And fled to my dearest foe ! 
 
 — But there flash' d a thought: — Was it even so? 
 
 Why then by the laws of the land and the brine, 
 
 Traitor he was ! — and his all was mine ! 
 
 Back from my heart, in a seething wave, 
 
 The blood return' d, and my tongue that clave 
 
 To my mouth's roof loosen'd; I leap'd, and cried; 
 
 And quick upspringing on ev'ry side, 
 
 Swarm' d my people — and man and lad 
 
 Hail'd, and question'd, and thought me mad. 
 
 But I told them nought, and I hushed their cries; 
 
 For landward peering, with straining eyes, 
 
 I saw by now that the morning flight 
 
 Of the shafts of Baldur had seam'd the night 
 
 With veins of fire. — The fog was roll'd, 
 
 And sway'd, and shaken, and shot with gold : 
 
 It broke — it lifted — and down the ways 
 
 Of the shimmering wavelets, all ablaze, 
 
 Swept on our vision the ship of Leif ! 
 
 — Past mistaking! The winged thief, 
 
 The Sea-Mew ! Swift as the light she came, 
 
 Flitting, and flickering! Loud her name 
 
 Burst from the lips of my staring crew, 
 
As on she sped to the outer blue. — 
 And again the warlock had spoken true ! 
 
 " Then to the Valkyr I made my pray'r ; 
 Ripp'd the hatches; and straightway there 
 All the plunder that cramm'd the hull 
 Wide I cast to the gannet and gull. 
 Sheer to the planking my decks I stripp'd; 
 Piled my canvas aloft; and slipp'd 
 My straining cable. The Sea- Mew, far, 
 Saw, and whisking her nimble spar, 
 She dipp'd, and doubled, and seem'd to rise, 
 And fly, as only the sea-mew flies — 
 Clipping the surge — and the chase was on. 
 — Into the swirling tide-way drawn, 
 Down the trough of the Skager Rack, 
 Sheering, veering, from tack to tack, 
 Led the quarry — in mid-stream now, 
 And now by the foreland's jutting brow, 
 Low careening, and skirting hard 
 Reef, and skerry, and skerry-guard; 
 Till leaving the farthest land a-lee, 
 In one long stretch to the open sea 
 She spun her ribbon of foamy wake. — 
 But ever the Valkyr, with hissing strake, 
 And taut ropes singing, and wider spread 
 Of pinion, follow'd, where'er she fled; 
 Reach' d to windward, and lapp'd, and flung 
 
The chase to leeward again, and swung 
 Near, and nearer, and yet more near: 
 Till with the valor that comes from fear, 
 The Sea- Mew wheel' d in her flight, and threw 
 Her wings aback, and her beak to view — 
 Vengeful — crouching to meet the fray; 
 And the Valkyr swoop' d — and at once we lay 
 Lock'd, and lash'd, in the broad sea-way. 
 
 "Straight to the Sea-Mew's deck I sprang: 
 
 Leif, to meet me ! The axes rang ; 
 
 The broadswords batter' d on helm and shield; 
 
 And through the press, as we sway'd and reel'd, 
 
 The hot bolts hiss'd from the twanging string. 
 
 —But hearken now to the strangest thing: — 
 
 Wise, but weak, he was deem'd of men; 
 
 But his strength was now as the strength of ten. 
 
 Twice I shore through his iron crown, 
 
 And twice he was up ere he was down. — 
 
 Voiceless — deadly — smiting amain — 
 
 Thews upstarting, with throe and strain — 
 
 Black brows lower' d, in fell onslaught! 
 
 And ever behind him, as we fought, 
 
 I saw the face and the wind-blown hair 
 
 Of Helga — ah! but the witch was fair! — 
 
 Her wide eyes fix'd in a frozen stare. 
 
"Half of the Valkyr's crew were sped; 
 And over the Sea-Mew's decks the dead 
 Wash'd in the welter, and three to one 
 Cumber' d the living. The noonday sun 
 Shrunk, and redden' d, and little we wist. 
 Little we reck'd of the thickening mist — 
 The web of the great Sea-Spider, that wove 
 Its coils about us — for still we strove: 
 Strove, with never a glance to spare, 
 When the thunder growl'd on the heated air: 
 Nor took we note of the lessening light, 
 Save that ghastlier on the sight, 
 Corpse-like, coppery, grim to see, 
 Were those that strove with us, knee to knee; 
 Till on our fury a whirling, vast 
 Darkness bellied. — And then — the blast! 
 
 "It smote — and the great sea under the blow 
 
 Quail' d, and straight was a waste of snow. 
 
 It smote again, and the deeps uprose; 
 
 And the heavens lower' d; and friends and foes, 
 
 In the stifling murk, as the tall masts bow'd, 
 
 Clung together to sheet and shroud. 
 
 A sputter of flame ! — and the lashings broke. 
 
 In spume, and vapor, and thunder-smoke, 
 
 The Valkyr vanish' d; and, plank from plank, 
 
 Rent and riven, the Sea-Mew sank. — 
 
 And when the tempest had spit its wrath, 
 
Nought there was in its boiling path — 
 Nought on the wide waste, near or far, 
 But three, adrift on a drifting spar — 
 We three, under the cloud-piled sky, 
 Spared — and we knew not how or why — 
 Leif, and the white sea-witch, and I. 
 
 " Over the spar she droop' d and lay, 
 
 Eyes upstaring, and limbs asway — 
 
 Half denuded, and deathly still — 
 
 And her white limbs sway'd at the water's will, 
 
 Leif beside her, binding her fast, 
 
 With a straining arm, to the splinter' d mast! — 
 
 His set face streaming with blood and brine, 
 
 And his glittering eyeballs fix'd on mine, 
 
 With hate undying, and quenchless spleen, 
 
 Over the woman outstretch' d between! 
 
 " Nought we utter' d — nor curse, nor pray'r — 
 But clung, and drifted — we knew not where. 
 
 "And oft, as out of the depths we swung 
 
 To the shifting summits, and pois'd, and hung, 
 
 For a breathless moment, pinnacled high, 
 
 I searched the line of the sea and sky 
 
 For sign of the Valkyr. — And once, it seem'd, 
 
 Far, in a dazzle of sun that stream' d, 
 
 Like fiery rain, from a crater's rift, 
 
I mark'd a white sail flutter and shift, 
 And dip. — Or was it a sea-bird's wing? 
 — Cataract-like was the downward fling 
 And crash of the surge ; but the woman lay, 
 Silent ever, with limbs asway ; 
 And never the eyes of Leif from mine 
 Swerv'd, or fail'd of their baleful shine. 
 
 " Like the eyes of the serpent, that venom' d still, 
 
 Gaze on the slayer, and blast, and kill, 
 
 Though the brain be crush' d in the crafty head, 
 
 They held me in wonder— and half in dread. 
 
 But slowly, slowly the oozing gore 
 
 Sapped his vitals; and more and more 
 
 His spent breast labor'd. — I read the sign; 
 
 And I said in my heart, ' She shall soon be mine ! '■ 
 
 Though I reck'd not how, and I reck'd not where, 
 
 Till in our drifting I grew aware 
 
 That the long-drawn, deafening, doleful wail, 
 
 And thresh of the wave-tops seem'd to fail; 
 
 And the sea, like a giant that strives with death, 
 
 Heav'd its breast for a deeper breath. 
 
 " Far, on the glimmering verge I saw 
 
 A mighty, mountainous wave updraw — 
 
 Foamless, soundless, gathering strength, 
 
 And slowly ridging its monstrous length, 
 
 Till the wan half-light, from the yellowing West, 
 
Was tinged with the green of its curling crest. 
 
 And Leif, too, saw; and the sickly hue 
 
 Of the Terror smote him — for well he knew 
 
 All that it boded. He gasped, and rear'd ; 
 
 And the life-drops trickled from brow and beard, 
 
 As he bent above her. — She turn'd her face, 
 
 Wan and wild, from his last embrace. 
 
 Hungrily did he look on her, 
 
 Striving to speak, with his lips astir; 
 
 But he made no sound. — And I stretch'd my hand, 
 
 And smiled — and she could but understand: — 
 
 1 Choose ! To whom wilt thou now belong ? — 
 
 Unto the wise? or unto the strong?' 
 
 Over her head she saw the wall 
 
 Of the green sea toppling to its fall; 
 
 Knew — and shudder' d to feel — the touch 
 
 Of Death, in his drowning fingers' clutch; 
 
 And suddenly, swiftly, making choice, 
 
 With heaving body, and strangling voice, 
 
 She tore herself from his grasp apart, 
 
 And caught, and clasp' d me — and heart to heart 
 
 I held her fast. — Like a soul accurst, 
 
 Shriek' d the other. The great wave burst — 
 
 Whelm'd him — shatter'd him. Hands upthrown, 
 
 Down he sank, with bubble and groan. 
 
 —And all in a moment, toss'd on high, 
 
 From a staggering spar that raked the sky, 
 
 I saw the flag of the Valkyr fly. 
 
"Mine! — from battle, and storm, and wreck! 
 
 White she lay on the Valkyr's deck, 
 
 As the foam-flake whipt from the dashing spray, 
 
 That scarce alights and is whirl* d away. 
 
 But I wrapp'd her close in her riddled gown, 
 
 And hard beside her I cast me down; 
 
 As the Valkyr spun to the wind, and reel'd 
 
 Down the slope of the great salt field, 
 
 Homeward, bearing her priceless spoil. 
 
 — Into the night and the black turmoil 
 
 Of the North we dipp'd; with the baying pack 
 
 Of the sail-dogs scurrying on our track; 
 
 And the white-maned, thunderous steeds of Ran 
 
 Galloping wide, in the rear and van, 
 
 With cries, and clashings, and neighings loud — 
 
 Wind, and billow, and ship, and cloud, 
 
 Blowing, and flowing, and sounding on — 
 
 Till, in the darkness before the dawn, 
 
 We heard before us the deeper roar 
 
 Of the racing tides of the tide-ways four, 
 
 Trampling the Skerries' threshing-floor. 
 
 " Hard to windward we toiled, and beat, 
 
 With straining oar, and with sagging sheet, 
 
 And the dismal flap of the quaking sail ; 
 
 And many a bearded lip grew pale, 
 
 For death was under our very lee. 
 
 But the woman! — never a sign gave she. 
 
With closed eyes, limp in my arms, and lost 
 
 To the strife about her, as when she toss'd 
 
 On the vast mid-deep, she seem'd to wait, 
 
 All unheeding, the cast of fate. 
 
 Motionless, dumb, and heedless still, 
 
 As we drew by the foreland's frowning hill, 
 
 And weather' d the Jotun's Tooth, and won 
 
 To the harbor's mouth, at the rise of sun; 
 
 And saw, and greeted, with cheer on cheer, 
 
 The peaceful strand, and the mirror' d pier, 
 
 And the smoke from the roof-trees curling clear! 
 
 '•Then, if ever, my heart was glad. 
 
 Mine! — And drunk with the joy I had, 
 
 To think that now from the wrath of man, 
 
 And the raging seas, and the Aesir's ban, 
 
 I held her safe, with a mighty cry, 
 
 Bidding her look on the haven nigh, 
 
 I seized her up. — But she writhed, and brake 
 
 Out of my arms, like a curling snake ! 
 
 Swift, and supple, and blinding fair, 
 
 Reft of her wrapping, she faced me there; 
 
 And beat me backward, maniac-wise; 
 
 And combing the long locks from her eyes, 
 
 She look'd on the land, and she look'd on me, 
 
 And backward once to the crying sea. — 
 
 Never a hand did I think to raise 
 
 To stop or stay her. In sheer amaze, 
 
I watch' d, and wonder' d; and ere I caught 
 A gleam or a glimpse of her woman's thought, 
 Low she crouch* d — 'tis the truth, I swear 
 By the Hammer of Thor! — and even there — 
 There, but a bow-shot from the land" — 
 And he struck the board with his heavy hand — 
 "There, as it were from the very shore, 
 Straight to the death she had fear'd before, 
 Leap'd, and flash' d — and was seen no more. 
 
 "Now! — will ye solve me that?" quoth he. 
 
 And the graybeards answer' d — and why not we? — 
 
 "Ah! what riddles these women be!" 
 
 WILLIAM YOUNG. 
 
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