The Norse King's Bridal
Ballad 14
The King went forth at dawning
To watch the turn of the tide:
"Be still, my soul, be still!
To-day shall bring the bride.
"Sea-gull, oh sea-gull,
Stay thy shifting wings!
Hast seen the ship a-sailing,
My love that brings?
"The ship with sails of scarlet
Where threads of gold entwine---
With maids and merry minstrels,
And gifts of mine,
"A veil for her head, and a girdle,
And a bracelet all of gold,
Wrought by a cunning craftsman
With labours manifold."
The King went forth at even
To watch the silver web
Woven by wavering moonbeams
Over the tide at ebb.
"Oh nights are short in summer!
She will come to me soon;
To-morrow at dawn of day
Or at height of noon."
Oh the sea grew hoary and grey
At the turn of the year;
The fire of the whin was faded,
The heather was brown and sere.
All the air was filled
With the moan of the mourning main;
And the ship with sails of scarlet
Came not home again.
The King went forth in the night---
For care he could not sleep---
Down the perilous pathway---
Down to the edge of the deep.
There was never a star to shine;
Nor sea from shore he wist,
Till he felt around his feet
The chill of the foam that hissed.
There was never a star in the skies,
And the face of the deep was din---
Yet he saw a wavering wanness
Like the cold moon sink and swim.
Yea, as in the heart of the billow
Quivers the wan sea-flame,
Drifting in the darkness
The mermaiden came.
And on the long sea-swell,
Like to a foam-wreath pale,
Among her lock a-floating
He saw a costly veil,
That a queen might wear to wed in---
And on her arm so cold
He saw a gallant bracelet
All of the gleaming gold,
Wrought by a cunning craftsman
With labours manifold.
Then the eyes of the King were darkened,
And his shuddering soul went down
Like a stone in the dark o' the deeps
Where shipwrecked sailors drown.
The mermaid shimmering sank
Like a moon that clouds eclipse---
And the spray of the salt sea mingled
With the salt of tears on his lips.
The King goes forth at even
By the sea-side;
He hears in the long dark caverns
The sobbing of the tide.
Pale is the face of the King
Like one in a deadly swoon;
Wan o'er the waste of waters
Glimmers the waning moon.
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