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Our Fathers' Godsaga : Retold for the Young.
  Home | Site Index | Heithinn Idea Contest |
The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (A Selection)


 


IX

THANGBRAND THE PRIEST


Short of stature, large of limb,
        Burly of face and russet beard,
All the women stared at him,
        When in Iceland he appeared.
                "Look!" they said,
                With nodding head,
"There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

All the prayers he knew by rote,
        He could preach like Chrysostome,
From the Fathers he could quote,
        He had even been at Rome.
                A learned clerk,
                A man of mark,
Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

He was quarrelsome and loud,
        And impatient of control,
Boisterous in the market crowd,
        Boisterous at the wassail-bowl,
                Everywhere
                Would drink and swear,
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

In his house this malcontent
        Could the King no longer bear,
So to Iceland he was sent
        To convert the heathen there,
                And away
                One summer day
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

There in Iceland, o'er their books
        Pored the people day and night,
But he did not like their looks,
        Nor the songs they used to write.
                "All this rhyme
                Is waste of time!"
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

To the alehouse, where he sat,
        Came the Scalds and Saga-men;
Is it to be wondered at,
        That they quarrelled now and then,
                When o'er his beer
                Began to leer
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest?

All the folk in Altafiord
        Boasted of their island grand;
Saying in a single word,
        "Iceland is the finest land
                That the sun
                Doth shine upon!"
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

And he answered: "What's the use
        Of this bragging up and down,
When three women and one goose
        Make a market in your town!"
                Every Scald
                Satires scrawled
On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Something worse they did than that;
        And what vexed him most of all
Was a figure in shovel hat,
        Drawn in charcoal on the wall;
                With words that go
                Sprawling below,
"This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

Hardly knowing what he did,
        Then he smote them might and main
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid
        Lay there in the alehouse slain.
                "Today we are gold,
                Tomorrow mould!"
Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Much in fear of axe and rope,
        Back to Norway sailed he then.
"O, King Olaf! little hope
        Is there of these Iceland men!"
                Meekly said,
                With bending head,
Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

X

RAUD THE STRONG


"All the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;
But the White Christ lives and reigns,
And throughout my wide domains
His Gospel shall be spread!"
        On the Evangelists
        Thus swore King Olaf.

But still in dreams of the night
Beheld he the crimson light,
And heard the voice that defied
Him who was crucified,
And challenged him to the fight.
        To Sigurd the Bishop
        King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said,
"The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes
The old witchcraft still is spread."
        Thus to King Olaf
        Said Sigurd the Bishop.

"Far north in the Salten Fiord,
By rapine, fire, and sword,
Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;
All the Godoe Isles belong
To him and his heathen horde."
        Thus went on speaking
        Sigurd the Bishop.

"A warlock, a wizard is he,
And lord of the wind and the sea;
And whichever way he sails,
He has ever favoring gales,
By his craft in sorcery."
        Here the sign of the cross
        Made devoutly King Olaf.

"With rites that we both abhor,
He worships Odin and Thor;
So it cannot yet be said,
That all the old gods are dead,
And the warlocks are no more,"
        Flushing with anger
        Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Then King Olaf cried aloud:
"I will talk with this mighty Raud,
And along the Salten Fiord
Preach the Gospel with my sword,
Or be brought back in my shroud!"
        So northward from Drontheim
        Sailed King Olaf!



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