And the Singing Swan sailed again into the western seas, in the late
spring and early summer, at the time which the Latins call "Mensus
Madius."
And because of the long voyage the provisions were exhausted, and the
ship also needed rest and repairing.
And Halfred's blood brethren said to him, when they came into the
waters of the island of Hibernia--
"Both men and stores need caring for: we will land at King Thorul's sea
castle, and provide all that we need on board. Far famed is King
Thorul's hall; there they have great skill on the harp. Come with us to
the city; rejoice thy heart in human fellowship, for there thou cans't
not, as heretofore, lie upon the ship. Even to the Singing Swan will
many people come, workmen and traders, and thou wouldst not be alone
under thy stars. Shall we not steer for the green island?"
And Halfred nodded, and Hartvik joyfully turned the helm sharp to the
west.
When, however, they saw the towers of Thorul's hall rise from the waves
in the morning light, Halfred, with his own hand, lowered the smaller
boat, which lay fastened on the deck near the helm, and said--
"When ye have rejoiced yourselves at King Thorurs court, and have
provided for the ship, seek me, after twenty nights, on yonder small
rocky island."
And he took arrow, and bow, and fishing hook, sprang into the boat, and
rowed to the island.
But, the Singing Swan sailed further to the west.
And Halfred landed upon the small rocky island; he found a fitting bay,
and drew his boat high up upon the white sand of the shore.
And then there came floating to him on the air something which was
strange and yet well known to him. Only under the golden stars of
Greece and Rome had he ever heretofore enjoyed the intoxication of such
fragrance.
There is, that is to say, a flower of the delicate hue of a maiden's
cheek, "Rosa" the Latins call it, and its fragrance is as the kiss of
pure maiden lips.
And this flower had the Roman heroes, so long as they were powerful in
these western lands, carefully tended in their houses and gardens. Long
since, however, had the Roman heroes vanished, their stately dwellings
were abandoned and ruined, their gardens grown wild.
And wild also had grown the maiden tinted flower which they call Rosa,
and had spread all over the island, and flourished luxuriantly
everywhere, and breathed forth a strong intoxicating perfume.
On these small islands which lie round about the great western island
of Hibernia, the air is always mild; the snow seldom there remains
lying on the land, and only slightly, and for a short time are the
streams frozen.
And the singing birds which elsewhere retreat before the frost, rest
for the winter in these retreats, where meadows, shrubs, and trees,
remain green even in the severest seasons. For it rains often there,
and moist is the breath of the billows rolling around.
And the heathen people, therefore, call these islands "Baldur's
Islands," for Baldur they name the God of the spring dawning.
And as Halfred climbed up the hill from the shore, all the underwood
and sweet-springing thorns were in full bloom; white thorn and red
thorn and black thorn and the wild roses.
And also the many splendid fruit trees which the Roman heroes had
brought with them from the south and the east, were in full bloom.
And from every shrub and tree resounded the sweet tones of the grey
brown singing bird, which the Latins call "Luscinia," the Greeks
"Philomela," but we, the "Nightingale."
And Halfred strode upwards and inland, by the side of a clear rapid
stream, which flowed over white pebbles, through light green copsewood.
On the height he came to a transparent copse of alders, young beeches,
and slender white birches. There lovely broad-winged butterflies
flitted over the beautiful flowers in the sunny glades. Deep in the
thicket sang the thrush. The tops and pliant boughs of the birches
nodded and waved.
And then there came to him, borne on the morning wind, yet other sounds
than the song of the nightingale, far clearer and softer, as from the
lightly-touched strings of a harp; but which sounded far more beautiful
than any harp playing, either of his own or any other Skald, which he
had ever heard.
And from high above, as if from heaven, the tones appeared to come.
Halfred followed the sounds, which powerfully moved and allured him.
No sound since the last dying shriek of his harp had reached his soul
through his ears. These harp tones aroused his soul. He believed that
elves or Bragi, the song God, were harping in the air.
He wished not to scare the singer, but to listen. Softly he passed on,
choosing his steps; the wood-grass betrayed him not, for it was soft,
long, and thick.
He had now come quite near to the sound, yet still he saw not the
singer. Cautiously he parted the thick white thorn bushes, and
perceived then a small green mound, upon which stood in a circle six
beeches. But the seventh, the tallest, stood in the centre, and towered
above them all; and around its trunk wound an ornamental staircase made
of white wood; and made of the same white wood there was a slight
platform fitted in where the broad branches of the beech spread
themselves out. The railing of both staircase and platform was
ingeniously carved.
From this airy bower floated down the wonderful tones.
Halfred drew nearer, and spied through the branches and the crevices of
the platform. His heart throbbed high with amazement, awe, and
yearning.
There he saw the player.
On the railing leaned a boy who was wonderfully beautiful, so
beautiful, Halfred said to me, that never had he seen such beauty upon
earth--so beautiful as the elves must be, in which the heathen people
believe.
He was altogether white--his slender face was white as the stone which
the Greeks call "Alabaster;" the folded garment which reached from his
neck to his knees was white, and white were the leathern shoes upon his
feet.
But the eyes and hair of the boy were like gold.
And Halfred said to me that the eyes were the golden brown of the
eagle's eyes. In the shining hair, however, which a net of the same
colour confined, instead of a hat, played hither and thither, bright
sun-tinted gleams, as though a sunbeam had lost itself therein, and now
vainly sought to find an outlet.
And the boy played upon a small three-sided stringed instrument, such
as only the Skalds of Hibernia carry, and played a wholly unknown
melody.
And he played and sang so beautifully, that Halfred had never yet heard
such playing and singing; mournful and yet blissful at the same time,
was the melody, like the pain of yearning, which yet for no pleasure of
the earth would the heart resign.
And Halfred told me that for the first time since that midsummer night
a warm breath passed again over his soul.
And the beautiful boy in the airy bower enchained his eyes, and the
mournful yearning song entranced his soul.
And for the first time, for many, many years, his breast could heave
with a full drawn breath.
And tears filled his eyes, and restored and healed him, and made him
young once more, like cool dew upon the heath after a burning sun.
And at the close of every two lines the words of the song rang
harmoniously together, like--and yet again not altogether entirely
like--as though two voices sought each other in sound and echo.
Or as when man and woman, one and yet two, are folded together in a
kiss.
The boy sang in the soft lisping Irish language, which Halfred well
knew. But that closing concord had he never heard, and it resounded far
more pleasingly upon the ear than did the dead consonant staves of the
Skalds.
And this was the boy's song,--
"On light slender branches blowing
White rose yearns through May's young bloom--
Sun God, 'tis for thee I'm glowing,
When wilt thou, thy bright face showing,
Quaff full deep my fresh perfume?
When wilt thou, for ardour sighing,
Greet my flowers in trembling bliss?
Come, and must I rue thee dying,
Leave within my chalice lying,
Fiery sweet, thy fervid kiss."
Here closed the boy's song and playing with a clear resounding chord on
the strings.
And as soon as he ceased, and had hung his harp on the boughs, lo!
there came flying from the nearest shrub two snow-white doves, which
lighted one on the right, the other on the left shoulder of the boy,
who smiling stroked their heads, and slowly, thoughtfully, with
stately, and yet almost timed step, came down the white wooden stairs,
and stood upon the beautiful flowery turf of the greenwood glade.
Halfred dreaded that he might terrify the gentle harper if he stepped
suddenly out of the thicket before him.
Therefore he called to him first, from a distance, in a soft voice,
slowly drawing nearer.
"Hail, gentle boy! If thou art mortal, may the Gods be gracious to
thee. If thou art thyself a God, or as I surmise one of the light
elves, then be not ungracious to me, a mortal man."
Then the boy turned slowly towards him, without seeming to be
terrified, or even surprised, and as Halfred now drew nearer, he said
in a melodious vibrating voice--
"Welcome, Halfred. Art thou come at last? I have tarried long for
thee."
And he offered him both hands; the glance of the golden eyes sinking
deep into Halfred's soul.
Halfred, however, dared not to touch those hands. He felt, from the
very depths of his being, a quickening warmth uprise, and send rippling
through body and soul a quiver of delight--of joy in surpassing
beauty--but also of holy awe, as in the presence of gods or spirits;
for he had no longer any doubt that it was no earthly being who stood
before him.
Voice and breath almost failed him as he asked--
"Who hath proclaimed to thee Halfred's coming, and name!"
"The moonlight."
"Then art thou indeed, as I had already perceived, the prince of the
light elves, to whom moon and stars speak words. Be gracious to me, O
loveliest of the Gods."
Then the boy smiled. "I am a child of earth, like thyself, Halfred.
Draw nearer. Take my hands."
"But who art thou, if thou art mortal!" asked Halfred, still
hesitating.
"Thoril, King Thorul's orphan grandchild."
"And wherefore dwellest thou here alone, on this small island, as
though hidden, and not in King Thorul's hall?"
"He dreamed thrice that danger threatened me, in the month when the
wild roses blow; a strange ship which should come into his harbour
would carry me away, never to be seen again.
"To render me quite safe against this danger he sent me here to this
small outlying island, at which, because of its circling cliffs, no
ship can land. Only Moengal, his ancient armour-bearer, and his wife,
my foster-mother, are with me; yonder, in that small wooden house,
behind the beech mound, we live. But so long as the dear lord shines,
and the gay butterflies flit over the flowers, I tarry here in hidden
airy bower."
"But, thou wonderful boy, if thou art really a child of earth, how
could the moon reveal to thee my coming and my name?"
"I sleep not in the moonlight, because it entices me out and upwards.
It lifts me by force from my couch, and upwards to itself. With closed
eyes, they say, I wander then away on the narrowest ridges of the roof;
and far away, through forest and mountain, I see what shall happen in
the future, and the distance.
"Carefully they guarded me, therefore, in the king's hall. But here, the
clear moon looks freely through the rifts in our cottage roof.
"And I saw, seven nights ago, a ship, with a swan on the prow, that drew
nearer and nearer. On the deck lay sleepless a dark-bearded man, with a
noble countenance. 'Halfred,' his two friends called him.
"And ever nearer floated the sailing Swan. But when, one cloudy night,
the moon shone not upon my pillow, and my eyes could not see the ship,
and the man, then yearning seized upon me for that noble countenance.
And I laid my pillow and my head, since then, ever carefully under the
full flood of the moonlight. And night after night I gazed again on
that lofty forehead and these palid temples.
"But still more beautiful and lordly art thou, than thy dream picture;
and never have I seen a man to equal thee."
"But thou," cried Halfred, seizing both the singer's hands, "art like
Baldur in spring beauty, gentle boy.
"Never have I seen such perfect charm in youth or in maiden. Like
sunshine upon chilled limbs, like Chios wine through parched throat,
flows thy beauty through my eyes deep into my soul. Thou art as the
blackbird's song and the wood flowers: as the evening star in golden
clouds; thou art as the most wonderful song which ever resounded from
the lips of a Skald; thyself, as thou livest and movest, thou art pure
poetry.
"O Thoril, golden boy, how gentle thou art! how thou hast quickened my
grief-worn heart. O Thoril, leave me never again!
"Take up once more thy magic harp; uplift once more that sweet song,
which has awakened my soul from the sleep of death.
"O come, let me lay my heavy head upon thy knee, and gaze in thy sunny
wondrous face, while thou tunest thy harp, and playest and singest."
And thus they both did.
And trustfully flew one of the doves from Thoril's hand to Halfred's
broad shoulder, and cooed lovingly to the other.
And when the song was ended, Halfred seized again the two hands of the
boy, and drew them slowly slowly over his forehead, and his moist eyes.
And it all was as it stands written in the sacred books of the Jews, of
the King full of sadness and heaviness, who could only be healed by the
harp-playing of the son of Jesse.