Claud Halcro and Norna

MOTHER darksome, Mother dread,
Dweller on the Fitful-head,
Thou canst see what deeds are done
Under the never-setting sun.
Look through sleet, and look through frost,
Look to Greenland's caves and coast, --
By the ice-berg is a sail
Chasing of the swarthy whale;
Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Tell us, has the good ship sped ?

NORNA.
The thought of the aged is ever on gear,
On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer ;
But thrive may his fishing, flock, furrow, and herd,
While the aged for anguish shall tear his grey beard.
The ship, well-laden as bark need be,
Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ;
The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft,
And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft :
Seven good fishes have spouted their last,
And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast;
Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall,
Three for Burgh Westra, the choicest of all.

CLAUD HALCRO.
Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
Thou hast conn'd full many a rhyme,
That lives upon the surge of time :
Tell me, shall my lays be sung,
Like Hacon's of the golden tongue,
Long after Halcro 's dead and gone ?
Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own
One note to rival glorious John ?

NORNA.
The infant loves the rattle's noise;
Age, double childhood, hath its toys ;
But different far the descant rings,
As strikes a different hand the strings.
The eagle mounts the polar sky --
The Imber-goose, unskill'd to fly,
Must be content to glide along,
Where seal and sea-dog list his song.

CLAUD HALCRO.
Be mine the Imber-goose to play,
And haunt lone cave and silent bay ;
The archer's aim so shall I shun --
So shall I 'scape the levell'd gun --
Content my verses' tuneless jingle,
With Thule's sounding tides to mingle,
While, to the ear of wondering wight,
Upon the distant headland's height,
Soften'd by murmur of the sea,
The rude sounds seem like harmony !

Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
A gallant bark from far abroad,
Saint Magnus hath her in his road,
With guns and firelocks not a few --
A silken and a scarlet crew,
Deep stored with precious merchandise,
Of gold, and goods of rare device --
What interest hath our comrade bold
In bark and crew, in goods and gold?

NORNA.
Gold is ruddy, fair, and free,
Blood is crimson, and dark to see ;
I look'd out on Saint Magnus Bay,
And I saw a falcon that struck her prey, -
A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore,
And talons and singles are dripping with gore ;
Let him that asks after them look on his hand,
And if there is blood on 't, he's one of their band.

CLAUD HALCRO.
Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
Well thou know'st it is thy task
To tell what Beauty will not ask ;
Then steep thy words in wine and milk,
And weave a doom of gold and silk,--
For we would know, shall Brenda prove
In love, and happy in her love ?

NORNA.
Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast
Is like the snow on Rona's crest,
High seated in the middle sky,
In bright and barren purity;
But by the sunbeam gently kiss'd,
Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis miss'd,
Ere, down the lonely valley stealing,
Fresh grass and growth its course revealing,
It cheers the flock, revives the flower,
And decks some happy shepherd's bower.

MAGNUS TROIL.
Mother speak, and do not tarry,
Here's a maiden fain would marry.
Shall she marry, ay or not?
If she marry, what's her lot?

NORNA.
Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast
Is like the snow on Rona's crest;
So pure, so free from earthy dye,
It seems, whilst leaning on the sky.
Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh ;
But passion, like the wild March rain,
May soil the wreath with many a stain.
We gaze -- the lovely vision 's gone --
A torrent fills the bed of stone,
That hurrying to destruction's shock,
Leaps headlong from the lofty rock.