I.
The King came home from battle,
He came in triumph proud;
Before, the heralds flying,
With trumpets pealing loud,
Ten thousand warriors followed,
With gleaming spear and shield,
A goodly store of trophies
Brought from the bloody field,
A forest bright of banners
Unfurled like tongues of flame,
And clanking ranks of captives
To swell the mighty train.
Beneath the arching gateway
And up the stony street,
To time of martial music,
Passed on the trampling feet;
But ever chief and foremost
The King in triumph rode;
His armor flashed in sunlight,
Gay-plumed his helmet glowed,
High stepped his coal-black charger,
Impatient of the rein,
And curved the sleek neck proudly
And shook the rippling mane.
More proud than he the rider—
In look and mien more proud;
Before, the heralds speeding
And trumpeting aloud
How Eric, the invader—
Long time a dreaded foe—
Lay with the gory corses
Upon the plain below;
And how of his great army
A paltry little band
In hopeless rout
Had turned about
And fled to their own land.
Quick, at the cry of herald
And clattering of hoof,
From door and wall and window,
From balcony and roof,
Black hung the crowd; with praises
Did all the city ring—
With praises for the warriors,
With praises for the King:—
So loud, the infant Gerda
Was wakened from her sleep,
And, writhing in her cradle,
Forsooth began to weep,
The while they praised her father
Till all the air did ring,
The while the people shouted,
“Forever live the King!”
There in the masonry,
Black space and then a stairway.—Page 177.
II.
All day it rained. The white doves
Came not at Gerda’s call,
To flock about the casement
High up the palace wall,
To coo ’neath her caresses,
And plume their wings of snow,
And pick the crumbs she scattered
Upon the ledge below.
It rained all day. The sunbeams
Were weak and wan and rare—
The beams that seven summers
Had played with Gerda’s hair.
All day it rained unceasing.
The quaint old lofty room,
For lack of bird and sunbeam,
Was drear and full of gloom;
And left among the shadows,
The while the raindrops beat,
With restless little fingers,
With restless little feet,
Went Princess Gerda roaming
The quaint old room around,
And thus behind the tapestry,
It chanced, a picture found—
A painting blurred and faded:
Two men had fought, and one
Lay vanquished, while the other,
With foot his neck upon,
A murd’rous weapon brandished
Above the prostrate head.
“Thou hateful, hateful fellow!”
In anger Gerda said,
And clenched her small fist straightway
And smote the lifted hand.
Lo! backward swung the picture,
As tho’ a fairy’s wand
Obeying; and before her,
There in the masonry,
Black space and then a stairway—
So much did Gerda see.
“Where does it go?” she wondered,
And, no one being nigh,
Into the darkness ventured,
Nor waited for reply.
Down, down, and ever downward,
The granite steps led on;
With now and then a winding,
With ever and anon
A pause, a narrow landing,
But never ray of light.
On, on, went little Gerda,
And downward thro’ the night,
Recalling wondrous stories
The good nurse Hedvig told
Of a strange realm and dreamlike,
All paved and ceiled with gold,
Where ruled the merry elf-king—
A realm far underground,
That a few favored mortals
By patient search had found.
So, on and on went Gerda,
And downward through the night.
At length in maze of passages
That led to left and right,
The stony staircase ended;
And, searching in the dark,
She wandered hither, thither:
The elf-land, where? But hark!
What sound was that? She listened.
A moaning somewhere near!
Again, again, a moaning!
She fled away in fear.
From right to left she hurried;
She hurried to and fro;
She called: “O good nurse Hedvig,
Come to me here below!”
Came never word of answer.
She could not find the way.
In terror trembling, sobbing,
Still onward did she stray.
“Who weeps?” Again she listened.
The voice was low and kind.
“’Tis I—’tis Princess Gerda;
The way I cannot find.”
“Fear not, O Princess Gerda!
If thou wilt turn the key,
How gladly will I offer
To be a guide for thee.”
Her little fingers feeling
The slimy stones along,
Found out the door of iron—
The iron door so strong:
And standing there on tip-toe,
With all her might and main,
She, reaching, tried the rusty key,
But tried and tried in vain.
“Once more, once more, O Princess!”
At that she tried once more;
The hinges grated harshly,
And open flew the door;
And one came forth whose features
And form she could not see
For the deep darkness round her;
But never aught cared she,
Because the voice was pleasant
And drove away all fear—
The voice that softly questioned,
“How happened Gerda here?”
“Down, down the longest stairway
That ever yet was found,
I came to hunt for fairies
That dwell beneath the ground.”
“Now tell me, sweetest Gerda,
If I will show the way,
And lead thee from the darkness
Far up into the day,
Wilt never of thy venture,
Nor ever of thy guide,
To any speak? Wilt promise?”
She eagerly replied,
“Oh, yes, yes, yes! I promise!”
And, hand in hand, the two
The dank and dismal corridors
Went searching through and through.
A narrow length of passage,
Low-ceiled, at last they gained,
And midway in this passage
A narrow doorway framed;
And winding from this doorway
Stone steps, a narrow flight,
They found and followed—followed
Far up out of the night.
But when the little Gerda,
Safe in the dim old room,
That now seemed full of sunlight
After the greater gloom—
When quick she turned to see him
Who led—the pictured wall,
The overhanging tapestry
She saw—and that was all.
And many days she marveled,
And many nights did dream
Of that good guide and gentle,
Who came and went unseen.
But never more the stairway,
So long and dark, she tried.
She told not of her venture,
She told not of her guide.
The dungeon-keeper, bringing
The daily drink and bread,
The iron doors found open!
The prisoners had fled!
In doubt and wonder gazing,
He paled with sudden fear:
“Alack! the King will hear it!
Alack! the King will hear!”
Down fell the bread and water—
With flaming torch he sought
A narrow length of passage
Deep through the rough rock wrought;
And there for miles he wandered,
Lit by the torch’s ray,
Nor guessed how lately other feet
Had traveled the same way.
At last he reached a country
Beside the western sea—
A fair and goodly country.
There now in peace dwelt he.
III.
The years have passed, and Gerda,
Now grown a maiden tall,
Looks from the latticed casement
High up the palace wall;
But not for flash and flutter
Of snowy wings looks she—
Thro’ rain or sun
No longer come
The white doves merrily;
For peace and they have flown afar,
And all the land is red with war.
Great Ivar, dreaded Ivar,
Who rules the northern coast,
Across his rocky borders
Has led a conquering host;
And smiling field and hamlet
Despoiling as they came,
Five months before the city walls
The savage hordes have lain.
The glimmer of their camp-fires
The Princess Gerda sees,
Their tents, their hostile ensigns
A-floating in the breeze.
She looks forth from her window
With eyes grown used to tears;
And as she looks she listens—
What sound is that she hears?
A crash, a shriek, a shouting—
A battlement gives way;
Swift thro’ the breach come rushing
The foe in dire array,
And sudden as a thunder-storm
Sweeps o’er the smiling day,
The air is dark and clamorous
And wild with deadly fray.
But calm and clear
Does Gerda hear
His orders ring,
As the brave King,
Unfaltering,
Keeps the fierce foe at bay.
But see! he falls!
“The King is down!”
Who’ll guard the walls?
Who’ll save the town?
“The King is slain! we fight in vain!
Alack, alack, the King is slain!”
The panic-stricken soldiers,
Pale-faced, from street to street
Flee wildly, as the enemy
Pursue their flying feet:
“The King is slain, the town is lost!
Who can withstand great Ivar’s host!”
But look! what stranger legions
Against the hostile tide
Leap forth in shining armor
And bold advancing ride,
Ride on and ever onward,
Beat back the hostile tide?
“The gods! the gods! Valhalla
Has sent its warriors down
To fight against our Ivar!
To battle for the town!”
And in dismay and terror
Is hushed the conquering cry.
From street to street,
In swift retreat,
And over fallen battlement,
The pale besiegers fly—
Fly fast and far; nor pause they
Till, on the northern shore,
They see the birchen forests,
And hear the breakers roar.
Meanwhile, with peals of gladness
The rescued city rang,
And loud their great deliverance
The joyous people sang,
And loud they sang the praises
Of him, the unknown knight,
Who led his valiant legions
To battle for the right.
So loud and long their praises,
Awaking from his swoon,
The King o’erheard, and seeing
Who wore the chieftain’s plume,
Aghast, stood up and questioned,
Hand on his horse’s rein,
“What art thou—man or spirit?
And what may be thy name?”
“I am, O King, no spirit;
And Eric is my name;—
Prince Eric, son of Eric,
Who sleeps on yonder plain.”
“What! Eric? son of Eric?
Ah, I have heard of thee,
How wise and well thou rulest
Beside the western sea.
But why dost thou come hither
To drive away the foe,
And earn my people’s praises,
Since well thou seem’st to know
That it was I,
In years gone by,
Who laid thy father low?”
“Not for thy people’s praises
I hither led my band,
But with, O king, thy favor,
To win thy daughter’s hand.”
“Great soul and gallant suitor!
Well doth he play his part,
Who, seeking hand of daughter,
Doth steal the father’s heart.”
But Princess Gerda saw not:
She heeded naught of all,
Nor gazed she from the window
High up the palace wall.
“Wherefore the loud rejoicing,
Wherefore the triumph vain,
Since he is dead—my father,—
Since he, the King, is slain?”
With streaming eyes she greeted
Two ent’ring at the door,
Aye, even him who bowed so low
His white plumes swept the floor;
The other—lo! her father!
Behold his spirit come!
She stood in trembling wonder;
Her pallid lips were dumb.
“Fear not, O Princess Gerda!
If thou wilt turn the key,
How gladly will I offer
To be a guide for thee!”
So spake the Prince; and Gerda
In listening paler grew;
Recalling guide and venture,
The words, the voice she knew.
“They come to me from spirit-land!
Two heroes are they, tall and grand,
And clad in armor bright!”
And in her fear,
As they drew near,
The quaint old room reeled round her,
And all was black as night.
But when again the Princess
Her blue eyes opened wide,
And saw the good King kneeling
And smiling at her side,
And heard him softly whisper,
“Behold, my little one,
I bring to thee a suitor
Will please me for a son”—
She bowed in sweet submission,
And meekly answered she:
“Whatever please my father,
That also pleaseth me.”
And in the royal city,
And all the country thro’,
Were festal cheer and gladness
Where late were war and woe;
For the good King’s dominions
And those the sea beside,
Were wed when Princess Gerda
Became brave Eric’s bride.