In The Yule-Log Glow--Book 3 | Page 5

clangor
made
As if they were struck with the blade
Of a sword.
And the Berserks round about
Broke forth into a shout
That made
the rafters ring;
They smote with their fists on the board,
And
shouted, "Long live the sword
And the King!"
But the king said, "O my son,
I miss the bright word in one
Of thy
measures and thy rhymes."
And Halfred the Scald replied,
"In
another 'twas multiplied
Three times."
Then King Olaf raised the hilt
Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt,
And
said, "Do not refuse;
Count well the gain and the loss,
Thor's
hammer or Christ's cross:
Choose!"
And Halfred the Scald said, "This,
In the name of the Lord, I kiss,

Who on it was crucified!"
And a shout went round the board,
"In
the name of Christ the Lord
Who died!"
Then over the waste of snows
The noonday sun uprose
Through the
driving mists revealed,
Like the lifting of the Host,
By
incense-clouds almost
Concealed.
On the shining wall a vast
And shadowy cross was cast
From the
hilt of the lifted sword,
And in foaming cups of ale
The Berserks
drank "Was-hael!
To the Lord!"
_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
HALBERT AND HOB.
Here is a thing that happened. Like wild beasts whelped, for den, In a
wild part of North England, there lived once two wild men, Inhabiting
one homestead, neither a hovel nor hut,
Time out of mind their

birthright: father and son, these,--but,-- Such a son, such a father! Most
wildness by degrees
Softens away: yet, last of their line, the wildest
and worst were
these.
Criminals, then? Why, no: they did not murder and rob;
But give
them a word, they returned a blow,--old Halbert as young
Hob:
Harsh and fierce of word, rough and savage of deed,
Hated or
feared the more--who knows?--the genuine wild-beast breed.
Thus were they found by the few sparse folk of the country-side; But
how fared each with other? E'en beasts couch, hide by hide. In a
growling, grudged agreement: so father son lay curled The closelier up
in their den because the last of their kind in the
world.
Still, beast irks beast on occasion. One Christmas night of snow, Came
father and son to words--such words! more cruel because the blow To
crown each word was wanting, while taunt matched gibe, and curse
Competed with oath in wager, like pastime in hell,--nay, worse: For
pastime turned to earnest, as up there sprang at last The son at the
throat of the father, seized him, and held him fast.
"Out of this house you go!"--there followed a hideous oath-- "This
oven where now we bake, too hot to hold us both!
If there's snow
outside, there's coolness: out with you, bide a spell In the drift, and save
the sexton the charge of a parish shell!"
Now, the old trunk was tough, was solid as stump of oak
Untouched
at the core by a thousand years: much less had its seventy
broke
One whipcord nerve in the muscly mass from neck to
shoulder-blade Of the mountainous man, whereon his child's rash hand
like a feather

weighed.
Nevertheless at once did the mammoth shut his eyes,
Drop chin to
breast, drop hands to sides, stand stiffened,--arms and
thighs
All of a piece--struck mute, much as a sentry stands,
Patient
to take the enemy's fire: his captain so commands.
Whereat the son's wrath flew to fury at such sheer scorn
Of his puny
strength by the giant eld thus acting the babe new-born: And "Neither
will this turn serve!" yelled he. "Out with you! Trundle,
log!
If you cannot tramp and trudge like a man, try all-fours like a
dog!"
Still the old man stood mute. So, logwise,--down to floor Pulled from
his fireside place, dragged on from hearth to door,-- Was he pushed, a
very log, staircase along, until
A certain turn in the steps was reached,
a yard from the house-door
sill.
Then the father opened his eyes,--each spark of their rage extinct,--
Temples, late black, dead-blanched, right-hand with left-hand
linked,--
He faced his son submissive; when slow the accents came,

They were strangely mild though his son's rash hand on his neck lay
all the same.
"Halbert, on such a night of a Christmas long ago,
For such a cause,
with such a gesture, did I drag--so--
My father down thus far: but,
softening here, I heard
A voice in my heart, and stopped: you wait for
an outer word.
"For your own sake, not mine, soften you too! Untrod
Leave this last
step we reach, nor brave the finger of God! I dared not pass its lifting: I

did well. I nor blame
Nor praise you. I stopped here: Halbert, do you
the same!"
Straightway the son relaxed his hold of the father's throat. They
mounted, side by side, to the room again: no note
Took either of each,
no sign made each to either: last
As first, in absolute silence, their
Christmas-night they passed.
At dawn, the father sate on, dead, in the selfsame place, With an
outburst blackening still the old bad fighting-face: But