"And there we hunted the walrus,

The narwhale, and the seal;

Ha! 't was a noble game!

How far I fain would know;

So at last I sallied forth,
And three days sailed due north,
As far as the whale-ships go.

"To the west of me was the ocean,
To the right the desolate shore,
But I did not slacken sail
For the walrus or the whale,

Till after three days more.

Flew our harpoons of steel.

"There were six of us all together, Norsemen of Helgoland;

In two days and no more
We killed of them threescore,

And dragged them to the strand!"

Here Alfred the Truth-Teller
Suddenly closed his book,
And lifted his blue eyes,
With doubt and strange surmise
Depicted in their look.

And Othere the old sea-captain

Stared at him wild and weird, Then smiled, till his shining teeth Gleamed white from underneath

His tawny, quivering beard.

And to the King of the Saxons,
In witness of the truth,

Raising his noble head,

He stretched his brown hand, and said, "Behold this walrus-tooth!"

DAYBREAK.

A WIND came up out of the sea,

And said, "O mists, make room for me."

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud;

By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret

O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me ; They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am

Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away!

ENCELADUS.

UNDER Mount Etna he lies,

It is slumber, it is not death; For he struggles at times to arise, And above him the lurid skies

Are hot with his fiery breath.

The crags are piled on his breast,

The earth is heaped on his head; But the groans of his wild unrest, Though smothered and half suppressed, Are heard, and he is not dead.

And the nations far away

Are watching with eager eyes; They talk together and say, "To-morrow, perhaps to-day, Enceladus will arise!"

And the old gods, the austere

Oppressors in their strength, Stand aghast and white with fear At the ominous sounds they hear, And tremble, and mutter, "At length!"

Ah me for the land that is sown

With the harvest of despair! Where the burning cinders, blown