"What I conceal'd beneath my girdle bear, Is thine--irrevocably thine--I swear. Thou hast refus'd a great and noble prey, To get possession of my closet key. Lo! here it is, and, when within thy maw, May'st thou much comfort from the morsel draw!" The polish'd steel upon the deck she cast, And off the raven flutter'd from the mast. Then down at once he plung'd amid the main, And clove the merman's frightful head in twain; The foam-clad billows to repose he brought, And tam'd the tempest with the speed of thought; Then, with a thrice-repeated demon cry, He soar'd aloft and vanish'd in the sky: A soft wind blew the ship towards the land, And soon Dame Sigrid reach'd the wish'd-for strand. Once, late at eve, she play'd upon her harp, Close by the lake where slowly swam the carp; And, as the moon-beam down upon her shone, She thought of Norway, and its pine-woods lone. "Yet love I Denmark," said she, "and the Danes, For o'er them Alf, my mighty husband, reigns." Then 'neath her girdle something mov'd and yearn'd, And into terror all her bliss was turn'd. "Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . " Long sat she, then, and neither spoke nor stirr'd. Faint, through the mist which rob'd the sky in gray, The pale stars glimmer'd from the milky way. "Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . " She strove in vain to breathe another word. Above her head, its leaf the aspen shook-- Moist as her cheek, and pallid as her look. Full five months pass'd, ere she, 'mid night and gloom, Brought forth with pain an infant from her womb: They baptiz'd it, at midnight's murky hour, Lest it should fall within the demon's power. It was a boy, more lovely than the morn, Yet Sigrid's heart with bitter care was torn. Deep in a grot, through which a brook did flow, With crystal drops they sprinkled Harrald's brow. He grew and grew, till upon Danish ground No youth to match the stripling could be found; He was at once so graceful and so strong-- His look was fire, and his speech was song. When yet a child, he tam'd the battle steed, And only thought of war and daring deed; But yet Queen Sigrid nurs'd prophetic fears, And when she view'd him, always swam in tears. One evening late, she lay upon her bed, (King Alf, her noble spouse, was long since dead) She felt so languid, and her aching breast With more than usual sorrow was oppress'd. Ah, then she heard a sudden sound that thrill'd Her every nerve, and life's warm current chill'd:-- The bird of death had through the casement flown, And thus he scream'd to her, in frightful tone: "The wealthy bird came towering, Came scowering, O'er hill and stream. 'Look here, look here, thou needy bird, How gay my feathers gleam.' "The needy bird came fluttering, Came muttering, And sadly sang, 'Look here, look here, thou wealthy bird, How loose my feathers hang.' "Remember, Queen, the stormy day, When cast away Thou wast so nigh:-- Thou wast the needy bird that day, And unto me didst cry.