Queen Thyri and the Angelica Stalks

Northward over Drontheim,Flew the clamorous sea-gulls,Sang the lark and linnetFrom the meadows green;

Weeping in her chamber,Lonely and unhappy,Sat the Drottning Thyri,Sat King Olaf's Queen.

In at all the windowsStreamed the pleasant sunshine,On the roof above herSoftly cooed the dove;

But the sound she heard not,Nor the sunshine heeded,For the thoughts of ThyriWere not thoughts of love,

Then King Olaf entered,Beautiful as morning,Like the sun at EasterShone his happy face;

In his hand he carriedAngelicas uprooted,With delicious fragranceFilling all the place.

Like a rainy midnightSat the Drottning Thyri,Even the smile of OlafCould not cheer her gloom;

Nor the stalks he gave herWith a gracious gesture,And with words as pleasantAs their own perfume.

In her hands he placed them,And her jewelled fingersThrough the green leaves glistenedLike the dews of morn;

But she cast them from her,Haughty and indignant,On the floor she threw themWith a look of scorn.

"Richer presents," said she,"Gave King Harald GormsonTo the Queen, my mother,Than such worthless weeds;

"When he ravaged Norway,Laying waste the kingdom,Seizing scatt and treasureFor her royal needs.

"But thou darest not ventureThrough the Sound to Vendland,My domains to rescueFrom King Burislaf;

"Lest King Svend of Denmark,Forked Beard, my brother,Scatter all thy vesselsAs the wind the chaff."

Then up sprang King Olaf,Like a reindeer bounding,With an oath he answeredThus the luckless Queen:

"Never yet did OlafFear King Svend of Denmark;This right hand shall hale himBy his forked chin!"

Then he left the chamber,Thundering through the doorway,Loud his steps resoundedDown the outer stair.

Smarting with the insult,Through the streets of DrontheimStrode he red and wrathful,With his stately air.

All his ships he gathered,Summoned all his forces,Making his war levyIn the region round;

Down the coast of Norway,Like a flock of sea-gulls,Sailed the fleet of OlafThrough the Danish Sound.

With his own hand fearless,Steered he the Long Serpent,Strained the creaking cordage,Bent each boom and gaff;

Till in Venland landing,The domains of ThyriHe redeemed and rescuedFrom King Burislaf.

Then said Olaf, laughing,"Not ten yoke of oxenHave the power to draw usLike a woman's hair!

"Now will I confess it,Better things are jewelsThan angelica stalks areFor a Queen to wear."