The Norse King's Bridal
THE WOLF OF IRONWOOD
Ho for the white of the withered bough
And the red of the wrinkled
leaf!
Sir Arngrim sits in Ironwood,
And his heart is filled
with grief.
The sun sinks down on Ironwood
Blood-red behind the trees;
Sir Arngrim stares upon the sword
That lies across his knees.
"Oh my father died a death of blood,
And my mother of wasting
woe;
And their spirits dwell in the rocky fell
Where the trees of Ironwood
grow.
"And still the guilt of the life-blood spilt
Doth unavenged remain;
And in the red of the wrinkled leaf
I read my father's pain.
"Oh the kings were three, sailed o'er the sea
To wokr us havoc and harm;
And I see in the white of the wizened bough
My mother's beckoning
arm."
Sir Arngrim stood with the sea beneath
And the rocky fell behind,
And there he saw three gallant ships
That sailed before the
wind.
"Oh red of hand, they come to land
With a host and a mighty
horde!
And how shall I wreak my father's death
With the power of a single
sword?"
When the writhen shadows in Ironwood
Grew long, and the fading
rim
Of the sun sank low behind the fell,
The witch-wife came to
him.
"Now hearken to me, thou goodly knight!
And, if thou grant me
grace,
I'll work a spell shall serve thee well
For love of thy fair young
face.
"Oh a maid am I from dawn till dusk---
But by night of a magic
rune,
And a weird of woe, a wolf I go
O' nights beneath the
moon.
"Thou shalt slay three hosts in Ironwood
That the wolf her fill
may feed---
Then as lover true, when the fight is done,
Shalt pay the maiden's
meed."
Sir Arngrim looked upon the witch,
And her face was fair
to see.
He's plighted her troth on his knightly oath
And sealed it with kisses
three.
It was the first o' the hosts came on
With the rush of a roaring
gale---
But they might not stir the single sword
That bit through bone
and mail.
Oh half o' the host at eve were slain,
And half o' the host were
fled;
And all night long in Ironwood
The wolf howled o'er the
dead.
It was the second host came on
As levin leaps from the
sky;
But they might not quell the witch's spell
And the sword of grammarye.
Oh half o' the host at eve were fled,
And half in their blood
lay still;
And all night long in Ironwood
The wolf did feed her
fill.
It was the third o' the hosts came on
Like the waves of a winter
sea;
But they broke on the sword as billows break
Where the hidden skerries
be.
Oh half o' the host at eve were slain,
And half were fled away;
And like the dead, among the dead,
In a swoon Sir Arngrim
lay.
The moon shone down on Ironwood
Above the trees so tall;
And lo! the red and wrinkled leaves
Upon his face did fall.
And lo! the shade of the withered bough
Across his face lay dim,
And the wolf she leapt, and seized, and tore
The warrior limb from
limb.
Ho ho for the red of the wrinkled leaf!
His spirit has gone to
dwell
With the grimly ghosts of the ancient hosts
That haunt the rocky fell!
Ho ho for the white of the withered bough!
The witch she wails full
sore;
And Ironwood, for that deed of blood,
Is accursed evermore!