Vandrad the Viking; Or, The Feud and the Spell

by J. Storer Clouston

"It concerns only you. Sit here but for a moment; it is not long, and you can escape from me when I have done."

"Very well," she said, with a smile and an air of resignation. "I will listen, but do not keep me long."

"If it will tire you, I can wait."

"You can try me."

"I must leave the Holy Isle soon, Osla; I have been too long away from my kinsfolk and my country. It is hard to part, but it must come some day, and these verses are my parting song."

She was silent, and seemed intently plucking sea pinks.

"I cannot tell you why," he went on, "but to-day I feel that my hour has come to rove again. I would that I might live here for ever, but I know it is not fated so."

Then he sang his farewell song:—

"Canst thou spare a sigh, fair Osla? It is fated I must go. Wilt thou think of Vandrad ever When the sea winds hoarsely blow, Or will the memory of my love With absence fainter grow?

"Canst thou spare a tear, sweet Osla, When I sail from this fair land? Wilt thou dream of Vandrad sometimes When the waves boom on the strand? Can visions of a pleasant hour The march of time withstand?