YULE.
Behold! it was night; and the wind and the rushing of snow on the wind,
And the boom of the sea and the moaning of desolate pines that were thinned.
And the halls of fierce Erick of Sogn with the clamor of wassail were filled,
With the clash of great beakers of gold and the reek of the ale that was spilled.
For the Yule was upon them, the Yule, and they quaffed as from skulls of the slain,
And sware out round oaths in hoarse wit, and long quaffing sware laughing again.
Unharnessed from each shaggy throat that was hot with mad lust and with drink,
The burly wild skins and barbaric tossed rent from their broad golden link.
For the Yule was upon them, the Yule, and the "waes-heils" were shouted and roared
By the Berserks, the eaters of fire, and the Jarls round the ponderous board.
And huge on the hearth, that writhed hissing and bellied a bullion of gold,
The yule-log, the half of an oak from the mountains, was royally rolled.
And its warmth was a glory that glared and smote red through the width of the hall,
To burnish wild-boar skins and swords and great war-axes hung on the wall.
Till the maidens, who hurried big goblets that bubbled excessive with barm,
Blushed rose to the gold of thick curls when the shining steel mirrored each charm.
And Erick's one hundred gray skalds, at the nod and the beck of the king,
With the stormy rolled music of an hundred wild harps made the castle re-echoing ring.