[CHAPTER XXIV.]
The Passing of Oswald.
The Northland under the autumn sun was as the South, with green fields and forests and with glowing blooms upon shrubbery and in the hollows of the hills. The fiords were shadowy, with a coolness in the breezes which breathed among them that was pleasant to the wearied fishermen in returning boats.
Upon the high promontory looking seaward at the north of the cove and of the village and of the house of Brander there were no pine trees. Its bald granite knob glittered in the waning light so that it might be seen from far at sea as if it were a beacon. It was not a place for men to seek having no errand to lead them, and not many feet had trodden upon it since the world was made.
Nevertheless, this place was not at the closing of the day unoccupied, and from it there came a sound which went out over the wide water, and downward that it might mingle with the voices of the fiords, and landward, also, that it might be joined with the soft sighing and low whispering of the forests. Not loud was this sound at the first, but it grew louder, and then with it went forth a voice.
"I think my strength faileth me," said Oswald, the harper, pausing in his song. "The harp was overheavy to bring up the mountain. I grow old and I am alone. Hilda sleepeth in the tomb of Odin's sons, Ulric is afar among unknown seas. Am I to die a cow's death before he returneth? Who is there to make the mark of a spear upon my breast, lest I fail of Valhalla? I have fought in many a feast of swords. Why am I to perish slowly, without honor? Sad is the fate of Oswald if the valkyrias pass him and leave him to die in his bed."
Once more the song arose, but now his voice was stronger and he sang of war to the rocks and to the trees and to the gods among the fiords. The old gier-eagle on the withered pine tree northward listened intently, now and then fanning with his wide wings, until the spirit that was in the harping awakened him well. Loud was the scream that he sent back to Oswald, and he dropped suddenly from the branch of the pine tree, spreading his pinions and floating over the sea in a wide circle, rising as he went.
"He is free to come and to go," mourned Oswald, "but I am bound at home and I shall no more ride the war steeds of the open sea nor hear the clang of shields nor see the red blood flow. Where is the good ship The Sword this day? Where are Ulric the Jarl and his vikings?"
Low bowed his head and his hands sought fitfully the strings of his harp, bringing out the notes of sorrow.