While they wrought with an armorer, in a city famed for workmanship in steel and silver, the elder had fallen in love with a lady as far beneath him in real rank, as she was above the station he had as apprentice to an armorer. Nor did he seek to further his suit by discovering himself; but there was simply so much manhood about him, that no one ever thought of rank when in his company. This is what his brother said about it. The lady could not help loving him in return. He told her when he left her, that he had a perilous adventure before him, and that when it was achieved, she would either see him return to claim her, or hear that he had died with honor. The younger brother’s grief arose from the fact, that, if they were both slain, his old father, the king, would be childless. His love for his father was so exceeding, that to one unable to sympathise with it, it would have appeared extravagant. Both loved him equally at heart; but the love of the younger had been more developed, because his thoughts and anxieties had not been otherwise occupied. When at home, he had been his constant companion; and, of late, had ministered to the infirmities of his growing age. The youth was never weary of listening to the tales of his sire’s youthful adventures; and had not yet in the smallest degree lost the conviction, that his father was the greatest man in the world. The grandest triumph possible to his conception was, to return to his father, laden with the spoils of one of the hated giants. But they both were in some dread, lest the thought of the loneliness of these two might occur to them, in the moment when decision was most necessary, and disturb, in some degree, the self-possession requisite for the success of their attempt. For, as I have said, they were yet untried in actual conflict. “Now,” thought I, “I see to what the powers of my gift must minister.” For my own part, I did not dread death, for I had nothing to care to live for; but I dreaded the encounter because of the responsibility connected with it. I resolved however to work hard, and thus grow cool, and quick, and forceful.
The time passed away in work and song, in talk and ramble, in friendly fight and brotherly aid. I would not forge for myself armor of heavy mail like theirs, for I was not so powerful as they, and depended more for any success I might secure, upon nimbleness of motion, certainty of eye, and ready response of hand. Therefore I began to make for myself a shirt of steel plates and rings; which work, while more troublesome, was better suited to me than the heavier labor. Much assistance did the brothers give me, even after, by their instructions, I was able to make some progress alone. Their work was in a moment abandoned, to render any required aid to mine. As the old woman had promised, I tried to repay them with song; and many were the tears they both shed, over my ballads and dirges. The songs they liked best to hear were two which I made for them. They were not half so good as many others I knew, especially some I had learned from the wise woman in the cottage; but what comes nearest to our needs we like the best.
I
The king sat on his throne,
Glowing in gold and red;
The crown in his right hand shone,
And the gray hairs crowned his head.His only son walks in,
And in walls of steel he stands:
“Make me, O father, strong to win,
“With the blessing of holy hands.”He knelt before his sire,
Who blessed him with feeble smile;
His eyes shone out with a kingly fire,
But his old lips quivered the while.“Go to the fight, my son,
“Bring back the giant’s head;
“And the crown with which my brows have done,
“Shall glitter on thine instead.”“My father, I seek no crown,
“But unspoken praise from thee;
“For thy people’s good, and thy renown,
“I will die to set them free.”The king sat down and waited there,
And rose not, night nor day;
Till a sound of shouting filled the air,
And cries of a sore dismay.Then like a king he sat once more,
With the crown upon his head;
And up to the throne the people bore
A mighty giant dead.And up to the throne the people bore
A pale and lifeless boy.
The king rose up like a prophet of yore,
In a lofty, deathlike joy.He put the crown on the chilly brow:
“Thou should’st have reigned with me
“But Death is the king of both, and now
“I go to obey with thee.“Surely some good in me there lay,
“To beget the noble one.”
The old man smiled like a winter day,
And fell beside his son.
II
“O lady, thy lover is dead,” they cried;
“He is dead, but hath slain the foe;
“He hath left his name to be magnified
“In a song of wonder and woe.”“Alas! I am well repaid,” said she,
“With a pain that stings like joy:
“For I feared, from his tenderness to me,
“That he was but a feeble boy.“Now I shall hold my head on high,
“The queen among my kind;
“If ye hear a sound, ’tis only a sigh
“For a glory left behind.”
The first three times I sang these songs they both wept passionately. But after the third time, they wept no more. Their eyes shone, and their faces grew pale, but they never wept at any of my songs again.
XXI
I put my life in my hands.
The Book of Judges
At length, with much toil and
