Lionel, who fain had risen, but fell again,

And sat as if in chains-to whom he said:

"Take my free gift, my cousin, for your wife;

And were it only for the giver's sake,

And tho' she seem so like the one you lost,

Yet cast her not away so suddenly,

Lest there be none left here to bring her back:

I leave this land for ever.' Here he ceased.

Then taking his dear lady by one hand,

And bearing on one arm the noble babe,

He slowly brought them both to Lionel.

And there the widower husband and dead wife

Rush'd each at each with a cry, that rather seem'd

For some new death than for a life renew'd;

At this the very babe began to wail;

At once they turn'd, and caught and brought him in

To their charm'd circle, and, half-killing him

With kisses, round him closed and claspt again.

But Lionel, when at last he freed himself

From wife and child, and lifted up a face

All over glowing with the sun of life,

And love, and boundless thanks-the sight of this

So frighted our good friend, that turning to me

And saying, 'It is over: let us go’—

There were our horses ready at the doors

We bade them no farewell, but mounting these

He past for ever from his native land;

And I with him, my Julian, back to mine.

THE VICTIM.

I.

A PLAGUE upon the people fell,

A famine after laid them low,

Then thorpe and byre arose in fire,

For on them brake the sudden foe;

So thick they died the people cried

The Gods are moved against the land.'

The Priest in horror about his altar

To Thor and Odin lifted a hand:

'Help us from famine

And plague and strife!

What would you have of us?

Human life?

Were it our nearest,

Were it our dearest,

(Answer, O answer)

We give you his life.'

II.

But still the foeman spoil'd and burn'd,

And cattle died, and deer in wood,

And bird in air, and fishes turn'd

And whiten'd all the rolling flood;

And dead men lay all over the way,

Or down in a furrow scathed with flame :

And ever and aye the Priesthood moan'd

Till at last it seem'd that an answer came :

"The King is happy

In child and wife;

Take you his dearest,

Give us a life.'

III.

The Priest went out by heath and hill;

The King was hunting in the wild;

They found the mother sitting still;

She cast her arms about the child.

The child was only eight summers old,
His beauty still with his years increased,

His face was ruddy, his hair was gold,

He seem'd a victim due to the priest.

The Priest beheld him,

And cried with joy,

'The Gods have answer'd :

We give them the boy.'