20 Harold Harrung. [Juny, 
longer on the verdant sward, but on a soft and stately couch, strewed 
_ with the richest skins and sables. The apartment in which he lay far 
exceeded in magnificence aught that he before had looked on, though he 
had ere now led his daring band to spoil the fairest palaces of the south. 
Yet his eye scarcely glanced for a moment over the various splendours 
of the scene; for before him stood at length revealed the queen of all 
those fair delights which had surrounded him within the last few hours. 
Of the loftiest stature among women, but formed in the most exquisite 
proportions—beautiful as Freya herself, yet with more of majesty and 
command in her air than would become the deity of love—the mighty 
Druda was beheld by Harold with those sentiments of admiration and 
reverence, unmingled with fear, which the sea-kings of old ever felt 
toward those goddesses who deigned to cross their mortal path. Humbly, 
yet not timidly, he told his tale, and gave his thanks. But when he 
learned, from her reply, which was uttered with a dignity that scorned 
concealment, and felt no shame at such a revelation, that she—the 
mighty mistress of the northern realms, sprung from the union of the 
awful Balder with an earth-born maid—had stooped to love a mortal— 
that she had rescued him from destruction, and led him to this paradise 
of sweets, to share her love and throne—what marvel if the warrior, in 
the triumph of the moment, forgot his country, his fame, and Ulla her- 
self? 
Months rolled away ; and the brave sea-king, who had once deemed 
each moment wasted that was not spent in the foray or on the wave, still 
lingered in the thrall of the enchantress. Yet, though the beauty and 
the wisdom of Druda could well beguile the hours, he felt at length how 
irksome a life of indolence and solitude must ever be. The flowers grew 
less fragrant ; the lovely prospects lost their charms; and Harold sighed 
in secret for his bleak Norwegian hills—for the galley and the sword, 
with which his forefathers had never failed to win the pleasures denied 
by their inclement climate ;—nay, at times, when he contrasted her gentle 
smiles with the frowns of his imperious mistress, his memory would 
revert to Ulla. Yet gratitude compelled him to bury these feeelings in 
his inmost heart ; and, perchance, he might have wasted years in uncom- 
plaining durance, had not the keen eye of Druda soon marked the change 
in his demeanour. One morning, as he wandered forth alone, chance led 
him to the bower which he had first entered on his arrival in that 
enchanted land ; and in secrethe gave vent to the despondency that long 
had weighed upon his soul—“ Why—oh! why,” exclaimed the young 
hero, “ was my life preserved for this? Better it were to have died that 
inglorious death among my brave companions, than thus to linger out dull 
years of dishonourable ease, whilst my banner shall never more be dreaded 
on the sea, and the bold Norsemen have even now almost forgotten the 
name of him who was once their foremost leader, where danger was to be 
braved, or glory won!” He ceased—for a bitter laugh rang loudly in his 
ear—and, turning, he beheld the sorceress, Druda. Her countenance 
was calm, though pale ; for those distortions of passion which betray the 
anguish of mortals, when affliction falls heavily upon them, were unwor- 
thy the daughter of Balder ; yet was there something in her painful 
smile that caused the blood of the hitherto undaunted Harold to curdle 
within him.—“< Son of the sea!’ exclaimed the sorceress, in a slow and 
solemn tone, “ I have tried thee, with all thy boasted merit ; but I find 
thou art but as other men. Like them, the idle recompence of fame or 
