The Pirate
And cast the covering from thy tomb.
"Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight
Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight!
I come not, with unhallow'd tread,
To wake the slumbers of the dead,
Or lay thy giant relics bare;
But what I seek thou well canst spare.
Be it to my hand allow'd
To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud;
Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough
To shield thy bones from weather rough.
"See, I draw my magic knife--
Never while thou wert in life
Laid'st thou still for sloth or fear,
When point and edge were glittering near;
See, the cerements now I sever--
Waken now, or sleep for ever!
Thou wilt not wake? the deed is done!--
The prize I sought is fairly won.
"Thanks, Ribolt, thanks,--for this the sea
Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee,--
And while afar its billows foam,
Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb.
Thanks, Ribolt, thanks--for this the might
Of wild winds raging at their height,
When to thy place of slumber nigh,
Shall soften to a lullaby.
"She, the dame of doubt and dread,
Norna of the Fitful-head,
Mighty in her own despite--
Miserable in her might;
In despair and frenzy great,--
In her greatness desolate;
Wisest, wickedest who lives,
Well can keep the word she gives."
While Norna chanted the first part of this rhyme, she completed the task
of laying bare a part of the leaden coffin of the ancient warrior, and
severed from it, with much caution and apparent awe, a portion of the
metal. She then reverentially threw back the sand upon the coffin; and
by the time she had finished her song, no trace remained that the
secrets of the sepulchre had been violated.
Mertoun remained gazing on her from behind the churchyard wall during
the whole ceremony, not from any impression of veneration for her or her
employment, but because he conceived that to interrupt a madwoman in her
act of madness, was not the best way to obtain from her such
intelligence as she might have to impart. Meanwhile he had full time to
consider her figure, although her face was obscured by her dishevelled
hair, and by the hood of her dark mantle, which permitted no more to be
visible than a Druidess would probably have exhibited at the celebration
of her mystical rites. Mertoun had often heard of Norna before; nay, it
is most probable that he might have seen her repeatedly, for she had
been in the vicinity of Jarlshof more than once since his residence
there. But the absurd stories which were in circulation respecting her,
prevented his paying any attention to a person whom he regarded as
either an impostor or a madwoman, or a compound of both. Yet, now that
his attention was, by circumstances, involuntarily fixed upon her person
and deportment, he could not help acknowledging to himself that she was
either a complete enthusiast, or rehearsed her part so admirably, that
no Pythoness of ancient times could have excelled her. The dignity and
solemnity of her gesture,--the sonorous, yet impressive tone of voice
with which she addressed the departed spirit whose mortal relics she
ventured to disturb, were such as failed not to make an impression upon
him, careless and indifferent as he generally appeared to all that went
on around him. But no sooner was her singular occupation terminated,
than, entering the churchyard with some difficulty, by clambering over
the disjointed ruins of the wall, he made Norna aware of his presence.
Far from starting, or expressing the least surprise at his appearance in
a place so solitary, she said, in a tone that seemed to intimate that he
had been expected, "So,--you have sought me at last?"
"And found you," replied Mertoun, judging he would best introduce the
enquiries he had to make, by assuming a tone which corresponded to her
own.
"Yes!" she replied, "found me you have, and in the place where all men
must meet--amid the tabernacles of the dead."
"Here we must, indeed, meet at last," replied Mertoun, glancing his
eyes on the desolate scene around, where headstones, half covered in
sand, and others, from which the same wind had stripped the soil on
which they rested, covered with inscriptions, and sculptured with the
emblems of mortality, were the most conspicuous objects,--"here, as in
the house of death, all men must meet at length; and happy those that
come soonest to the quiet haven."
"He that dares desire this haven," said Norna, "must have steered a
steady course in the voyage of life. _I_ dare not hope for such quiet
harbour. Darest _thou_ expect it? or has the course thou hast kept
deserved it?"
"It matters not to my present purpose," replied Mertoun; "I have to ask
you what tidings you know of my son Mordaunt Mertoun?"
"A father," replied the sibyl, "asks of a stranger what tidings she has
of his son! How should I know aught of him? the cormorant says not to
the mallard, where is my brood?"
"Lay aside this useless affectation of mystery," said Mertoun; "with the
vulgar and ignorant it has its effect, but upon me it is thrown away.
The people of Jarlshof have told me that you do know, or may know,
something of Mordaunt Mertoun, who has not returned home after the
festival of Saint John's, held in the house of your relative, Magnus
Troil. Give me such information, if indeed ye have it to give; and it
shall be recompensed, if the means of recompense are in my power."
"The wide round of earth," replied Norna, "holds nothing that I would
call a recompense for the slightest word that I throw away upon a living
ear. But for thy son, if thou wouldst see him in life, repair to the
approaching Fair of Kirkwall, in Orkney."
"And wherefore thither?" said Mertoun; "I know he had no purpose in that
direction."
"We drive on the stream of fate," answered Norna, "without oar or
rudder. You had no purpose this morning of visiting the Kirk of Saint
Ringan, yet you are here;--you had no purpose but a minute hence of
being at Kirkwall, and yet you will go thither."
"Not unless the cause is more distinctly explained to me. I am no
believer, dame, in those who assert your supernatural powers."
"You shall believe in them ere we part," said Norna. "As yet you know
but little of me, nor shall you know more. But I know enough of you, and
could convince you with one word that I do so."
"Convince me, then," said Mertoun; "for unless I am so convinced, there
is little chance of my following your counsel."
"Mark, then," said Norna, "what I have to say on your son's score, else
what I shall say to you on your own will banish every other thought from
your memory. You shall go to the approaching Fair at Kirkwall; and, on
the fifth day of the Fair, you shall walk, at the hour of noon, in the
outer aisle of the Cathedral of Saint Magnus, and there you shall meet a
person who will give you tidings of your son."
"You must speak more distinctly, dame," returned Mertoun, scornfully,
"if you hope that I should follow your counsel. I have been fooled in my
time by women, but never so grossly as you seem willing to gull me."
"Hearken, then!" said the old woman. "The word which I speak shall touch
the nearest secret of thy life, and thrill thee through nerve and bone."
So saying, she whispered a word into Mertoun's ear, the effect of which
seemed almost magical. He remained fixed and motionless with surprise,
as, waving her arm slowly aloft, with an air of superiority and triumph,
Norna glided from him, turned round a corner of the ruins, and was soon
out of sight.
Mertoun offered not to follow, or to trace her. "We fly from our fate in
vain!" he said, as he began to recover himself; and turning, he left
behind him the desolate ruins with their cemetery. As he looked back
from the very last point at which the church was visible, he saw the
figure of Norna, muffled in her mantle, standing on the very summit of
the ruined tower, and stretching out in the sea-breeze something which
resembled a white pennon, or flag. A feeling of horror, similar to that
excited by her last words, again thrilled through his bosom, and he
hastened onwards with unwonted speed, until he had left the church of
Saint Ninian, with its bay of sand, far behind him.
Upon his arrival at Jarlshof, the alteration in his countenance was so
great, that Swertha conjectured he was about to fall into one of those
fits of deep melancholy which she termed his dark hour.
"And what better could be expected," thought Swertha, "when he must
needs go visit Norna of the Fitful-head, when she was in the haunted
Kirk of Saint Ringan's?"
But without testifying any other symptoms of an alienated mind, than
that of deep and sullen dejection, her master acquainted her with his
intention to go to the Fair of Kirkwall,--a thing so contrary to his
usual habits, that the housekeeper wellnigh refused to credit her ears.
Shortly after, he heard, with apparent indifference, the accounts
returned by the different persons who had been sent out in quest of
Mordaunt, by sea and land, who all of them returned without any tidings.
The equanimity with which Mertoun heard the report of their bad success,
convinced Swertha still more firmly, that, in his interview with Norna,
that issue had been predicted to him by the sibyl whom he had consulted.
The township were yet more surprised, when their tacksman, Mr. Mertoun,
as if on some sudden resolution, made preparations to visit Kirkwall
during the Fair, although he had hitherto avoided sedulously all such
places of public resort. Swertha puzzled herself a good deal, without
being able to penetrate this mystery; and vexed herself still more
concerning the fate of her young master. But her concern was much
softened by the deposit of a sum of money, seeming, however moderate in
itself, a treasure in her eyes, which her master put into her hands,
acquainting her at the same time, that he had taken his passage for
Kirkwall, in a small bark belonging to the proprietor of the island of
Mousa.
CHAPTER VI.
Nae langer she wept,--her tears were a' spent,--
Despair it was come, and she thought it content;
She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale,
And she droop'd, like a lily broke down by the hail.
_Continuation of Auld Robin Gray_.[14](_d_)
The condition of Minna much resembled that of the village heroine in
Lady Ann Lindsay's beautiful ballad. Her natural firmness of mind
prevented her from sinking under the pressure of the horrible secret,
which haunted her while awake, and was yet more tormenting during her
broken and hurried slumbers. There is no grief so dreadful as that which
we dare not communicate, and in which we can neither ask nor desire
sympathy; and when to this is added the burden of a guilty mystery to an
innocent bosom, there is little wonder that Minna's health should have
sunk under the burden.
To the friends around, her habits and manners, nay, her temper, seemed
altered to such an extraordinary degree, that it is no wonder that some
should have ascribed the change to witchcraft, and some to incipient
madness. She became unable to bear the solitude in which she formerly
delighted to spend her time; yet when she hurried into society, it was
without either joining in, or attending to, what passed. Generally she
appeared wrapped in sad, and even sullen abstraction, until her
attention was suddenly roused by some casual mention of the name of
Cleveland, or of Mordaunt Mertoun, at which she started, with the horror
of one who sees the lighted match applied to a charged mine, and expects
to be instantly involved in the effects of the explosion. And when she
observed that the discovery was not yet made, it was so far from being a
consolation, that she almost wished the worst were known, rather than
endure the continued agonies of suspense.