THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND HIS WARRIORS [3]
and say the mass over the slain bishop,
who lies there in the black silver-embroidered mantle, with the
crozier in his powerless hand; and on his pale proud forehead gleams
the red wound like fire, and there burn the worldly mind and the
wicked thoughts.
Sink down into his grave- into oblivion- ye terrible shapes of the
times of old!
Hark to the raging of the angry wind, sounding above the rolling
sea! A storm approaches without, calling aloud for human lives. The
sea has not put on a new mind with the new time. This night it is a
horrible pit to devour up lives, and to-morrow, perhaps, it may be a
glassy mirror- even as in the old time that we have buried. Sleep
sweetly, if thou canst sleep!
Now it is morning.
The new time flings sunshine into the room. The wind still keeps
up mightily. A wreck is announced- as in the old time.
During the night, down yonder by Lokken, the little fishing
village with the red-tiled roofs- we can see it up here from the
window- a ship has come ashore. It has struck, and is fast embedded in
the sand; but the rocket apparatus has thrown a rope on board, and
formed a bridge from the wreck to the mainland; and all on board are
saved, and reach the land, and are wrapped in warm blankets; and
to-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of Borglum. In
comfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and friendly faces.
They are addressed in the language of their country, and the piano
sounds for them with melodies of their native land; and before these
have died away, the chord has been struck, the wire of thought that
reaches to the land of the sufferers announces that they are
rescued. Then their anxieties are dispelled; and at even they join
in the dance at the feast given in the great hall at Borglum.
Waltzes and Styrian dances are given, and Danish popular songs, and
melodies of foreign lands in these modern times.
Blessed be thou, new time! Speak thou of summer and of purer
gales! Send thy sunbeams gleaming into our hearts and thoughts! On thy
glowing canvas let them be painted- the dark legends of the rough hard
times that are past!
THE END
.
who lies there in the black silver-embroidered mantle, with the
crozier in his powerless hand; and on his pale proud forehead gleams
the red wound like fire, and there burn the worldly mind and the
wicked thoughts.
Sink down into his grave- into oblivion- ye terrible shapes of the
times of old!
Hark to the raging of the angry wind, sounding above the rolling
sea! A storm approaches without, calling aloud for human lives. The
sea has not put on a new mind with the new time. This night it is a
horrible pit to devour up lives, and to-morrow, perhaps, it may be a
glassy mirror- even as in the old time that we have buried. Sleep
sweetly, if thou canst sleep!
Now it is morning.
The new time flings sunshine into the room. The wind still keeps
up mightily. A wreck is announced- as in the old time.
During the night, down yonder by Lokken, the little fishing
village with the red-tiled roofs- we can see it up here from the
window- a ship has come ashore. It has struck, and is fast embedded in
the sand; but the rocket apparatus has thrown a rope on board, and
formed a bridge from the wreck to the mainland; and all on board are
saved, and reach the land, and are wrapped in warm blankets; and
to-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of Borglum. In
comfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and friendly faces.
They are addressed in the language of their country, and the piano
sounds for them with melodies of their native land; and before these
have died away, the chord has been struck, the wire of thought that
reaches to the land of the sufferers announces that they are
rescued. Then their anxieties are dispelled; and at even they join
in the dance at the feast given in the great hall at Borglum.
Waltzes and Styrian dances are given, and Danish popular songs, and
melodies of foreign lands in these modern times.
Blessed be thou, new time! Speak thou of summer and of purer
gales! Send thy sunbeams gleaming into our hearts and thoughts! On thy
glowing canvas let them be painted- the dark legends of the rough hard
times that are past!
THE END
.