The Pirate

“Even so,” replied Norna, “even so—’tis the site of weal or woe.—And you, her father and her sister, think not this the idle speech of one who talks by guess—if I can tell thee ill, it may be that I shall be able to render that less severe, which may not, by any aid, be wholly amended.—The heart—ay, the heart—touch that, and the eye grows dim, the pulse fails, the wholesome stream of our blood is choked and troubled, our limbs decay like sapless sea-weed in a summer’s sun; our better views of existence are past and gone; what remains is the dream of lost happiness, or the fear of inevitable evil. But the Reimkennar must to her work—well it is that I have prepared the means.”

She threw off her long dark-coloured mantle, and stood before them in her short jacket of light-blue wadmaal, with its skirt of the same stuff, fancifully embroidered with black velvet, and bound at the waist with a chain or girdle of silver, formed into singular devices. Norna next undid the fillet which bound her grizzled hair, and shaking her head wildly, caused it to fall in dishevelled abundance over her face and around her shoulders, so as almost entirely to hide her features. She then placed a small crucible on the chafing-dish already mentioned,—dropped a few drops from a vial on the charcoal below,—pointed towards it her wrinkled forefinger, which she had previously moistened with liquid from another small bottle, and said with a deep voice, “Fire, do thy duty;”—and the words were no sooner spoken, than, probably by some chemical combination of which the spectators were not aware, the charcoal which was under the crucible became slowly ignited; while Norna, as if impatient of the delay, threw hastily back her disordered tresses, and, while her features reflected the sparkles and red light of the fire, and her eyes flashed from amongst her hair like those of a wild animal from its cover, blew fiercely till the whole was in an intense glow. She paused a moment from her toil, and muttering that the elemental spirit must be thanked, recited, in her usual monotonous, yet wild mode of chanting, the following verses:—

“Thou so needful, yet so dread, 
With cloudy crest, and wing of red; 
Thou, without whose genial breath 
The North would sleep the sleep of death; 
Who deign’st to warm the cottage hearth, 
Yet hurl’st proud palaces to earth,— 
Brightest, keenest of the Powers, 
Which form and rule this world of ours, 
With my rhyme of Runic, I 
Thank thee for thy agency.”

She then severed a portion from the small mass of sheet-lead which lay upon the table, and, placing it in the crucible, subjected it to the action of the lighted charcoal, and, as it melted, she sung,—

“Old Reimkennar, to thy art 
Mother Hertha sends her part; 
She, whose gracious bounty gives
Needful food for all that lives. 
From the deep mine of the North, 
Came the mystic metal forth, 
Doom’d, amidst disjointed stones, 
Long to cere a champion’s bones, 
Disinhumed my charms to aid— 
Mother Earth, my thanks are paid.”

She then poured out some water from the jar into a large cup, or goblet, and sung once more, as she slowly stirred it round with the end of her staff:—

“Girdle of our islands dear, 
Element of Water, hear 
Thou whose power can overwhelm 
Broken mounds and ruin’d realm 
On the lowly Belgian strand; 
All thy fiercest rage can never 
Of our soil a furlong sever 
From our rock-defended land; 
Play then gently thou thy part 
To assist old Norna’s art.”

She then, with a pair of pincers, removed the crucible from the chafing-dish, and poured the lead, now entirely melted, into the bowl of water, repeating at the same time,—

“Elements, each other greeting, 
Gifts and powers attend your meeting!”

The melted lead, spattering as it fell into the water, formed, of course, the usual combination of irregular forms which is familiar to all who in childhood have made the experiment, and from which, according to our childish fancy, we may have selected portions bearing some resemblance to domestic articles—the tools of mechanics, or the like. Norna seemed to busy herself in some such researches, for she examined the mass of lead with scrupulous attention, and detached it into different portions, without apparently being able to find a fragment in the form which she desired.

At length she again muttered, rather as speaking to herself than to her guests, “He, the Viewless, will not be omitted,—he will have his tribute even in the work to which he gives nothing.—Stern compeller of the clouds, thou also shalt hear the voice of the Reimkennar.”

Thus speaking, Norna once more threw the lead into the crucible, where, hissing and spattering as the wet metal touched the sides of the red-hot vessel, it was soon again reduced into a state of fusion. The sibyl meantime turned to a corner of the apartment, and opening suddenly a window which looked to the north-west, let in the fitful radiance of the sun, now lying almost level upon a great mass of red clouds, which, boding future tempest, occupied the edge of the horizon, and seemed to brood over the billows of the boundless sea. Turning to this quarter, from which a low hollow moaning breeze then blew, Norna addressed the Spirit of the Winds, in tones which seemed to resemble his own:—

“Thou, that over billows dark 
Safely send’st the fisher’s bark,— 
Giving him a path and motion 
Through the wilderness of ocean; 
Thou, that when the billows brave ye, 
O’er the shelves canst drive the navy,— 
Did’st thou chafe as one neglected, 
While thy brethren were respected? 
To appease thee, see, I tear 
This full grasp of grizzled hair; 
Oft thy breath hath through it sung, 
Softening to my magic tongue,— 
Now, ’tis thine to bid it fly 
Through the wide expanse of sky, 
’Mid the countless swarms to sail 
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale; 
Take thy portion and rejoice,— 
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice!”

Norna accompanied these words with the action which they described, tearing a handful of hair with vehemence from her head, and strewing it upon the wind as she continued her recitation. She then shut the casement, and again involved the chamber in the dubious twilight, which best suited her character and occupation. The melted lead was once more emptied into the water, and the various whimsical conformations which it received from the operation were examined with great care by the sibyl, who at length seemed to intimate, by voice and gesture, that her spell had been successful. She selected from the fused metal a piece about the size of a small nut, bearing in shape a close resemblance to that of the human heart, and, approaching Minna, again spoke in song:—

“She who sits by haunted well, 
Is subject to the Nixie’s spell; 
She who walks on lonely beach 
To the Mermaid’s charmed speech; 
She who walks round ring of green, 
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen; 
And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie’s cave, 
A weary weird of woe shall have.