Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893.
Tales of a Wayside InnPart First. The Musicians Tale: The Saga of King Olaf. IX. Thangbrand the Priest
S
Burly face and russet beard,
All the women stared at him,
When in Iceland he appeared.
“Look!” they said,
With nodding head,
“There goes Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.”
He could preach like Chrysostome,
From the Fathers he could quote,
He had even been at Rome.
A learned clerk,
A man of mark,
Was this Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.
And impatient of control,
Boisterous in the market crowd,
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl,
Everywhere
Would drink and swear,
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.
Could the King no longer bear,
So to Iceland he was sent
To convert the heathen there,
And away
One summer day
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.
Pored the people day and night,
But he did not like their looks,
Nor the songs they used to write.
“All this rhyme
Is waste of time!”
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.
Came the Scalds and Saga-men;
Is it to be wondered at
That they quarrelled now and then,
When o’er his beer
Began to leer
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest?
Boasted of their island grand;
Saying in a single word,
“Iceland is the finest land
That the sun
Doth shine upon!”
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.
Of this bragging up and down,
When three women and one goose
Make a market in your town!”
Every Scald
Satires drawled
On poor Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.
And what vexed him most of all
Was a figure in shovel hat,
Drawn in charcoal on the wall;
With words that go
Sprawling below,
“This is Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.”
Then he smote them might and main,
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid
Lay there in the alehouse slain.
“To-day we are gold,
To-morrow mould!”
Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.
Back to Norway sailed he then.
“O King Olaf! little hope
Is there of these Iceland men!”
Meekly said,
With bending head,
Pious Thangbrand, Olaf’s Priest.