rose and fell in rude cadences.

"O Thor, the Thunderer,
Mighty and merciless,
Spare us from smiting!
Heave not thy hammer,
Angry, against us;
Plague not thy people.
Take from our treasure
Richest of ransom.
Silver we send thee,
Jewels and javelins,
Goodliest garments,
All our possessions,
Priceless, we profter.
Sheep will we slaughter,
Steeds will we sacrifice;
Bright blood shall bathe thee,
O tree of Thunder,
Life-floods shall lave thee,
Strong wood of wonder.
Mighty, have mercy,
Smite us no more,
Spare us and save us,
Spare us, Thor! Thor!"

With two great shouts the song ended, and a stillness followed so
intense that the crackling of the fire was heard distinctly. The
old priest stood silent for a moment. His shaggy brows swept down
over his eyes like ashes quenching flame. Then he lifted his face