log-porch spread its rude roof, jutted over the ocean; and from it a
rugged stair, cut through the crag, descended to the beach. The
shore, with bold, strange, grotesque slab, and peak, and splinter,
curved into a large creek; and close under the cliff were moored seven
warships, high and tall, with prows and sterns all gorgeous with
gilding in the light of the splendid moon. And that rude timber
house, which seemed but a chain of barbarian huts linked into one, was
a land palace of Hardrada of Norway; but the true halls of his
royalty, the true seats of his empire, were the decks of those lofty
war-ships.

Through the small lattice-work of the windows of the loghouse, lights
blazed; from the roof-top smoke curled; from the hall on the other
side of the dwelling, came the din of tumultuous wassail, but the
intense stillness of the outer air, hushed in frost, and luminous with
stars, contrasted and seemed to rebuke the gross sounds of human
revel. And that northern night seemed almost as bright as (but how
much more augustly calm, than) the noon of the golden south!

On a table within the ample porch was an immense bowl of birchwood,
mounted in silver, and filled with potent drink, and two huge horns,
of size suiting the mighty wassailers of the age. The two men seemed
to care nought for the stern air of the cold night--true that they
were wrapped in furs reft from the Polar bear. But each had hot
thoughts within, that gave greater warmth to the veins than the bowl
or the bearskin.

They were host and guest; and as if with the restlessness of his
thoughts, the host arose from his seat, and passed through the porch
and stood on the bleak rock under the light of the moon; and so seen,