"The Skeleton in Armor" (A Poem)

The literary canon is filled with stories of tormented specters recounting their tragic fates to the living. One of my favorites is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "The Skeleton in Armor." Published in Ballads and Other Poems (1841), the poem details the encounter between the narrator and a Viking spirit, the latter demanding that his tale of adventure and heartbreak be retold to the masses. Although not unlike other works in the genre, it is interesting to note that the text was inspired by the 1832 discovery of an armor-clad skeleton in River Fall, Massachusetts. As Erik Ingvar Thurin highlights, scientists at the time believed the corpse (subsequently destroyed in a fire in 1843) was a Viking warrior; however, contemporary historians - and some intellectuals during its excavation - believe the body was from a local Native-American tribe. Despite its contestable origin, the figure proved ample fodder for Longfellow's narrative.

“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 
     Comest to daunt me! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 
     Why dost thou haunt me?” 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 
     Gleam in December; 
And, like the water’s flow 
Under December’s snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 
     From the heart’s chamber. 

“I was a Viking old! 
My deeds, though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told, 
     No Saga taught thee! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man’s curse; 
     For this I sought thee. 

“Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic’s strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 
     Tamed the gerfalcon; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 
     Trembled to walk on. 

“Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 
     Fled like a shadow; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf’s bark, 
Until the soaring lark
     Sang from the meadow. 

“But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair’s crew, 
O’er the dark sea I flew 
    With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 
     By our stern orders. 

“Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out; 
Often our midnight shout 
     Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk’s tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 
     Filled to o’erflowing. 

“Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
     Burning yet tender; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 
     Fell their soft splendor. 

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest’s shade 
     Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 
     By the hawk frighted. 

“Bright in her father’s hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 
     Chanting his glory; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter’s hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 
     To hear my story. 

“While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 
     The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 
     Blew the foam lightly. 

“She was a Prince’s child, 
I but a Viking wild, 
And though she blushed and smiled, 
     I was discarded! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew’s flight, 
Why did they leave that night 
     Her nest unguarded? 

“Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, 
Fairest of all was she 
     Among the Norsemen! 
When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 
     With twenty horsemen. 

“Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet we were gaining fast, 
     When the wind failed us; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 
     Laugh as he hailed us. 

“And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
‘Death!’ was the helmsman’s hail, 
     ‘Death without quarter!’ 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel; 
Down her black hulk did reel 
     Through the black water! 

“As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 
     With his prey laden, — 
So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane, 
     Bore I the maiden. 

“Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o’er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 
     Stretching to leeward; 
There for my lady’s bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour, 
     Stands looking seaward. 

“There lived we many years; 
Time dried the maiden’s tears; 
She had forgot her fears, 
     She was a mother; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies; 
Ne’er shall the sun arise 
     On such another! 

“Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen! 
Hateful to me were men, 
     The sunlight hateful! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 
     Oh, death was grateful! 

“Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 
     My soul ascended! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior’s soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!” 
     Thus the tale ended.

Works Referenced

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. "The Skeleton in Armor." 1841. The Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Ed. Louis Untermeyer. Norwalk, CT: The Easton Press, 1980. 

Thurin, Erik Ingvar. The American Discovery of the Norse: An Episode in Nineteenth-Century American Literature. London: Bucknell University Press, 1999.