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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
185
THE
LEGEND
OF
THE
WHITE
REINDEER
Skoal!
Skoal!
For
Norway
Skoal!
Sing
ye
the
song
of
the
Vand-dam
troll.
When
I
am
hiding
Norway's
luck
On
a
White
Storbuk
Comes
riding,
riding.
Bleak,
black,
deep,
and
cold
is
Utrovand,
a
long
pocket
of
glacial
water,
a
crack
in
the
globe,
a
wrinkle
in
the
high
Norwegian
mountains,
blocked
with
another
mountain,
and
flooded
with
a
frigid
flood,
three
thousand
feet
above
its
Mother
Sea,
and
yet
no
closer
to
its
Father
Sun.
Around
its
cheerless
shore
is
a
belt
of
stunted
trees,
that
sends
a
long
tail
up
the
high
valley,
till
it
dwindles
away
to
sticks
and
moss,
as
it
also
does
some
half-way
up
the
granite
hills
that
rise
a
thousand
feet,
encompassing
the
lake.
This
is
the
limit
of
trees,
the
end
of
the
growth
of
wood.
The
birch
and
willow
are
the
last
to
drop
out
of
the
long
fight
with
frost.
Their
miniature
thickets
are
noisy
with
the
cries
of
Fieldfare,
Pipit,
and
Ptarmigan,
but
these
are
left
behind
on
nearing
the
upper
plateau,
where
shade
of
rock
and
sough
of
wind
are
all
that
take
their
place.
The
chilly
Hoifjeld
rolls
away,
a
rugged,
rocky
plain,
with
great
patches
of
snow
in
all
the
deeper
hollows,
and
the
distance
blocked
by
snowy
peaks
that
rise
and
roll
and
whiter
gleam,
till,
dim
and
dazzling
in
the
north,
uplifts
the
Jotunheim,
the
home
of
spirits,
of
glaciers,
and
of
the
lasting
snow.
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