As into the Fiord they darted, On each side the water parted; Down a path like silver molten Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships; Steadily burned all night the tapers, And the White Christ through the vapors Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, As through John's Apocalypse,- Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling On the little isle of gelling; Not a guard was at the doorway, Not a glimmer of light was seen.
"The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The girls fairly love the ground she walks on, and I'm sure that nobody could be nicer and more motherly than Mrs. gelling.
"The Little Colonel at Boarding-School"
Annie Fellows Johnston