"Njal's Saga": "Thief's Eyes"

          On one occasion, Hoskuld was holding a feast for his friends; Hrut was there, sitting next to him.  Hoskuld had a daughter named Hallgerd, who was playing on the floor with some other girls; she was a tall, beautiful child with long silken hair that hung down to her waist.
          Hoskuld called to her, 'Come over her to me.'  She went to him at once.  Her father tilted her chin and kissed her, and she walked away again.
          Then Hoskuld asked Hrut:
          'What do you think of her?  Do you not think she is beautiful?'
          Hrut made no reply.  Hoskuld repeated the question.  Then Hrut said, 'The child is beautiful enough, and many will suffer for her beauty; but I cannot imagine how thief's eyes have come into our kin.'

--the Icelandic classic Njal's Saga -- 
          from the first page of Chapter 1 --

Translated by Magnus Magnusson and Hermann Palsson,
Penguin Books, 1960; 1972 reprint.

Galley-Work: Poetry From Robert Graves

THE FACE IN THE MIRROR

Grey haunted eyes, absent-mindedly glaring

From wide, uneven orbits; one brow drooping

Somewhat over the eye

Because of a missile fragment still inhering,

Skin-deep, as a foolish record of old-world fighting.

Crookedly broken nose — low tackling caused it;

Cheeks, furrowed; coarse grey hair, flying frenetic;

Forehead, wrinkled and high;

Jowls, prominent; ears, large; jaw, pugilistic;

Teeth, few; lips, full and ruddy; mouth, ascetic.

I pause with razor poised, scowling derision

At the mirrored man whose beard needs my attention,

And once more ask him why

He still stands ready, with a boy’s presumption,

To court the queen in her high silk pavilion.

--Robert Graves

THIEF

To the galleys, thief, and sweat your soul out

 With strong tugging under the curled whips,

 That there your thievishness may find full play.

 Whereas, before, you stole rings, flowers and watches,

 Oaths, jests and proverbs,

 Yet paid for bed and board like an honest man,

 This shall be entire thiefdom: you shall steal

 Sleep from chain-galling, diet from sour crusts,

 Comradeship from the damned, the ten-year-chained --

 And, more than this, the excuse for life itself

 From a craft steered toward battles not your own.

--Robert Graves

Robert Graves, New Collected Poems,
Introduction by James McKinley,
Doubleday & Company, Inc.: Garden City, New York.
1977.

The mask?
Triton: sculpture mix; nutmeg/brown and blue glazing.