Let peasants sow, but still he's lord
Who's master of the field;

Let them come on, the bastard-born,
Each soil-stain'd churle!-alack!

What gain they but a splitten skull,
A sod for their base back?

They sow for us these goodly lands,
We reap them in our might,
Scorning all title but the brands

That triumph in the fight!"

It was thus the land-winners of old gained their glory,

And grey stones voiced their praise in the bays of far

isles.

X.

"The rivers of yon island low,

Glance redly in the sun,

But ruddier still they're doomed to glow,

And deeper shall they run;

The torrent of proud life shall swell

Each river to the brim,

And in that spate of blood, how well

The headless corpse will swim!

The smoke of many a shepherd's cot
Curls from each peopled glen;

And, hark! the song of maidens mild,

The shout of joyous men!

But one may hew the oaken tree,

The other shape the shroud;

As the LANDEYDA o'er the sea

Sweeps like a tempest cloud:"

So shouteth fierce Harald-so echo the Northmen,
As shoreward their ships like mad steeds are careering.

ΧΙ.

"Sigurdir's battle-flag is spread

Abroad to the blue sky,

And spectral visions of the dead,

Are trooping grimly by;

The spirit heralds rush before

Harald's destroying brand,

They hover o'er yon fated shore

And death-devoted band.

Marshall stout Jarls your battle fast!

And fire each beacon height,

Our galleys anchor in the sound,

Our banner heaves in sight!

And through the surge and arrowy shower

That rains on this broad shield,

Harald uplifts the sign of power

Which rules the battle-field!"

So cries the Death-doomed on the red strand of slaughter While the helmets of heroes like anvils are ringing.

XII.

On rolled the Northmen's war, above

The Raven Standard flew,

Nor tide nor tempest ever strove

With vengeance half so true.

'Tis Harald-'tis the Sire-bereaved

Who goads the dread career,

And high amid the flashing storm

The flag of Doom doth rear.

On, on," the tall Death-seeker cries,

"These earth-worms soil our heel,

Their spear-points crash like crisping ice
On ribs of stubborn steel!"

Hurra! hurra! their whirlwinds sweep,

And Harald's fate is sped;

Bear on the flag-he goes to sleep

With the life-scorning dead.

Thus fell the young Harald, as of old fell his sires,

And the bright hall of heroes bade hail to his spirit.

THE WOOING SONG OF JARL EGILL

SKALLAGRIM.

BRIGHT maiden of Orkney,

Star of the blue sea!

I've swept o'er the waters

To gaze upon thee;

I've left spoil and slaughter,

I've left a far strand,

To sing how I love thee,

To kiss thy small hand!

Fair Daughter of Einar,

Golden-haired maid!

The lord of yon brown bark,

And lord of this blade;

The joy of the ocean

Of warfare and wind,

Hath boune him to woo thee,

And thou must be kind.

So stoutly Jarl Egill wooed Torf Einar's daughter.