POEMS.

POEMS.

THE BATTLE-FLAG OF SIGURD.

I.

THE eagle hearts of all the North

Have left their stormy strand;

The warriors of the world are forth
To choose another land!

Again, their long keels sheer the wave,
Their broad sheets court the breeze;

Again, the reckless and the brave,

Ride lords of weltering seas.

Nor swifter from the well-bent bow

Can feathered shaft be sped,

Than o'er the ocean's flood of snow

Their snoring galleys tread.

B

Then lift the can to bearded lip,

And smite each sounding shield,

Wassaile! to every dark-ribbed ship,

To every battle-field!

So proudly the Skalds raise their voices of triumph, As the Northmen ride over the broad-bosom'd billow.

II.

Aloft, Sigurdir's battle-flag

Streams onward to the land,

Well

may the taint of slaughter lag

On yonder glorious strand.

The waters of the mighty deep,

The wild birds of the sky,

Hear it like vengeance shoreward sweep,

Where moody men must die.

The waves wax wroth beneath our keel—

The clouds above us lower,

They know the battle-sign, and feel

All its resistless power!

Who now uprears Sigurdir's flag,

Nor shuns an early tomb?

Who shoreward through the swelling surge,

Shall bear the scroll of doom?

So shout the Skalds, as the long ships are nearing The low-lying shores of a beautiful land.

III.

Silent the Self-devoted stood

Beside the massive tree;

His image mirror'd in the flood

Was terrible to see!

As leaning on his gleaming axe,

And gazing on the wave,

His fearless soul was churning up

The death-rune of the brave.

Upheaving then his giant form
Upon the brown bark's prow,
And tossing back the yellow storm
Of hair from his broad brow;

The lips of song burst open, and

The words of fire rushed out,

And thundering through that martial crew

Pealed Harald's battle shout;