 | Poems |  |
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1.
Stout was the buckler that Odin wielded,But stouter far was the heart it shielded;
When he brandished his sword, it gleam'd like fire,
But the glance of his eye was more bright in its ire.
His arm, all shagged, in toughness might vie
With the cumbersome club that it lifted on high
2.
When Odin that buckler had girded on,Many a mother might weep for her son;
Woe to the foeman who ventured nigh
That unsheath'd sword or that angry eye;
That club, when uplifted, ne'er fell to the ground
But the brains of a victim were scatter'd around.
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3.
When he led his bold band to the battle-plain,Who could e'er number the foes that were slain;
Heap upon heap they were backwards cast,
As drifted snow by the whirlwind's blast;
In accents of thunder, he cheered to the slaughter,
And his white lips foamed like the ocean's water
4.
Vainly the shrieks of the dying implore;His wrath was unquench'd, tho' he waded in gore;
There was but one sound that could sink on his breast,
Like a charm on the ocean, and lull it to rest;
Still reeked his red sword, still flashed his fierce eye,
Till the shout of his comrades was “Victory!”
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5.
Such was fierce Odin, and such must he be,Who would banquet with him in the halls of the free;
In the halls of the blest, where each warrior-guest
Shall sit by the side of the maid he loves best.
While sweetly her song shall his deeds declare,
And softly the sound of her music shall lull,
She shall smooth o'er his forehead the blood-clotted hair,
That a chaplet of triumph his temples may bear,
As he quaffs the red beer from a foeman's skull.
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