HAKON.
Hakon of Thule, ere he died,
Summoned a Priest to his bed-side.
‘Ho, Priest!’ with blackening brow quoth he,
‘What comfort canst thou cast to me?’
The young Priest, with a timorous mouth,
Told of the new gods of the South,—
Of Mary Mother and her Child,
And holy Saints with features mild;
Of those who hate and those who love,
Of Hell beneath and Heaven above.
Then Hakon laughed full loud and shrill—
‘Serve thy puny gods who will!’
Then, roaring to his henchman red,
‘Slit me the throat o' the Priest,’ he said;
‘His red heart's blood shall flow before,
As steaming sacrifice to Thor!
‘Bring me my mighty drinking-cup:
With fiery wine now fill it up!’
Then, though so faint his life's blood ran,
‘Let me die standing, like a man!’
He swore, and staggered to his legs,
And drained the goblet to the dregs.
‘Skaal be to the gods!’ he said—
His great heart burst, and he was dead!
