 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Groaning they laid, in the ships waist, aboard,
Bloodaxe, in his war-weed of steel and bronze.
With Tyrfing neath his head, his fathers sword:
Whereon he wont to swear. That famous glaive,
Which in his sires strong hand, Sigurd the Old,
Mongst warriors of the North, an oak could cleave.
Bloodaxe, in his war-weed of steel and bronze.
With Tyrfing neath his head, his fathers sword:
Whereon he wont to swear. That famous glaive,
Which in his sires strong hand, Sigurd the Old,
Mongst warriors of the North, an oak could cleave.
160
And booty, of all the best, laid they him round;
His hand and theirs had gotten, in their last voyage.
Ingots of gold, with Saracen merchandise,
And vestments; taken out of storm-beat ship,
Driven from Mid-seas.
His hand and theirs had gotten, in their last voyage.
Ingots of gold, with Saracen merchandise,
And vestments; taken out of storm-beat ship,
Driven from Mid-seas.
Stood bound in thé back-stem;
Swart faced and harsh-tongued, many his captive thralls.
Them, without ruth, under Night Stars they slew:
And hanged, on his keels bords, their bloody polls.
Should they, those heathen deem, dead Bloodaxe serve,
In Hels abodes, where champions of the North;
From their upheaped grave-hows, revived from death;
Received be to last banquet of the Gods.
Whom they, with the sweet mead-cup át their lips,
Should aye behold; and even with them converse.
Swart faced and harsh-tongued, many his captive thralls.
Them, without ruth, under Night Stars they slew:
And hanged, on his keels bords, their bloody polls.
Should they, those heathen deem, dead Bloodaxe serve,
In Hels abodes, where champions of the North;
From their upheaped grave-hows, revived from death;
Received be to last banquet of the Gods.
Whom they, with the sweet mead-cup át their lips,
Should aye behold; and even with them converse.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |