 | My Lyrical Life |  |
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THE NORSEMAN.
A swarthy strength with face of light;
As dark sword-iron is beaten bright;
A brave, frank look, with health aglow,
Bonny blue eyes and open brow;
His friend he welcomes, heart-in-hand,
But foot to foot his foe must stand:
A Man who will face, to his last breath,
The sternest facts of life and death:
This is the brave old Norseman.
As dark sword-iron is beaten bright;
A brave, frank look, with health aglow,
Bonny blue eyes and open brow;
His friend he welcomes, heart-in-hand,
But foot to foot his foe must stand:
A Man who will face, to his last breath,
The sternest facts of life and death:
This is the brave old Norseman.
The wild wave-motion weird and strange
Rocks in him! seaward he must range;
His life is just a mighty lust
To wear away with use, not rust!
Though bitter wintry-cold the storm,
The fire within him keeps him warm:
Kings quiver at his flag unfurled,
The Sea-King's master of the world!
All-conquering rides the Norseman.
Rocks in him! seaward he must range;
His life is just a mighty lust
To wear away with use, not rust!
Though bitter wintry-cold the storm,
The fire within him keeps him warm:
Kings quiver at his flag unfurled,
The Sea-King's master of the world!
All-conquering rides the Norseman.
He hides at heart of his rough life,
A world of sweetness for the Wife;
From his rude breast a Babe may press
Soft milk of human tenderness,—
Make his eyes water, his heart dance,
And sunrise in his countenance:
In merriest mood his ale he quaffs
By firelight, and with jolly heart laughs
The blithe, great-hearted Norseman.
A world of sweetness for the Wife;
From his rude breast a Babe may press
Soft milk of human tenderness,—
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And sunrise in his countenance:
In merriest mood his ale he quaffs
By firelight, and with jolly heart laughs
The blithe, great-hearted Norseman.
But when the Battle-Trumpet rings,
His soul, a war-horse clad with wings!
Will drink delight in with the breath
Of Battle and the dust of death:
The Axes redden; spring the sparks;
Blood-soaken grow the gray mail-sarks;
Such blows might batter, as they fell,
Heaven's gate, or burst the booms of hell!
So fights the fearless Norseman.
His soul, a war-horse clad with wings!
Will drink delight in with the breath
Of Battle and the dust of death:
The Axes redden; spring the sparks;
Blood-soaken grow the gray mail-sarks;
Such blows might batter, as they fell,
Heaven's gate, or burst the booms of hell!
So fights the fearless Norseman.
The Norseman's King must stand up tall,
If he would be head over all;
Mainmast of Battle! when the plain
Is miry-red with bloody rain!
And grip his weapon for the fight,
Until his knuckles grin tooth-white;
The banner-staff he bears is best
If double handful for the rest:
When “follow me” cries the Norseman.
If he would be head over all;
Mainmast of Battle! when the plain
Is miry-red with bloody rain!
And grip his weapon for the fight,
Until his knuckles grin tooth-white;
The banner-staff he bears is best
If double handful for the rest:
When “follow me” cries the Norseman.
Valiant and true, as Sagas tell,
The Norsemen hated lies like hell;
Hardy from cradle to the grave,
'Twas their religion to be brave:
Great, silent fighting men, whose words
Were few, soon said, and out with Swords!
One saw his heart cut from his side
Living, and smiled; and smiling, died
The unconquerable Norseman.
The Norsemen hated lies like hell;
Hardy from cradle to the grave,
'Twas their religion to be brave:
Great, silent fighting men, whose words
Were few, soon said, and out with Swords!
One saw his heart cut from his side
Living, and smiled; and smiling, died
The unconquerable Norseman.
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They swam the flood; they strode in flame;
Nor quailed when the Valkyrie came
To kiss the chosen for her charms,
With “Rest, my Hero, in mine arms.”
Their spirits through a grim wide wound,
The Norse door-way to heaven found;
And borne upon the battle-blast,
Into the hall of Heroes passed:
And there was crowned the Norseman.
Nor quailed when the Valkyrie came
To kiss the chosen for her charms,
With “Rest, my Hero, in mine arms.”
Their spirits through a grim wide wound,
The Norse door-way to heaven found;
And borne upon the battle-blast,
Into the hall of Heroes passed:
And there was crowned the Norseman.
The Norseman wrestled with old Rome,
For Freedom in our Island-Home;
He taught us how to ride the sea
With hempen bridle, horse of tree:
The Norseman stood with Robin Hood
By Freedom in the merry green wood,
When William ruled the English land
With cruel heart and bloody hand.
For Freedom fights the Norseman.
For Freedom in our Island-Home;
He taught us how to ride the sea
With hempen bridle, horse of tree:
The Norseman stood with Robin Hood
By Freedom in the merry green wood,
When William ruled the English land
With cruel heart and bloody hand.
For Freedom fights the Norseman.
Still in our race the Norse king reigns;
His best blood beats along our veins;
With his old glory we can glow,
And surely sail where he could row:
Is danger stirring? from its sleep
Our War-dog wakes his watch to keep,
Stands with our Banner over him,
True as of old and stern and grim!
Come on, you'll find the Norseman.
His best blood beats along our veins;
With his old glory we can glow,
And surely sail where he could row:
Is danger stirring? from its sleep
Our War-dog wakes his watch to keep,
Stands with our Banner over him,
True as of old and stern and grim!
Come on, you'll find the Norseman.
When Swords are gleaming you shall see
The Norseman's face flash gloriously,
With look that makes the foeman reel;
His mirror from of old was steel!
And still he wields, in Battle's hour,
The old Thor's hammer of Norse power;
Strikes with a desperate arm of might,
And at the last tug turns the fight:
For never yields the Norseman.
The Norseman's face flash gloriously,
With look that makes the foeman reel;
His mirror from of old was steel!
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The old Thor's hammer of Norse power;
Strikes with a desperate arm of might,
And at the last tug turns the fight:
For never yields the Norseman.
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