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Sing of the dreary gloom that hung
Clouding the brows of old and young
Through all the Scandinavian host,
And on the monarch press'd the most,
Who was of direful dreams the prey;
Some bodings of an olden day,
That told of trouble and of teen,
Of late fulfill'd had darkly been;
Foil'd by a hind before his host,
His consecrated armour lost,
That held a charm he valued more
Than aught his ample kingdom bore.
His scowl bespoke his heart's dismay,
And bore with it decisive sway;
For when in temper he was cross'd,
His was the mood of all the host.