Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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Norse Battle-Song.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
1
Norse Battle-Song.
Sword and fire our “Flameman” brings
To scare half the Saxon kings,
As when wolf leaps from forest den
Fly the Jarls and Eldermen,
How the monks scoop out the graves
When they see us on the waves!
Howl, ye grey wolves of the weald,
At the gleaming of the shield!
Howl as in the Autumn wood
When ye sniff the crimson food!
To scare half the Saxon kings,
As when wolf leaps from forest den
Fly the Jarls and Eldermen,
How the monks scoop out the graves
When they see us on the waves!
Howl, ye grey wolves of the weald,
At the gleaming of the shield!
2
When ye sniff the crimson food!
Where the Pagan warriors tread,
Grows the green turf moist and red
Never springs the corn again,
Where the blood poured down like rain.
We bring woe to husbandmen,
In the wold and in the glen.
Leap, ye fires upon the crags,
At the flapping of our flags!
Grows the green turf moist and red
Never springs the corn again,
Where the blood poured down like rain.
We bring woe to husbandmen,
In the wold and in the glen.
Leap, ye fires upon the crags,
At the flapping of our flags!
How the serf the oxen's goading,
When he hears us shout to Odin;
Where the grey sea sounding o'er,
Comes the savage cry to Thor;
Now we plough the stubborn waves,
Saxon vassals, dig your graves.
When he hears us shout to Odin;
Where the grey sea sounding o'er,
Comes the savage cry to Thor;
Now we plough the stubborn waves,
Saxon vassals, dig your graves.
From the Tyne unto the Humber,
With their wealth our decks we cumber;
Thorpe and homestead, rick and barn,
From the distant Lindisfarne,
To the City of the Plain,
Where the Saxon monarchs reign,
We have burnt as flat and bare
As the moor the foxes share.
With their wealth our decks we cumber;
Thorpe and homestead, rick and barn,
From the distant Lindisfarne,
To the City of the Plain,
Where the Saxon monarchs reign,
We have burnt as flat and bare
As the moor the foxes share.
Farmers bar them in their stead;
Priests leave lovers still unwed:
At the grave's mouth lies the corse,
And the mourners cry “To horse!”
Sickles rust amid the corn,
Untouched stands the reaper's horn.
When they see us on the waves,
Then the sexton digs the graves.
Priests leave lovers still unwed:
At the grave's mouth lies the corse,
And the mourners cry “To horse!”
Sickles rust amid the corn,
Untouched stands the reaper's horn.
When they see us on the waves,
Then the sexton digs the graves.
Wheresoever blows the wind,
There an heritage we find;
Wheresoever steers the prow,
Is our own, as this is now.
Wessex trembles at our shout;
The Land Ravager is out;
England, from its north to south,
Shudders in the white shark's mouth.
There an heritage we find;
Wheresoever steers the prow,
Is our own, as this is now.
Wessex trembles at our shout;
The Land Ravager is out;
England, from its north to south,
Shudders in the white shark's mouth.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |