 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
XI.
“Aymund! I need not say, I am a manWho have no time deep mysteries to scan.
I worship, like my warlike sires, therefor,
The honoured names of Woden and of Thor.
Superstition did not blind all the ancient Scandinavians without exception. There were among them men wise enough to discover the folly of the received opinions, and courageous enough to condemn them without reserve. In the history of Olaf Tryggvason, a warrior fears not to say publicly, that he relies more on his own strength and on his arms, than upon Thor or Odin.—Mallet's Northern Antiquities.
Though, to confess the truth, I hold the bark
That bears me bounding o'er the ocean dark—
I hold the covering shield and trusty brand
That make, and keep me, victor on the land—
I hold these sinewy arms, by which I wield
Alike the helm, the falchion, and the shield—
As my best gods! nor do I care to sue
For help to Idols—be they old or new.
And did the changeful fate of war demand
That I must either quit this lovely land,
Or be immersed in water—stream or spring—
And rule a portion as a Christian King,—
Aymund, be sure, my choice were quickly ta'en,
And all my fathers' gods would frown in vain!
But, not thus placed, it is my part, believe,
Conditions to impose, and not receive.
No power resides in England, save in me,
From rocky Cornwall to the Eastern sea,
From Thames's bank to Tweed's. I rule alone.
E'en valiant Alfred quits his Saxon throne,
And lives—if yet the vanquished Monarch live—
A homeless Wanderer and a Fugitive,
And, doubtless, would be happy to regain
From me a portion of his wrenched domain!
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Why, let the learnèd Monarch sue to us!
This night we give to joy—this night at least!”
He said, and led me back to song and feast.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |