 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
XII.
Three Minstrels swept the tuneful harp. That twoOf these were scalds of Danish race, I knew;
And understood from Guthrum that the third
A Saxon was, who had with joy been heard
By all the camp—and certes, none the less
That half the sense the hearers could but guess,
Of each quaint legend, and each old-world lay,
With which he sought to wile the time away—
Much to the fretting of the native scald,
Who eagerly arose, as soon as called,
To wake the song. The foremost, Rolfe upsprung.
The Sea-king's wild, adventurous life he sung:
Song. THE SEA-KING.
“He ne'er beneath a peaceful roofDrains the full horn; but, terror-proof,
Enjoys the peril that he braves,
And makes his serfs the winds and waves!
He bids them bear his bark along,
And knows they cannot bear it wrong,—
Since, waft him to what shore they may,
There lies the land, and there his prey!
Rung on their hollow-sounding shields applause.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |