 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
XVII.
“I swear by Woden!” Guthrum loudly cried,“That, Minstrel, nought of harm shall thee betide,
Sing what thou wilt! Nay, farther, if thy song
Be worthy—even though our name it wrong,
By my good steel, and Denmark's Raven Black,
I swear that fitting meed thou shalt not lack!”
By these frank words the bard emboldened seemed,
And sung:
Song.
“I, too, a solemn dream have dreamed!I stood, like Anlave, in high Woden's hall;
Like Anlave, I beheld the warriors all;
The awful silence of the vast abode
I felt, like him, and saw the martial god!
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She came, as sometimes comes a summer storm,
When winds are brisk, when slender trees are bowed,
And rainbow-fragments tinge the severing cloud!
E'en so her coming stirred, enlivened all.
Half flew, half walked she, through the spacious hall,
And fronted Woden's throne. The warrior-train,
In her, beheld a Chooser of the Slain!
‘I come,’ the Damsel cried, ‘from Holy Isle,
I come from battle, and from burning pile.
Blood flowed like water. Noble Aymund there,
For breath was gasping in the smoky air.
His blade, beside him, dripped with Saxon gore.
Him I had chosen for mine own before;
And, flying where the hero bleeding lay,
I swiftly stooped to bear his soul away.
Alas, I found before me there that hour,
Th' unwelcome Spirit of a Mightier Power!’
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |