The Death-Song of Ragnar Lodbrach

I.
With our sword's resistless might
We have thinn'd the ranks of fight.
In early life, his volumed train
The crested serpent roll'd in vain.
Thora's charms the matchless prize;
Gothland saw my fame arise.
Thronging crouds the monster scan,
Shouts applausive hail me Man.
All his fierceness prompt to try,
The shaggy vestment cloath'd my thigh;
Soon transpierced, in death he lay,
My falchion smote for splendid pay.

II.
In prime of youth, we steer our course
T'ward the morning's distant source.
Thro the vast Oreonic flood
Torrents run of crimson blood.
The yellow-footed bird we feast,
Plenty fills the ravenous beast.
Our steel-struck helms sublime resound,
The sea is all one bleeding wound.
Our foes lie weltering on the shore,
Deep the raven wades in gore.

III.
Crown'd with twenty rolling years,
High we raise our glittering spears,
And deeds of glorious worth display
Wherever shines the lamp of day.
The trembling East we still appall,
Eight mighty chiefs at Dimen fall.
We scorn with mean and niggard food
To treat the generous eagle brood.
The wound it's ruddy sweat distills,
The gaping ocean carnage fills.
Their host is struck with dire dismay,
It's strength of years dissolves away.

IV.
Copious are the deeds of death
When th' Helsingians yield their breath.
Our stern command the vengeful goad,
They rush t'ward Odin's deep abode.
The Vistula beheld our course,
Our navy stemm'd it's rapid force;
Nought from the biting sword could save,
One wound extensive glow'd the wave:
It's shores the reeking current dyed,
Our falchions mock'd their armour's pride,
With echoing voices roar'd amain,
And cleft their stubborn shields in twain.

V.
No warrior droop'd, no warrior fled,
Till on the deck Heraudus bled.
A bolder Baron thro the main
Ne'er strove the distant port to gain.
A bolder Baron on the tide
Ne'er saw his ships of battle ride.
His heart impell'd by conscious might,
With eager transport sought the fight.

VI.
Their shields aside each warrior threw:
The spear on rapid pinion flew;
Heroes it's deadly speed confest,
It quiver'd in the dauntless breast.
With hunger keen the trenchant sword
Wide the Scarfian rocks engored.
His shield became of purple grain
E'er Rafno fell, the king of men.
Warm flow'd the sweat from every head,
It's streams o'er every cuirass spread.

VII.
Round th' Indirian isles that day
The crows were surfeited with prey.
Inglutted stood the ravenous beast,
For full, and plenteous, was the feast.
All fought as one, no single name
Claim'd the distinguish'd mark of fame.
When first appear'd day's flaming star
I saw the piercing darts of war,
The barbed arrows took their flight
When first he streak'd the east with light.

VIII.
Our swords loud-bellow'd o'er the slain
Till Eislin fell on Laneo's plain.
Thence enrich'd with golden spoil
War to our routed foemen's soil
We bring: where helmets throng'd the field,
The falchion cut the pictured shield,
Their necks deep-pierced, with must abound,
It flows their cloven brains around.

IX.
Drench'd in blood our shields we rear,
The oil of blood anoints our spear.
In the Boringholmian bay
Making it's quick tempestuous way,
The cloud of darts was onward borne,
Our targets were in sunder torn.
The bows their iron shower expell,
In the fierce conflict Volnir fell.
No king on earth could him exceed,
In valour and heroic deed.
Wide o'er the land the slaughter'd lay,
The howling beasts embraced their prey.

X.
The battle raged with heighten'd lust,
Ere princely Freyer bit the dust.
His breast-plate's golden mail of yore
The hard blue sword, insteep'd in gore,
Conflicting with our warrior host,
Had hewn upon the Flandrian coast.
The virgin struck with woe appears
When she that morning's carnage hears;
A copious banquet we had given
To the fierce wolf, and birds of heaven.

XI.
Gasping in death these eyes survey'd
An hundred times an hundred laid.
In haste we sail'd, a dreadful band,
To combat on Aenglane's land;
Six following days the rising sun
Beheld the strife of swords begun,
And six succeedings evenings close,
Till prostrate fall our vanquish'd foes,
Urged by our steel to sink in fight,
Valdiofur confess'd it's might.

XII.
The rain of blood our falchions pour,
It smokes on Bardafyrde's shore.
Doom'd to the hawks a pallid croud,
The murmuring string was twang'd aloud.
Then where in Odin's deathful fight
The greedy sword with eager bite
Devour'd the cuirass, there the bow,
The casque, the morion, swiftly flow,
The bow with poison sharp to wound,
With sanguine sweat besprinkled round.

XIII.
The sport of war intent to try,
We rear our magic shields on high.
In Hiadningia's echoing bay
First began th' heroic play.
The vengeful swords whirl'd o'er the main
Their strong-knit bucklers tear in twain.
With mingled clash our arms resound,
The helms of men to dust are ground.
Not with more transport by his side
The lover clasps his beauteous bride.

XIV.
The thick-raised storm our shields defy;
In Northumbria's land they lye,
Their gory carcases bestrew
The soil, and taint the morning dew.
Routed they fled with wild dismay
Their boasted warriors dared not stay,
Where the sword with grim delight
Their helmet's polish'd plains would bite.
The genial bed such rapture warms
Blest with the youthful widow's charms.

XV.
Herthiofe escaped our force,
And widely sped his prosperous course,
Where with rude rocks against the skies
The southern Orcades arise.
While He who gave us to display,
And shine in victory's bright array,
Rogvald, our glory and our pride,
Compell'd by fate's stern mandate died.
Plunged in the storm of arms He fell,
Then mourn'd the Hawks with shrieking yell.
For dreadful in the sport of war,
The darts of blood He hurl'd afar;
The sword of blood He well could wield,
The shatter'd helms bestrew'd the field.

XVI.
Heaps piled on heaps the warriors lye,
The hawk looks down with joyous eye,
The pastime sees, and clotted gore,
Envying the eagle, nor the boar.
Together rush the shield and sword,
Then fell Irlandia's haughty Lord,
Marstan; He floats in Vedra's bay,
The hungry Raven's destined prey.

XVII.
Amid the weapon's strifeful scorn,
Many a Hero in the morn
Of life and glory press'd the plain.
My Son mature in fame was slain,
Ripe in renown the dust He prest,
The griding falchion rived his breast.
By Egill, dauntless Agner dies,
He rends his arms, the victor's prize.
In Hamdus' corselet sounds the lance,
Red lightnings from the standards glance.

XVIII.
Sparing of words, the brave I view,
Their foes they prodigally slew,
Thrown to the wolves; th' Endilian flood
For seven whole days was stain'd with blood.
So looks the wine our hand-maids bear:
Died deep th' impurpled ships appear.
The falchion raging mid th' alarms
And hoarse tumultuous din of arms,
Gash'd many a mailed cuirass bright,
In Scioldungia's fatal fight.

XIX.
I saw the widow's darling joy,
I saw the virgin's fair-hair'd boy,
Saw them in morning beauty gay,
Saw set in death their youthful ray.
Warm with many a glowing stream
Ila's ruddy billows gleam:
As by circling Nymphs supplied,
The fervid bath in copious tide,
From the vine's nectareous hoard
Floats around the social board.
Ere Orn expired, with frequent stroke
I saw his blood-stain'd buckler broke;
By strong necessity controul'd,
Inverted life forsakes the bold.

XX.
The game of slaughtering swords, we haste
Where Lind frowns o'er the watery waste,
With three contending Kings to try;
How few escape! rejoiced to fly!
The wild beasts gnarring throng the strand,
The hawk and wolf commingled stand,
Tear them with goading hunger's fire,
Nor till with carnage cramm'd, retire.
While fierce we smote, th' Hybernian's blood
With copious torrents swell'd the flood.

XXI.
The steel's sharp fang, and bite severe
The buckler proved; the whizzing spear
Speeding to it's direction true,
The breast-plate chafed of golden hue.
Onlugs will mark for many an age
The traces of that battle's rage.
There march'd the Kings with eager feet
Intent the sport of swords to meet.
The crimson'd isle on all it's coast
Saw the red foaming billows tost.
Ar from the desperate fight rebounds,
A flying dragon full of wounds.

XXII.
The brave with ardour yield their breath,
Nor heed the sure approach of death;
The thought of death their bosom warms
They meet it in the storm of arms;
He oft deplores this fickle state,
Who never dared the frowns of fate.
Lured by the check of pallid fear
The joyful eagle hovers near.
The coward to himself a pest,
Forbids the shield to guard his breast.

XXIII.
This I establish just and right,
That hurrying on to closest fight,
Youth against youth, with fervent heat
Should rush, nor man from man retreat.
Long time was this the Hero's pride;
And all who by the virgin's side
Aspire to lye, and taste her charms,
Should nobly stem the roar of arms.

XXIV.
Doubtless the fates our actions lead,
Beyond their limits none can tread.
Little of yore did I foresee,
That lla would my death decree;
When half-expiring with my wound,
Anxious I threw my garb around;
Conceal'd it from the warrior train,
And launch'd my vessels on the main:
Then over all the Scotian flood
We gave the beasts of prey their food.

XXV.
Hence springing in my thoughtful mind,
A never-failing joy I find;
For well I know, superbly graced,
For me the lofty seat is placed,
For me the generous mead shall foam
In father Balder's festal dome;
From goblets pour'd it's copious tide
By skulls of recreant foes supplied.
The brave shall ne'er lament their death
In Odin's splendid courts beneath.
No clamours vain I thither bear,
No sickly murmurs of despair.

XXVI.
Aslauga's Sons would soon draw nigh,
With utmost swiftness hither fly,
And arm'd with falchions gleaming bright
Prepare the bitter deeds of fight,
If told, or could they but divine
What woe, what dire mischance is mine,
How many serpents round me hang,
And tear my flesh with poisonous fang.
A mother to my sons I gave
With native worth who stamp'd them brave.

XXVII.
Fast to th' hereditary end,
To my allotted goal I tend.
Fixt is the viper's mortal harm;
Within my heart, his mansion warm,
In the recesses of my breast
The writhing snake hath form'd his nest.
Yet Odin may in vengeance spread
The bloody scourge o'er Ella's head;
My Son's fierce anger, at the tale,
Shall change to red, from deadly pale.
The fiery youths, at my decease,
Shall starting shun the seat of peace.

XXVIII.
Full fifty times I trod the field,
My standard rear'd, and poised my shield,
War's willing guest; nor deem'd the force
Of human hand would check my course,
Panting to gain a matchless name,
And soar o'er every King in fame;
For well in earliest years I taught
My sword to drink the crimson draught.
The Sisters now my steps invite;
Unmoved I quit the realms of light.

XXIX.
Warn'd from within—break off the lay!
Th' inviting Sisters chide my stay.
By Odin sent, I hear their call,
They bid me to his festal hall.
With them high-thron'd, the circling bowl
Of foaming mead shall cheer my soul.
With joy I yield my vital breath,
And laugh in the last pangs of death.