The Death-Song of Harold

Tell my mother, Swanha, upon Norroway's dear shore,
She will comb the yellow hair of her eldest-born no more ;
And tell the maiden Githa, which should have been my bride,
Thou sawest me kiss this token, it was with me when I died.

Bid Hacho fill the mead-bowl, beside my vacant chair,
And raise a Runic chorus, for him who is not there ;
And when they urge the wolf-hound, upon the failing prey,
Charge Ailric that he blow one blast, for the hunter far away.

They came, the shadowy sisters, they stood beside my bed,
They spake of me last night, and I heard the words they said ;
" Why doth Red Harold loiter ? Again must Odin say,
We tarry for an absent guest, the Fame of Norroway ! "