Ulrica Sings

WHET the bright steel,
Sons of the White Dragon !
Kindle the torch,
Daughter of Hengist !
The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet,
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed :
The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber,
It steams and glitters blue with sulphur.
Whet the steel, the raven croaks !
Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling!
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon !
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist!

The black clouds are low over the thane's castle :
The eagle screams -- he rides on their bosom.
Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud,
Thy banquet is prepared !
The maidens of Valhalla look forth,
The race of Hengist will send them guests.
Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla !
And strike your loud timbrels for joy !
Many a haughty step bends to your halls,
Many a helmed head.

Dark sits the evening upon the thane's castle,
The black clouds gather round ;
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant !
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them ;
He, the bright consumer of palaces,
Broad waves he his blazing banner,
Red, wide, and dusky,
Over the strife of the valiant ;
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers ;
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound !

All must perish !
The sword cleaveth the helmet ;
The strong armour is pierced by the lance :
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes,
Engines break down the fences of the battle.
All must perish !
The race of Hengist is gone --
The name of Horsa is no more !
Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword !

Let your blades drink blood like wine ;
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter,
By the light of the blazing halls !
Strong be your swords while your blood is warm,
And spare neither for pity nor fear,
For vengeance hath but an hour ;
Strong hate itself shall expire !
I also must perish.