Classic Poem

I

When the Vikings of Old from the Shores of the North
Led her fair and her noble, her gentle and brave;
And o'er the blue waste sent the black raven forth,
Where the green creeks of Vinland fling back the white wave;
No rest his foot found
On their " dark bloody ground. "
Their coverts are cages, their forests he spurned,
To the sea, to his home, — to his wandering he turned.

II

Let the ages roll by, and the message of Love
Make the " dark, bloody ground " to be home of the free,
Let Norway send Westward her messenger Dove
With a song for her welcome across the blue sea
And her pinion shall rest
Where the cliffs of the West
With the olive of Peace lure her flight to the shore,
Bid her furl her white wing, — " nor return any more. "