Classic Poem

Now he roved far and wide like the falcon in pride, on the foaming billows he rode;
But he traced rules and laws for the warriors on board: listen now to the Viking's code!

No tent o'er the deck, for the seaman no roof, since the enemy ever is nigh:
On his buckler as bed must the Viking repose, sword in hand, and his ceiling the sky.

The hammer of Thor the victorious is short; Frey's sword has in length but an ell;
'Tis enough; art thou brave, then close on thy foe, and each stroke of thy falchion will tell.

When most rages the gale, still bent be your sail; 'tis glorious the tempest to brave:
Let it fly! rather go to the bottom than strike; never yield to the wind nor the wave.

A woman on land is a jewel forsooth, but on board she's a dangerous ware;
For the tinge on her cheek is a hue of deceit, and her long flowing tresses a snare.

Wine is Valfader's drink, and a cup is allow'd, provided discreetly you drink;
He who stumbles on land, can get up; but on board, he who stumbles, to Rana must sink.

If a merchant ye meet, protect ye his fleet, but he must a tribute accord;
He's of lucre the slave, ye are kings of the wave, and as good as his gold is your sword.

The prizes on board must by lott'ry be shared; nor, however the dice fall, complain!
Leave the gold to the crew; but the sea-king himself with the honor content should remain.

But if 'tis a war-ship, then hot be the fight! darts rain, and blood redden the seas!
If you flinch but one inch, you're a Viking no more: that's the law; now act as you please!

The gains of the Viking are wounds; on the front or the breast they the hero proclaim:
Let them bleed; bind them not till the battle be o'er; not till then if you value your fame.

When the vict'ry you've gain'd, and disarm'd is the foe, his life 'tis heroic to spare:
Give pardon and peace! he's a Nidding, indeed, who refuses the suppliant's prayer.

Thus the code he prescrib'd, and his name far and wide, was spread the vast ocean around;
His warriors with pleasure in battle engag'd, for his equal was not to be found.

But he sat by the rudder, and gloomily said, as he gaz'd on the billows below:—
“Thou art deep! at thy bottom repose I may find, but ne'er on thy surface, I trow.

“If Balder be angry, his sword let him take, and kill me if so he's inclin'd!
But he sits up on high, and sends down to me thoughts to embitter and sadden my mind.”

But when battle draws near, then vanishes care, like an eagle he falls on his prey;
His front is serene, and sonorous his voice, as foremost he joins in the fray.

Thus did ocean acknowledge, and yield to his power; from vict'ry to vict'ry he flew;
He sail'd to the south; and soon Hellas appear'd' with her temples majestic to view.

When the temples he saw, and the groves ever green, from the sea as they proudly arose,
What he thought Scalds can tell, and lovers may guess, and Freya most certainly knows.

“Lo! here are the islands describ'd by my sire! 'tis here I invited the fair:
But I urg'd her in vain; she chose to remain in the north, and rejected my prayer.

“Dwells not peace 'midst these columns? and could we not find an asylum for love in these groves?
Feather'd songsters so sweet here our nuptials would greet, and the mountains re-echo our loves.

“Where is Ingeborg now? for her grey-bearded king she hath bid me for ever adieu!
But I ne'er can forget her; my life I would give, were it only her features to view.

“Three years have elaps'd, since my dear native soil, that cradle of heroes, I left
Do the vallies still bloom? do the streamlets still flow? are the hills of their glories bereft?

“On the grave of my sire I have planted a tree; who nurses and waters it now?
Who tends the fair plant? O earth, give it mould! and thy moisture, O heaven, give thou!

“I'm tired of this life of tumult and strife, of this blood-stain'd and restless career;
I've acquir'd fame enough, and gold I despise; then why should I longer stay here?
But the north, O the north is my country, and lo! towards the north blows the vane at the mast!
Then up with the sail, let us seud 'fore the gale, 'twill bring us to Norway at last.