"Far in the Northern Land, And, with my skates fast-bound, "Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, Oft through the forest dark Sang from the meadow. "But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders. "Many a wassail-bout "She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, Should not the dove so white "Thus, seamed with many scars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"* It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr, Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailòr, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, * In Scandanavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. |