King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, And in many a fold Hung his crimson cloak. On the forecastle Ulf the Red On his bearded lips. King Olaf laid an arrow on string, The old sea-wolf; "You have need of me!" In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes; Earl Eric steered On the left with his oars. "These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, "At home with their wives had better stay, Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting: But where Eric the Norseman leads Heroic deeds Will be done to-day!” Then as together the vessels crashed, With which King Olaf's ships were lashed, And left them to drive and drift With the currents swift Of the outward tide. Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, A death-drink salt as the sea Pledges to thee, Olaf the King! XX. EINAR TAMBERSKELVER. Ir was Einar Tamberskelver Stood beside the mast; From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, Flew the arrows fast; Aimed at Eric unavailing, As he sat concealed, Half behind the quarter-railing, Half behind his shield. First an arrow struck the tiller, Just above his head; "Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller," Then Earl Eric said. 'Sing the song of Hakon dying, Sing his funeral wail!" And another arrow flying Grazed his coat of mail. Turning to a Lapland yeoman, Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman Standing by the mast." Sooner than the word was spoken Flew the yeoman's shaft; Einar's bow in twain was broken, Einar only laughed. "What was that?" said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck. "Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck." Einar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered, "That was Norway breaking From thy hand, O king!" "Thou art but a poor diviner," Straightway Olaf said; "Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, Einar saw the blood-drops oozing Through his iron glove. But the bow was thin and narrow; At the first assay, O'er its head he drew the arrow, Flung the bow away; Said, with hot and angry temper Flushing in his cheek, "Olaf! for so great a Kämper Are thy bows too weak!" Then, with smile of joy defiant Scaled he, light and self-reliant, Eric's dragon-ship. Loose his golden locks were flowing, Like Saint Michael overthrowing XXI. KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK. ALL day has the battle raged, The vengeance of Eric the Earl. The decks with blood are red, They drift as wrecks on the tide, The shouts are feeble and few. Ah! never shall Norway again Or asleep in the billows blue! On the deck stands Olaf the King, The spears that the foemen fling, And the stones they hurl with their hands. Longfellow. III. 7 |