THE SEA KINGS.
“They are rightly named Sea Kings,” says the author of the Inglingasaga,
“who never seek shelter under a roof, and never drain their drinking
horn at a cottage-fire.”
Our realm is mighty ocean,
The broad and sea-green wave
That ever hails our greeting gaze—
Our dwelling place and grave!
For us the paths of glory lie
Far on the swelling deep;
And brothers to the tempest,
We shrink not at his sweep!
Our music is the storm blast
In fierceness revelling nigh,
When on our graven bucklers gleam
His lightnings glancing by.
Yet most the flash of war-steel keen
Is welcome in our sight,
When flies the startled foeman
Before our falchions’ light.
We ask no peasant’s shelter,
We seek no noble’s bowers;
Yet they must yield us tribute meet,
For all they boast is ours.
No castled prince his wide domain
Dares from our yoke to free;
And, like mysterious Odin,
We rule the land and sea.
Rear high the blood-red banner!
Its folds in triumph wave—
And long unsullied may it stream
The standard of the brave!
Our swords outspeed the meteor’s glance—
The world their might shall know,
So long as heaven shines o’er us,
Or ocean rolls below.