Harold the Valiant

I mid the hills was born,   Where the skilled bowmen Send with unerring shaft   Death to the foemen. But I love to steer my bark,—   To fear a stranger,— Over the Maelstrom’s edge,   Daring the danger; And where the mariner   Paleth affrighted, Over the sunken rocks   I dash on delighted. The far waters know my keel,   No tide restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid   Coldly disdains me. Once round Sicilia’s isle   Sailed I, unfearing: Conflict was on my prow,   Glory was steering. Where fled the stranger ship   Wildly before me, Down, like the hungry hawk,   My vessel bore me; We carved on the craven’s deck   The red runes of slaughter: When my bird whets her beak   I give no quarter. The far waters know my keel,   No tide restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid   Coldly disdains me. Countless as spears of grain   Stood the warriors of Drontheim, When like the hurricane   I swept down upon them! Like chaff beneath the flail   They fell in their numbers:— Their king with the golden hair   I sent to his slumbers. I love the combat fierce,   No fear restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid   Coldly disdains me. Once o’er the Baltic Sea   Swift we were dashing; Bright on our twenty spears   Sunlight was flashing; When through the Skager Rack   The storm-wind was driven, And from our bending mast   The broad sail was riven: Then, while the angry brine   Foamed like a flagon, Brimful the yesty rime   Filled our brown dragon; But I, with sinewy hand   Strengthened in slaughter, Forth from the straining ship   Bailed the dun water. The wild waters know my keel,   No storm restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid   Coldly disdains me. Firmly I curb my steed,   As e’er Thracian horseman; My hand throws the javelin true,   Pride of the Norseman; And the bold skater marks,   While his lips quiver, Where o’er the bending ice   I skim the river: Forth to my rapid oar   The boat swiftly springeth— Springs like the mettled steed   When the spur stingeth. Valiant I am in fight,   No fear restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid   Coldly disdains me. Saith she, the maiden fair,   The Norsemen are cravens? I in the Southland gave   A feast to the ravens! Green lay the sward outspread,   The bright sun was o’er us When the strong fighting men   Rushed down before us. Midway to meet the shock   My courser bore me, And like Thor’s hammer crashed   My strong hand before me; Left we their maids in tears,   Their city in embers: The sound of the Viking’s spears   The Southland remembers! I love the combat fierce,   No fear restrains me; But ah! a Russian maid   Coldly disdains me.