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.