Poetry Archives

’Twas a fearful night—the tempest raved
   With loud and wrathful pride,
The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,
   And rode on the raging tide.

The sea-king lay on his bed of death,
   Pale mourners around him bent;
They knew the wild and fitful life
   Of their chief was almost spent.

His ear was growing dull in death
   When the angry storm he heard,
The sluggish blood in the old man’s veins
   With sudden vigor stirred.

“I hear them call,” cried the dying man,
   His eyes grew full of light;
“Now bring me here my warrior robes,
   My sword and armor bright.

“In the tempest’s lull I heard a voice,
   I knew ’twas Odin’s call.
The Valkyrs are gathering round my bed
   To lead me unto his hall.

“Bear me unto my noblest ship,
   Light up a funeral pyre;
I’ll walk to the palace of the braves
   Through a path of flame and fire.”

Oh! wild and bright was the stormy light
   That flashed from the old man’s eye,
As they bore him from the couch of death
   To his battle-ship to die,

And lit with many a mournful torch
   The sea-king’s dying bed,
And like a banner fair and bright
   The flames around him spread.

But they heard no cry of anguish
   Break through that fiery wall,
With rigid brow and silent lips
   He was seeking Odin’s hall.

Through a path of fearful splendor,
   While strong men held their breath,
The brave old man went boldly forth
   And calmly talked with death.