VII
Hialmar speaks to the Raven
Night on the bloodstained snow: the wind is chill;
And there a thousand tombless warriors lie,
Grasping their swords, wild-featured: all are still:
Above them the black ravens wheel and cry.
A brilliant moon sends her cold light abroad:
Hialmar arises from the reddened slain,
Leaning heavily on his shattered sword,
And bleeding from his side the battle-rain.
"Hail to you all: is there one breath still drawn
Among those fierce and fearless lads that played
So merrily, and sang as sweet in the dawn
As thrushes singing in the bramble shade?
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