3
III.
Silent the Self-devoted stood
Beside the massive tree;
His image mirror'd in the flood
Was terrible to see!
As leaning on his gleaming axe,
And gazing on the wave,
His fearless soul was churning up,
The death-rune of the brave.
Upheaving then his giant form
Upon the brown bark's prow,
And tossing back the yellow storm
Of hair from his broad brow;
The lips of song burst open, and
The words of fire rushed out,
And thundering through that martial crew
Pealed Harald's battle shout;—
It is Harald the dauntless that lifteth his great voice,
As the Northmen rollon with the Doom-written banner.
"I bear Sigurdir's battle-flag
Through sunshine or through gloom;
Through swelling surge on bloody strand
