Читать книгу Fourth Reader - Various - Страница 33

All was over; day was ending

As the foemen turned and fled.

Gloomy red

Glowed the angry sun descending;

While round Hacon’s dying bed

Tears and songs of triumph blending

Told how fast the conqueror bled.

“Raise me,” said the king. We raised him —

Not to ease his desperate pain;

That were vain!

“Strong our foe was, but we faced him —

Show me that red field again.”

Then with reverent hands we placed him

High above the battle plain.

Sudden, on our startled hearing,

Came the low-breathed, stern command —

“Lo! ye stand?

Linger not – the night is nearing;

Bear me downwards to the strand,

Where my ships are idly steering

Off and on, in sight of land.”

Every whispered word obeying,

Swift we bore him down the steep,

O’er the deep,

Up the tall ship’s side, low swaying

To the storm-wind’s powerful sweep,

And his dead companions laying

Round him – we had time to weep.

But the king said, “Peace! bring hither

Spoil and weapons, battle-strown —

Make no moan;

Leave me and my dead together;

Light my torch, and then – begone.”

But we murmured, each to other,

“Can we leave him thus alone?”

Angrily the king replieth;

Flashed the awful eye again

With disdain —

“Call him not alone who lieth

Low amidst such noble slain;

Call him not alone who dieth

Side by side with gallant men.”

Slowly, sadly we departed —

Reached again that desolate shore,

Never more

Trod by him, the brave, true-hearted,

Dying in that dark ship’s core!

Sadder keel from land ne’er parted,

Nobler freight none ever bore!

There we lingered, seaward gazing

Watching o’er that living tomb,

Through the gloom —

Gloom which awful light is chasing;

Blood-red flames the surge illume!

Lo! King Hacon’s ship is blazing;

’Tis the hero’s self-sought doom.

Right before the wild wind driving,

Madly plunging – stung by fire —

No help nigh her —

Lo! the ship has ceased her striving!

Mount the red flames higher, higher,

Till, on ocean’s verge arriving,

Sudden sinks the viking’s pyre. —

Hacon’s gone!