XVIII. KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD. On the gray sea-sands King Olaf stands, Northward and seaward He points with his hands. With eddy and whirl The sea-tides curl, Washing the sandals Of Sigvald the Earl. The mariners shout, The ships swing about, The yards are all hoisted, The sails flutter out. The war-horns are played, The anchors are weighed, Like moths in the distance The sails flit and fade. The sea is like lead, The harbor lies dead, As a corse on the sea-shore, Whose spirit has fled! On that fatal day, The histories say, Seventy vessels Sailed out of the bay. But soon scattered wide O'er the billows they ride, While Sigvald and Olaf Sail side by side. Cried the Earl: "Follow me! I your pilot will be, For I know all the channels Where flows the deep sea!" So into the strait Where his foes lie in wait, Gallant King Olaf Sails to his fate! Then the sea-fog veils The ships and their sails; XIX. KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS. "STRIKE the sails!" King Olaf said; Never shall men of mine take flight; Never away from battle I fled, Never away from my foes! Let God dispose Of my life in the fight!" "Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King; And suddenly through the drifting brume The blare of the horns began to ring, Like the terrible trumpet shock Of Regnarock, On the Day of Doom! Louder and louder the war-horns sang Over the level floor of the flood; All the sails came down with a clang, And there in the mist overhead The sun hung red As a drop of blood. Drifting down on the Danish fleet. Of the Serpent flashed. King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, His helmet inlaid with gold, And in many a fold Hung his crimson cloak. |