Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/270

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THE NORWEGIAN ROVER'S SONG.

I wear no wreath upon my brow,
Wrought by my father's hand;
I bear no wealth from other times,
But shield and battle-brand.
These be the only gifts I trow,
Owned at my hour of birth;
No turret hailed me as its lord,
No heritage on earth.

My kingdom is the dancing wave,
That bears me on its breast;
Like swart sea-hawk, upon its ridge,
I rear my couch of rest.
Abroad my sceptre from my throne,
I wave o'er surge and shore,—
The winds troop round me like a king,
And answer with their roar.

I twine no garlands for the locks
Of England's maidens fair;
I build no tower upon the deep,
To shelter beauty there.
I wear no silken raiment, rich
With gold and jewelled ring;
Oh! gory is the mail I wear,—
Stern is the strain I sing.

With battle trumpetings I come,
When the pale moonlight wanes;
The torch that lights me to my bark,
Kindles their household fanes.
High rolls my shout as on I sweep,
'Mid altars wrapt in flame;
"May Odin bold nerve this brown blade,
And strike for Norway's name!"

Ho! spread your foam-wreaths out, ye waves!
Toss high your crests of pride;
The war-barks of a hundred earls
Upon your bosoms ride.
With thunder on our path above,
And drifting foam below—
Hurrah! right on before the breeze,
On eagle wing we go!