"The wolf, the murderer, and the thief, Fled from before the people's chief: Few breakers of the peace grew old Under the Northmen's king so bold. When gallant Hakon lost his life Black was the day, and dire the strife. It was bad work for Gunhild's sons, Leading their pack of Hungry Danes From out the south, to have to fly, And many a bonde leave to die, Leaning his heavy wounded head On the oar-bench for feather-bed. Thoralf was nearest to the side Of gallant Hakon in the tide Of battle; his the sword that best Carved out the raven's bloody feast: Amidst the heaps of foemen slain He was named bravest on the plain." 32. HAKON'S DEATH. When King Hakon came out to his ship he had his wound bound up; but the blood ran from it so much and so constantly, that it could not be stopped; and when the day was drawing to an end his strength began to leave him. Then he told his men that he wanted to go northwards to his house at Alreksstader; but when he came north, as far as Hakonarhella Hill, they put in towards the land, for by this time the king was almost lifeless. Then he called his friends around him, and told them what he wished to be done with regard to his kingdom. He had only one child, a daughter, called Thora, and had no son. Now he told them to send a message to Eirik's sons, that they should be kings over the country; but asked them to hold his friends in respect and honour. "And if fate," added he, "should prolong my life, I will, at any rate, leave the country, and go to a Christian land, and do penance for what I have done against God; but should I die in heathen land, give me any burial you think fit." Shortly afterwards Hakon expired, at the little hill on the shore-side at which he was born. So great was the sorrow over Hakon's death, that he was lamented both by friends and enemies; and they said that never again would Norway see such a king. His friends removed his body to Saeheim, in North Hordaland, and made a great mound, in which they laid the king in full armour and in his best clothes, but with no other goods. They spoke over his grave, as heathen people are used to do, and wished him in Valhal. Eyvind Skaldaspiller composed a poem on the death of King Hakon, and on how well he was received in Valhal. The poem is called "Hakonarmal":-- "In Odin's hall an empty place Stands for a king of Yngve's race; 'Go, my valkyries,' Odin said, 'Go forth, my angels of the dead, Gondul and Skogul, to the plain Drenched with the battle's bloody rain, And to the dying Hakon tell, Here in Valhal shall he dwell.'