“Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning out tender; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor. “I woo’d the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest’s shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosen’d vest Flutter’d her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted. “Bright in her father’s hall Shields gleam’d upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I ask’d his daughter’s hand, Mute did the minstrel stand To hear my story. “While the brown ale he quaff’d Loud then the champion laugh’d, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly. “She was a Prince’s child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blush’d and smiled, I was discarded! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew’s flight, Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded? “Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me,―― Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen!―― When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. “Then launch’d they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind fail’d us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hail’d us. “And as to catch the gale Round veer’d the flapping sail, Death! was the helmsman’s hail, Death without quarter! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water. “As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden. So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden. “Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o’er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to lee-ward; There for my lady’s bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking sea-ward. “There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden’s tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; Ne’er shall the sun arise On such another! “Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sun-light hateful! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful!