“The gods! the gods! Valhalla Has sent its warriors down To fight against our Ivar! To battle for the town!” And in dismay and terror Is hushed the conquering cry. From street to street, In swift retreat, And over fallen battlement, The pale besiegers fly— Fly fast and far; nor pause they Till, on the northern shore, They see the birchen forests, And hear the breakers roar. Meanwhile, with peals of gladness The rescued city rang, And loud their great deliverance The joyous people sang, And loud they sang the praises Of him, the unknown knight, Who led his valiant legions To battle for the right. So loud and long their praises, Awaking from his swoon, The King o’erheard, and seeing Who wore the chieftain’s plume, Aghast, stood up and questioned, Hand on his horse’s rein, “What art thou—man or spirit? And what may be thy name?” “I am, O King, no spirit; And Eric is my name;— Prince Eric, son of Eric, Who sleeps on yonder plain.” “What! Eric? son of Eric? Ah, I have heard of thee, How wise and well thou rulest Beside the western sea. But why dost thou come hither To drive away the foe, And earn my people’s praises, Since well thou seem’st to know That it was I, In years gone by, Who laid thy father low?” “Not for thy people’s praises I hither led my band, But with, O king, thy favor, To win thy daughter’s hand.” “Great soul and gallant suitor! Well doth he play his part, Who, seeking hand of daughter, Doth steal the father’s heart.” But Princess Gerda saw not: She heeded naught of all, Nor gazed she from the window High up the palace wall. “Wherefore the loud rejoicing, Wherefore the triumph vain, Since he is dead—my father,— Since he, the King, is slain?” With streaming eyes she greeted Two ent’ring at the door, Aye, even him who bowed so low His white plumes swept the floor; The other—lo! her father! Behold his spirit come! She stood in trembling wonder; Her pallid lips were dumb. “Fear not, O Princess Gerda! If thou wilt turn the key, How gladly will I offer To be a guide for thee!” So spake the Prince; and Gerda In listening paler grew; Recalling guide and venture, The words, the voice she knew. “They come to me from spirit-land! Two heroes are they, tall and grand, And clad in armor bright!” And in her fear, As they drew near, The quaint old room reeled round her, And all was black as night.