Jove is my brother; Mine eyes are the lightning; The wheels of my chariot Roll in the thunder, The blows of my hammer Ring in the earthquake! Force rules the world still, Has ruled it, shall rule it; Meekness is weakness, Strength is triumphant, Over the whole earth Still is it Thor’s-Day! Thou art a God too, O Galilean! And thus single-handed Unto the combat, Gauntlet or Gospel, Here I defy thee! II KING OLAF’S RETURN And King Olaf heard the cry, Saw the red light in the sky, Laid his hand upon his sword, As he leaned upon the railing, And his ships went sailing, sailing Northward into Drontheim fiord. There he stood as one who dreamed; And the red light glanced and gleamed On the armor that he wore; And he shouted, as the rifled Streamers o’er him shook and shifted, “I accept thy challenge, Thor!” To avenge his father slain, And reconquer realm and reign, Came the youthful Olaf home, Through the midnight sailing, sailing, Listening to the wild wind’s wailing, And the dashing of the foam. To his thoughts the sacred name Of his mother Astrid came, And the tale she oft had told Of her flight by secret passes Through the mountains and morasses, To the home of Hakon old. Then strange memories crowded back Of Queen Gunhild’s wrath and wrack, And a hurried flight by sea; Of grim Vikings, and the rapture Of the sea-fight, and the capture, And the life of slavery. How a stranger watched his face In the Esthonian market-place, Scanned his features one by one, Saying, “We should know each other; I am Sigurd, Astrid’s brother, Thou art Olaf, Astrid’s son!” Then as Queen Allogia’s page, Old in honors, young in age, Chief of all her men-at-arms; Till vague whispers, and mysterious, Reached King Valdemar, the imperious, Filling him with strange alarms. Then his cruisings o’er the seas, Westward to the Hebrides, And to Scilly’s rocky shore; And the hermit’s cavern dismal, Christ’s great name and rites baptismal in the ocean’s rush and roar. All these thoughts of love and strife Glimmered through his lurid life, As the stars’ intenser light Through the red flames o’er him trailing, As his ships went sailing, sailing, Northward in the summer night. Trained for either camp or court, Skilful in each manly sport, Young and beautiful and tall; Art of warfare, craft of chases, Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races Excellent alike in all. When at sea, with all his rowers, He along the bending oars Outside of his ship could run. He the Smalsor Horn ascended, And his shining shield suspended, On its summit, like a sun. On the ship-rails he could stand, Wield his sword with either hand, And at once two javelins throw; At all feasts where ale was strongest Sat the merry monarch longest, First to come and last to go.