But the chieftain saw in the light of his eyes, That his soul was of noble and lofty guise. "Throw him arms across for none he weareth," On board he cried;--"if the day beareth Thee victory, say that himself he gave The sword that brought him a hasty grave." The struggle waxed warm on the mountain side, Each blow fell back with an echoing bomb;-- The wrothful "Dragon" snuffed in her fume, Felled was her champion in his pride. There rent a scream the mountains o'er, Each man would revenge the mighty wrong; From stem to stem there rose a throng, And soon they stood on the rocky shore. Then up the dying man swung his hand To give amongst them his last command: "A man must fall when his work is done; The end of a hero song is grand; Make him your chieftain,--a worthy one." His lips grew white, his strength was past, They hastened up as he breathed his last; For him was a place of honour stored, Thereto he pointed,--at Odin's board. The new commander made no delay, He sprang on a stone and the order gave: "First raise a mound o'er the hero's grave, And mind ye the noble deeds of his day. But e'er the night shall the anchor be weighed, Nor e'en by the dead must our journey be stayed." The beacon was raised, the sail was spread, The Dragon soon over the waters sped; A song of remembrance clang o'er the wave To him they had left in the island grave,-- An ode of welcome rang in the ear Of the youth who stood at the helm to steer. And just as his home was near in view, And all were rushing down to the strand, With cries of wonder to see the hand That was steering Oger's sea-worthy shoe,-- Fell the evening sun upon sail and shield, And red o'er the height by the battle field. The vessel he steered so near the land, That frightened they cried: "The ship will strand!" He turned her round with a lurch and heave, And he smiled upon them: "_Now_ have I leave?"