All was over; day was ending As the foemen turned and fled. Gloomy red Glowed the angry sun descending; While round Hacon’s dying bed Tears and songs of triumph blending Told how fast the conqueror bled. “Raise me,” said the king. We raised him— Not to ease his desperate pain; That were vain! “Strong our foe was—but we faced him: Show me that red field again.” Then with reverent hands we placed him High above the battle plain. Sudden on our startled hearing Came the low-breathed, stern command,— “Lo! ye stand? Linger not—the night is nearing; Bear me downwards to the strand, Where my ships are idly steering Off and on, in sight of land.” Every whispered word obeying, Swift we bore him down the steep, O’er the deep, Up the tall ship’s side, low swaying To the storm-wind’s powerful sweep, And his dead companions laying Round him—we had time to weep. But the king said, “Peace! bring hither Spoils and weapons, battle-strown— Make no moan; Leave me and my dead together; Light my torch, and then—begone.” But we murmured, each to other, “Can we leave him thus alone?” Angrily the king replieth; Flashed the awful eye again With disdain: “Call him not _alone_ who lieth Low among such noble slain; Call him not _alone_ who dieth Side by side with gallant men.” Slowly, sadly we departed; Reached again that desolate shore, Never more Trod by him, the brave, true-hearted, Dying in that dark ship’s core! Sadder keel from land ne’er parted, Nobler freight none ever bore! There we lingered, seaward gazing, Watching o’er that living tomb, Through the gloom— Gloom which awful light is chasing— Blood-red flames the surge illume! Lo! King Hacon’s ship is blazing; ’Tis the hero’s self-sought doom. Right before the wild wind driving, Madly plunging—stung by fire— No help nigh her— Lo! the ship has ceased her striving! Mount the red flames higher, higher, Till, on ocean’s verge arriving, Sudden sinks the Viking’s pyre— Hacon’s gone! LORD DUFFERIN. THE DEATH OF HACO. The summer is gone, Haco, Haco; The yellow year is fled; And the winter is come, Haco, That numbers thee with the dead! When the year was young, Haco, Haco, And the skies were blue and bright, Thou didst sweep the seas, Haco, Like a bird with wings of might. With thine oaken galley, proudly, And thy gilded dragon-prow, O’er the bounding billows, Haco, Like a sea-god thou didst go. With thy barons gaily, gaily, All in proof of burnished mail, In the voes of Orkney, Haco, Thou didst spread thy prideful sail;