"O had you seen what these poor eyes have seen! "'Twas Sivard done the deed-- "Our hoary monarch, and our helpless queen, "I--yes, I saw them bleed. "Their daughter Ella--no, I will not tell! "Norwegians ne'er enquire-- "Ne'er hear it--what the royal maid befel; "I see your souls on fire. "Oh seize your swords, your spears, helms, and shields! "Oh vindicate your fame! "Sivard and Sweden glare on Norway's fields; "Remember Norway's name." He said--tears flow apace, fierce glow the swains, Rage fills each honest breast; In Swedish blood to wipe away their stains, Was ev'ry thought address'd. Then red-hair'd Rollo, fierce advancing cri'd,-- "Who'er thou art, come down, "We live on hills, to ev'ry toil we're tri'd, "And war is all our own. "Let Sivard come, we'll meet the tyrant here: "But stranger come thou down." He came--Old Athold gaz'd with look severe;-- He gaz'd--but ceas'd to frown. "Or Athold has forgot his monarch's face, "Or sure thou art his son! "Eric, of mighty Norway's royal race!"-- Full quick the tidings run. With shouts they press to see the beauteous chief; The aged kiss his hand: On either side, fast roll'd the marks of grief, Then Athold spoke the band-- "Ye sons of Norway, to your homes repair, "There seize the sword and shield, "And ere the morning's purple streaks the air, "Meet Eric in the field. "Oh prince! do you with aged Athold go, "And take refreshing sleep; "Athold will sing and soothe the rising woe, "Or break his harp and weep!" 'Twas night--in Athold's hall each took his place; Of other times he sung; Fast stream'd the tears adown the hero's face, And groans responsive rung. Bright came the morn; and bright in batter'd arms, The rustic vet'rans came: And many a youth, untri'd in rough alarms, Now hop'd a patriot's name. They heard from far the hum of Sivard's host; Young Eric struck his shield; Then high in air his heavy spear he tost, And blaz'd along the field. Next aged Athold follow'd; Rollo strong; Black Calmar lifts his mace; Culullin, Marco, Streno, rush along, And all the rugged race. Fierce came the Swede;--in strength of numbers proud; He scorn'd his feeble foe; But soon the voice of battle roar'd aloud, And many a Swede lay low. Strong Rollo struck the tow'ring Olaus dead, Full fifteen bleed beside: Old Athold cleft the brave Adolphus head, In all his youthful pride. But Eric! Eric! rang'd the field around, On Sivard still he cri'd; The gasping Swedes lay heap'd upon the ground-- Sivard! the hills repli'd.