Page:Landon in The New Monthly 1838.pdf/13

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178

But the mind is unsubdued— Fearless is the warrior's mood, While his eyes are keeping This last vigil strange and lone, That his spirit may be known.

As a ship cuts through the froth Shining comes the morning forth, From his own ancestral north, While each rosy vapour Kindles beautiful and bright, With an evanescent light: But the human taper Hath an even briefer ray: Strange, oh life, is thy decay!

Haughtily his castle stands On a rock amid the sands, Where the waves in gather'd bands Day by day are dashing. Never is the sounding shore Still with their eternal roar, And their strife is flashing To the noontide's azure light, And the stars that watch at night.

Sigurd's look is on the foam Where his childhood wont to roam— For the sea has been his home From his earliest hours— Gathering the echoing shells, Where the future tempest dwells, As some gather flowers; Trembling when a rosy boy With a fierce and eager joy.

Many things long since forgot In a hard and hurried lot Now arise—they trouble not He, the stately hearted: But he saw a blue-eyed maid, Long since 'mid the long grass laid, And true friends departed. Tears that stand in that dark eye Only may the sea-breeze dry.

Longer do the shadows fall Of his castle's armed wall, Yet the old man sits, while all Stand behind him weeping: But behind they stand, for he Would not brook man's tears to see. One fair child is sleeping— To his grandsire's feet he crept, Weeping silent till he slept.

Heavily beneath his mail Seems Earl Sigurd's breath to fail, And his pale cheek is more pale, And his hand less steady. Crimson are the sky and surge, Stars are on th' horizon's verge, Night and Death are ready! Down in ocean goes the sun, And Earl Sigurd's life is done!