Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/87



Silent the Self-devoted stood Beside the massive tree; His image mirror'd in the flood Was terrible to see! As leaning on his gleaming axe, And gazing on the wave, His fearless soul was churning up, The death-rune of the brave. Upheaving then his giant form Upon the brown bark's prow, And tossing back the yellow storm Of hair from his broad brow; The lips of song burst open, and The words of fire rushed out, And thundering through that martial crew Pealed Harald's battle shout;— It is Harald the dauntless that lifteth his great voice, As the Northmen rollon with the Doom-written banner.

I bear Sigurdir's battle-flag Through sunshine or through gloom; Through swelling surge on bloody strand