XII.] KING HA CON. 217 



the quivering lip, and triumph on the high-resolved brow; 

 and the gesture of his hand has kingly power still. Let me 

 tell his saga, like the bards of that old time. 



KING HACON'S LAST BATTLE. 



All was over : day was ending 

 As the foeman 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. 



II. 

 "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 bloody plain. 



in. 



Silent gazed he ; mute we waited, 



Kneeling round — a faithful few, 



Staunch and true, — 



Whilst above, with thunder freighted, 



Wild the boisterous north wind blew, 



And the carrion-bird, unsated, 



On slant wing around us flew. 



IV. 



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. ' ' 



