Classic Poem

The great, the glorious deed is done!
The foe is fled! the field is won!
Prepare the feast, the heroes call;
Let joy, let triumph fill the hall!

The raven claps his sable wings;
The Bard his chosen timbrel brings;
Six virgins round, a select choir,
Sing to the music of his lyre.

With mighty ale the goblet crown;
With mighty ale your sorrows drown;
To-day, to mirth and joy we yield;
To-morrow, face the bloody field.

From danger's front, at battle's eve,
Sweet comes the banquet to the brave;
Joy shines with genial beam on all,
The joy that dwells in Odin's hall.

The song bursts living from the lyre,
Like dreams that guardian ghosts inspire;
When mimic shrieks the heroes hear,
And whirl the visionary spear.

Music 's the med'cine of the mind;
The cloud of Care give to the wind;
Be ev'ry brow with garlands bound,
And let the cup of Joy go round.

The cloud comes o'er the beam of light;
We 're guests that tarry but a night:
In the dark house, together press'd,
The princes and the people rest.

Send round the shell, the feast prolong,
And send away the night in song;
Be blest below, as those above
With Odin's and the friends they love.