Classic Poem

From out the cold house of the north
Thor's stalwart children hurtled forth,
Forsook their sullen seas;
Southward the Gothic waggons rolled,
While bards foretold a realm of gold,
And fame, and boundless ease.

Loud rang the shields with sounding blows,
The furious din of war arose
Adown the dreary land;
But Woden held them in his ken,
And safely passed the Teuton men
By every hostile band.

At length, one day, the host was thrilled
At that glad cry the foremost shrilled, —
" The sea! A southern sea! "
As breathless stood the northmen there,
The wind swept through their yellow hair,
And sang of empery.

Rome's doom was written in their eyes,
Fell tumult under sunny skies,
Death on the Golden Horn:
Now, by the rood, what southron slaves,
Or land that any south sea laves,
Can face the northern born?