Classic Poem

I.

I N Upsal's stately Minster, before the altar, stands
 The Swedish King, brave Erick, with high uplifted hands—
His royal robes are round him, the crown upon his head,
And thus, before his people, right sovranly he said:—

II.

“God! whoso trusteth in Thee will never rue his trust;
If God the Lord be with us, our foes shall flee like dust.”
He spake—from priests and people rose up the answering cry—
“If God the Lord be with us, all danger we defy!”

III.

Scarce through the aisles is dying their mingled voices' din,
A pallid slave, disordered, comes rushing wildly in.
“Now God us aid!—Skalater, the Dane, has come agen,
Fast pouring down the mountains with seven hundred men!”

IV.

King Erick heard him calmly, then strong in faith replied—
“What man can fight against us, with God upon our side?”
A second slave comes rushing all breathless as the first—
“The gate is down—Skalater each bar and bolt hath burst!”

V.

King Erick's brow grew paler, but still he looked on high—
“If God the Lord be with us, no danger need we fly!”
In comes another, trembling, but ere he uttered sound
The Danish axes glisten—they cleave him to the ground.

VI.

Then rose a fearful tumult—then rose a wildered cry—
Skalater comes in fury—defenceless we must die—
Skalater comes in fury, with all his pagan hordes,
And Priest, and King, and Altar must fall beneath their swords.

VII.

King Erick's glance grew prouder; he grasp'd the golden rood—
He held it high to Heaven, as on Skalater strode:
Lo! from each wound, the seven, pours forth a thousand rays,
And down to earth Skalater sinks dazzled by the blaze.

VIII.

They're prostrate on their foreheads, the seven hundred Danes,
Praying the God to spare them who guards the Christian fanes;
But Erick and his people lift up the joyful cry—
Our God, the Lord, has conquered; all praise to Him on high!