Classic Poem

I.

I LLUSTRIOUS chiefs, whose deathless fame
 The Scalder's song shall blazon wide;
Quick they move, a glancing flame,
 Kings and heroes swell the tide:
A shining train (avaunt the coward slave)
From bright Valhalla pours (the mansion of the brave).
 In long array the godlike forms appear,
(Their harness bright'ning in the western beam)
 They shake the glitt'ring sword, and pointed spear;
Their polish'd helms with dreadful splendor gleam:
On airy steeds the warriors rush along,
Swift as the lightnings flash, as wintry tempests strong.

II.

 Now the rage of combat burns,
Haughty chiefs on chiefs lie slain;
 The battle glows and sinks by turns,
Death and carnage load the plain.
Pale fear, grim horror stalk around;
The blood of heroes dyes the vernant ground.
 But at the brazen trumpet's shrilling call,
Quick into life the eager champions spring:
 With headlong speed they crowd the banner'd hall,
Where sits enthron'd in gold the sceptred king,
Immortal Odin, sov'reign of the gods,
Who gilds with glory's beams Valhalla's bright abodes.

III.

 Their banquet is the mighty chine
(Exhaustless the stupendous boar);
 Virgins of immortal line
Present the goblet foaming o'er:
Of heroes skulls the goblet made,
With figur'd deaths, and snakes of gold inlaid.
 The king of men with bounteous smile surveys
The dauntless souls, who fall in glory's cause;
 Who vow to him the period of their days,
Who fight his battles, and uphold his laws:
For these Serimner on the board is spread,
And on Lerada's leaves the shaggy goat is fed.

IV.

 Far in the West there lies an isle,
Lash'd by the tempest and the wave;
 Rude rocks (a formidable pile)
The fury of the Atlantic brave;
Winds roar, and oceans rave in vain,
Unmov'd the Noble Isle for ever shall remain.
 Here length'ning distance fades not on the sight,
Nor nearness throws fatigue upon the eye;
 Mild and resplendent are the beams of light,
Empurpled blushes deck the vernal sky;
The sun in brightness shines along the hills,
Green are th' embosom'd vales, perennial are the rills.

V.

 From Selma's halls, and Morven's streamy coast,
When death has sped his bitter shaft,
 Descends the visionary host:
The morning breezes on their pinions waft
The blooming fair, who bless the brave,
With joys divinely pure that glow beyond the grave.
 Some chace with hounds the shadowy deer,
Some to the harp attune the song;
 Some to the streamlet lend an ear,
Which wildly murmurs through the vale along:
Some, who in life had prov'd the gen'rous friend,
Enshrin'd in hov'ring clouds still on his steps attend.

VI.

 Hence the love of combat flows,
Hence the warrior's throbbing breast;
 Bright his kindling courage glows,
Fierce he shakes his frowning crest;
He grasps his sword, he burns with noble rage,
To rush where thronging hosts, and giant chiefs engage;
 In other climes his glory shall be known,
For him the tale shall live in future times;
 For him his sons shall rear the chisel'd stone,
For him the harps of bards and Runic rhymes:
With screams the drooping eagle mourns his fall,
And his the Noble Isle, or Odin's echoing hall.

VII.

 Lost in wild Fancy's fairy dream,
Bright visions pass'd before his eyes;
 The gods, and heroes were his theme,
Who roll the thunder of the skies;
To sooth his sorrows for a while,
Thus sung the Scalder of the Lonely Isle:
 A shaggy rock o'erhung the raging flood,
Here sat the tow'ring bard in dreadful state;
 Loud roar'd the tempest through the crashing wood;
Rude was the scene, majestically great:
The western clouds still held their yellow glow;
And Hecla pour'd her flames thro' boundless wastes of snow.