Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/294

'Angantyr! Angantyr! On this high promontory
The tempest fierce whirling, far away bears my sobs,
And thy name, O warrior, in the wave's music throbs.
Hear me, answer me, from thy dark bed and gory,
And break from thy prison, for thy glory it robs.'

'My child, O my daughter, do not trouble my dream!
If the body is bound, the spirit soars like a song!
Ha! I drink hydromel in the cup of the strong,
In the heaven of Valhalla my glave adds a gleam,
But the voice of the living to the dead is a wrong.'

'Angantyr! Angantyr! Give, oh give me thy sword;
Thy children save myself welter naked in blood,
And fishes devour them in the river's red flood;
Sole escaped of thy race from the foemen's fierce horde,
Let me wear the bright glave that none ever withstood.'

'My child, O my child, let us remain what we are,
Befits well the distaff a young maiden's fair hand;
Hence! Depart! Lo, on thy path the moon rises grand!
For a man is the sword, and the tumult of war,
But a fight foot to foot no woman may stand.'

'Angantyr! Angantyr! Hark! My birthright I claim!
O warrior, revile not thy own race in this way,
I long for the murderer's blood and the fray.
Help me, or by Fenris, perish, perish thy name!
May thy bones be dragged out by the wolf as a prey!

'My child, O my child, thy soul is lofty and great,
The child of a hero must thus speak and thus feel,
And clean his dimmed honour till it shine like this steel.
Take the sword, O my loved, and be reckless of fate,
Run, avenge me, and die where the trumpets loud peal.'