The Sea-King woke from the troubled sleep
Of a vision-haunted night,
And he look'd from his bark o'er the gloomy deep,
And counted the streaks of light;
For the red sun's earliest ray
Was to rouse his bands that day,
To the stormy joy of fight!
But the dreams of rest were still on earth,
And the silent stars on high,
And there waved not the smoke of one cabin-hearth
'Midst the quiet of the sky;
And along the twilight-bay
In their sleep the hamlets lay,
—For they knew not the Norse were nigh!
The Sea-King look'd o'er the tossing wave,
He turn'd to the dusky shore,
And there seem’d, through the arch of a tide-worn cave,
A gleam, as of snow, to pour.
And forth, in watery light,
Moved phantoms, dimly white,
Which the garb of woman wore.
Slowly they moved to the billow-side,
And the forms, as they grew more clear,
Seem'd each on a tall pale steed to ride,
And a cloudy crest to rear,
And to beckon with faint hand
From the dark and rocky strand,
And to point a gleaming spear!
- ↑ * The Valkyriur, the Fatal Sisters, or Choosers of the Slain, in Northern Mythology.
