Has raised up his head; As awaked from the dead, See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, Behold how they toss their torches on high, And glittering temples of their hostile gods. And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. VII. Thus long ago, Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, While organs yet were mute, Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre, Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Or both divide the crown: IS not the gray hawk's flight "T is not the light hoof-print Of black steed or gray, And numbers define. Dull builders of houses, Base tillers of earth, But the pale fools wax mute In the fierce battle-fray, I've heard great harps sounding, And cold jargoning; The music I love is The shout of the brave, The yell of the dying, The scream of the flying, When this arm wields death's sickle, And garners the grave. JOY-GIVER! I kiss thee. Far isles of the ocean Thy lightning have known, And wide o'er the mainland Thy horrors have shone. THE SWORD-CHANT OF THORSTEIN RAUDI. 153 Great sword of my father, Stern joy of his hand, Thou hast carved his name deep on The stranger's red strand, And won him the glory Of undying song, Keen cleaver of gay crests, And scourge of the strong. In a love more abiding Than that the heart knows For maiden more lovely Than summer's first rose, The smile of a maiden's eye Fair woman's heart; |