Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Mary Elizabeth (Hewitt)Stebbins313 Harold the Valiant
I
Where the skilled bowmen
Send with unerring shaft
Death to the foemen.
But I love to steer my bark,—
To fear a stranger,—
Over the Maelstrom’s edge,
Daring the danger;
And where the mariner
Paleth affrighted,
Over the sunken rocks
I dash on delighted.
The far waters know my keel,
No tide restrains me;
But ah! a Russian maid
Coldly disdains me.
Sailed I, unfearing:
Conflict was on my prow,
Glory was steering.
Where fled the stranger ship
Wildly before me,
Down, like the hungry hawk,
My vessel bore me;
We carved on the craven’s deck
The red runes of slaughter:
When my bird whets her beak
I give no quarter.
The far waters know my keel,
No tide restrains me;
But ah! a Russian maid
Coldly disdains me.
Stood the warriors of Drontheim,
When like the hurricane
I swept down upon them!
Like chaff beneath the flail
They fell in their numbers:—
Their king with the golden hair
I sent to his slumbers.
I love the combat fierce,
No fear restrains me;
But ah! a Russian maid
Coldly disdains me.
Swift we were dashing;
Bright on our twenty spears
Sunlight was flashing;
When through the Skager Rack
The storm-wind was driven,
And from our bending mast
The broad sail was riven:
Then, while the angry brine
Foamed like a flagon,
Brimful the yesty rime
Filled our brown dragon;
But I, with sinewy hand
Strengthened in slaughter,
Forth from the straining ship
Bailed the dun water.
The wild waters know my keel,
No storm restrains me;
But ah! a Russian maid
Coldly disdains me.
As e’er Thracian horseman;
My hand throws the javelin true,
Pride of the Norseman;
And the bold skater marks,
While his lips quiver,
Where o’er the bending ice
I skim the river:
Forth to my rapid oar
The boat swiftly springeth—
Springs like the mettled steed
When the spur stingeth.
Valiant I am in fight,
No fear restrains me;
But ah! a Russian maid
Coldly disdains me.
The Norsemen are cravens?
I in the Southland gave
A feast to the ravens!
Green lay the sward outspread,
The bright sun was o’er us
When the strong fighting men
Rushed down before us.
Midway to meet the shock
My courser bore me,
And like Thor’s hammer crashed
My strong hand before me;
Left we their maids in tears,
Their city in embers:
The sound of the Viking’s spears
The Southland remembers!
I love the combat fierce,
No fear restrains me;
But ah! a Russian maid
Coldly disdains me.