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Home  »  An American Anthology, 1787–1900  »  313 Harold the Valiant

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Mary Elizabeth (Hewitt)Stebbins

313 Harold the Valiant

I MID the hills was born,

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.

Once round Sicilia’s isle

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.

Countless as spears of grain

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.

Once o’er the Baltic Sea

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.

Firmly I curb my steed,

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.

Saith she, the maiden fair,

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.