Death of the Old Sea King

'Twas a fearful night—the tempest ravedWith loud and wrathful pride,The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,And rode on the raging tide.

The sea-king lay on his bed of death,Pale mourners around him bent;They knew the wild and fitful lifeOf their chief was almost spent.

His ear was growing dull in deathWhen the angry storm he heard,The sluggish blood in the old man's veinsWith sudden vigor stirred.

"I hear them call," cried the dying man,His eyes grew full of light;"Now bring me here my warrior robes,My sword and armor bright.

"In the tempest's lull I heard a voice,I knew 'twas Odin's call.The Valkyrs are gathering round my bedTo lead me unto his hall.

"Bear me unto my noblest ship,Light up a funeral pyre;I'll walk to the palace of the bravesThrough a path of flame and fire."

Oh! wild and bright was the stormy lightThat flashed from the old man's eye,As they bore him from the couch of deathTo his battle-ship to die,

And lit with many a mournful torchThe sea-king's dying bed,And like a banner fair and brightThe flames around him spread.

But they heard no cry of anguishBreak through that fiery wall,With rigid brow and silent lipsHe was seeking Odin's hall.

Through a path of fearful splendor,While strong men held their breath,The brave old man went boldly forthAnd calmly talked with death.