Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Harp of Renfrewshire

161
The clouds above us lower,
They know the battle sign, and feel
All its resistless power !
Who now uprears Sigurdir's flag,
Nor shuns an early tomb ?
Who shoreward through the swelling surge,
Shall bear the scroll of doom 1
So shout the Skalds as the long ships are nearing
The low-lying shores of a beautiful land.
Silent the Self-devoted stood
Beside the massive tree ;
His image mirror'd in the flood
Was terrible to see !
As leaning on his gleaming axe,
And gazing on the wave.
His fearless soul was churning up,
The death-rune of the brave.
Upheaving then his giant form
Upon the brown bark's prow.
And tossing back the yellow storm
Of hair from his broad brow ;
The lips of song burst open, and
The words of fire rushed out,
And thundering through that martial crew
Pealed Harald's battle shout ; —
It is Harald the Dauntless that lifteth his great voice,
As the Northmen roll on with the Doom- written banner.
I bear Sigurdir's battle-flag
Through sunshine or tlirough gloom ;
Through swelling surge on bloody strand
I plant the scroll of doom !
On Scandia's lonest, bleakest waste.
Beneath a starless sky.
The shadowy Three like meteors