Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/269

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THE NORWEGIAN ROVER'S SONG.
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   "Dearer a mother's sigh to me   Than all the breezes of Araby!   Sweeter to me a sister's tear   Than all the fountain^ of Neodemere!   Oh! for a glance of a sister's eye,   And a mother's blessing ere I die!"
The Norwegian Rover's Song.
Give out, give out thy silken folds, Unbosomed to the wind,Thou raven flag! the tyrant's arm Thy wing may never bind.Lord of the brave!—swoop onwards still; Wherever thou hast flown,The treasures of the land and sea Were numbered as thine own.
Raise, Jarls! raise high the battle chaunt, Our fathers' song of yore;While to the breeze ye give the sail, And to the wave the oar.Of other days, when haughty plumes Were drenched in blood, it tells;As high from every warrior's lip, The martial measure swells.
Of hours, when through the parted foam, We held our bold career,—And ocean's stoutest rovers quailed Before our sign of fear:When to the eagle on the deep, And to the wolf on shore,With swords that spared not—when they smote, We spread a feast of gore.
The surge! the bounding surge for me, Where surfs may never come,To spread my banner where I list, Where'er I list to roam.There's music in its hollow voice, When the storm-nursed curlew,Amid the tempest's shroud of mist, Shrieks out its wild halloo!
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