Havelocks March And Other Poems

his is the daring Norseman. The wild wave-motion, weird and strange, Rocks in him : seaward he must range. For life is just a mighty lust . To wear away with use, not rust. Though bitter wintry cold the storm, The fire within him keeps him warm. Kings quiver at his flag unfurled : The sea-king's master of the world : Conquering comes the Norseman. He hides, at heart of his rough life, A world of sweetness for the wife; From his rude breast a babe may press Soft milk of human tenderness, Make his eyes water, his heart dance, And sunrise in his countenance : In merry mood his ale he quaffs By firelight, and his jolly heart laughs; The blithe great-hearted Norseman. But when the battle-trumpet rings, His soul's a war-horse clad with wings ! He drinks delight in with the breath Of battle and the dust of death! The axes redden, spring the sparks, Blood-radiant grow the grey mail-sarks : Such blows might batter, as they fell, Heaven's gates, or burst the booms of hell : So fights the fearless Norseman. The Norseman's King must stand up tall; A head that could be seen o'er all; Mainmast of Battle ! when the plain Grew miry red with bloody rain ; And grip his weapon for the fight, Until his knuckles all grew white ! Their banner-staff he bears is best If double handful for the rest, When "follow me" cries the Norseman- Valiant and true, as Sagas tell, The Norseman hated lies like hell; Hardy from cradle to the grave, 'Twas their religion to be ...