SONG OF ODIN by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON

I.
WHEN Odin his buckler had girded on,
Many a mother might weep for her son;
Woe to the foeman who ventured nigh
That unsheath'd sword or that angry eye;
That club, when uplifted, ne'er fell to the ground
But the brains of a victim were scatter'd around.

II.
When he led his bold band to the battle-plain,
Who could e'er number the foes that were slain?
Heap upon heap they were backwards cast,
As drifted snow by the whirlwind's blast;
In accents of thunder, he cheer'd to the slaughter,
And his white lips foam'd like the ocean's water.

III.
Vainly the shrieks of the dying implore;
His wrath was unquench'd, tho' he waded in gore;
There was but one sound that could sink on his breast,
Like a charm on the ocean, and lull it to rest;
Still reek'd his red sword, still flash'd his fierce eye,
Till the shout of his comrades was "Victory!"

IV.
Such was fierce Odin, and such must he be
Who would banquet with him in the halls of the free;
In the halls of the blest, where each warrior-guest
Shall sit by the side of the maid he loves best;
While sweetly her song shall his deeds declare,
And her music shall charm with its witching strain,
She shall smooth from his forehead the blood-clotted hair,
That a chaplet of triumph his temples may bear
As he drinks from the skull of a foeman slain.

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