Lo! King Hacon's ship is blazing;
'Tis the hero's self-sought doom.

X.

Right before the wild wind driving,
Madly plunging--stung by fire--
No help nigh her--
Lo! the ship has ceased her striving!
Mount the red flames higher--higher!
Till--on ocean's verge arriving,
Sudden sinks the Viking's pyre--
Hacon's gone!

Let me call one more heroic phantom from Norway's romantic
past.

A kingly presence, stately and tall; his shield held high
above his head--a broken sword in his right hand. Olaf
Tryggvesson! Founder of Nidaros;--that cold Northern Sea
has rolled for many centuries above your noble head, and
yet not chilled the battle heat upon your brow, nor
staunched the blood that trickles down your iron glove,
from hidden, untold wounds, which the tender hand of
Thyri shall never heal!

To such ardent souls it is indeed given "to live for
ever" (the for ever of this world); for is it not "Life"
to keep a hold on OUR affections, when their own passions
are at rest,--to influence our actions (however