Letters from High Latitudes by Lord Dufferin
page 274 of 305 (89%)
page 274 of 305 (89%)
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loved and served,--yet forgiving and excusing them;
rejecting the aid of all who denied that holy Faith which had become the absorbing interest of his life,--but surrounded by a faithful few, who share his fate; "in the lost battle, borne down by the flying"--he falls, transpierced by many wounds, and the last words on his fervent lips are prayer to God. [Footnote: The exact date of the battle of Sticklestad is known: an eclipse of the sun occurred while it was going on.] Surely there was a gallant saint and soldier. Yet he was not the only one who bore himself nobly on that day. Here is another episode of that same fatal fight. A certain Thormod is one of the Scalds (or Poets) in King Olaf's army. The night before the battle he sings a spirited song at the King's request, who gives him a gold ring from his finger in token of his approval. Thormod thanks him for the gift, and says, "It is my prayer, Sire, that we shall never part, either in life or death." When the King receives his death-wound Thormod is near him,--but, wounded himself, and so weak and weary that in a desperate onslaught by the King's men,--nicknamed "Dag's storm,"--HE ONLY STOOD BY HIS COMRADE IN THE RANKS, ALTHOUGH HE COULD DO NOTHING. The noise of the battle has ceased; the King is lying dead where he fell. The very man who had dealt him his death-wound has laid the body straight out on the ground, and spread a cloak over it. "And when he wiped the blood |
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