Beside the blazing spectral pyre—
A spark from Baldur’s sacred fire
Lighteth to death a Norseman sire,—
Brave old Thorsteing.
His arms are folded o’er his breast,
And on his noble brow doth rest
The shadow from his warrior crest
That waves on high.
His glances on the ocean fell;
Fondly he marked its rising swell—