—Ever the first in battle’s face—
Dim now and dust? Hath Eyvor’s son,
The free, the bold, the glorious one,
His pride forgot? Or sleep ye all?
Each of the brethren twelve I call!—
Hiorvardur!—In vain—in vain!
Unbroken death and silence reign.
I know the spells, with danger fraught,
With which that fearful blade was wrought;
I know the hand whose mystic seal