"The bloody Sivard leads his conqu'ring Swedes,
"He riots in our shame;
"The man, the matron, and the infant bleeds—
"Norway is but a name!
"The husband sees—curse on the tyrant's lust—
"He sees his beauteous bride—
"Her virtue, worth, and honor in the dust—
"Oh where is Norway's pride!
"Rouse! rouse Norwegians! take your arms amain,
"Let helms o'ershade each brow;
"Let's meet these Swedish dæmons in the plain,
"And lay their triumphs low.
"O had you seen what these poor eyes have seen!
"'Twas Sivard done the deed—
"Our hoary monarch, and our helpless queen,
"I—yes, I saw them bleed.
"Their daughter Ella—no, I will not tell!
"Norwegians ne'er enquire—
"Ne'er hear it—what the royal maid befel;
"I see your souls on fire.
"Oh seize your swords, your spears, helms, and shields!
"Oh vindicate your fame!
"Sivard and Sweden glare on Norway's fields;
"Remember Norway's name."
He said—tears flow apace, fierce glow the swains,
Rage fills each honest breast;
In Swedish blood to wipe away their stains,
Was ev'ry thought address'd.
Then red-hair'd Rollo, fierce advancing cri'd,—
"Who'er thou art, come down,
"We live on hills, to ev'ry toil we're tri'd,
"And war is all our own.
"Let Sivard come, we'll meet the tyrant here:
"But stranger come thou down."
He came—Old Athold gaz'd with look severe;—
He gaz'd—but ceas'd to frown.
"Or Athold has forgot his monarch's face,
"Or sure thou art his son!
"Eric, of mighty Norway's royal race!"—
Full quick the tidings run.