The minstrel sings, the red wine glows,
The two kings drink with gloomy brows.
Out spake the one,—"Give me this girl,
With her sea-blue eyes, and brow of pearl."
The other answered in gloomy scorn,
"She's mine, oh brother!—my oath is sworn."
No other word spake either king—
In their golden sheaths the keen swords ring.
Together they pass from the lighted hall—
Deep lies the snow by the castle-wall.
Steel-sparks and torch-sparks in showers fall.
Two kings lie dead upon Orkadal.
A SONG.
I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure,
I shouldn't like to say,
Why I think of you more, and more, and more
As day flits after day.
Nor why I see in the Summer skies
Only the beauty of your sweet eyes,
The power by which you sway
A kingdom of hearts, that little you prize—
I shouldn't like to say.