On chieftain and hero immortal in story,
They press to the battle like maids to the dance.
The blood flows before them,
The wave dashes o’er them,
They reap with the sword what they plough with the keel;
Enough that they leave
To the country that bore them
Bosoms to bleed for her freedom and weal.
The Shrine of the Northman, the Temple of Freedom,
Stands like a rock where the stormy wind breaks;