Scarce through the aisles is dying their mingled voices' din,
A pallid slave, disordered, comes rushing wildly in.
"Now God us aid!—Skalater, the Dane, has come again,
Fast pouring down the mountains with seven hundred men!"
| * | * | * | * | * |
King Eric's glance grew prouder; he grasped the golden Rood—
He held it high to heaven, as on Skalater strode:
Lo! from each wound, the seven, pour forth a thousand rays,
And down to earth Skalater sinks, dazzled by the blaze.
They're prostrate on their foreheads, the seven hundred Danes,