For the Yule, for the Yule was upon them, and battle and rapine were o'er,
And Harold, the viking, the red, and his brother lay dead on the shore.
For the harrier, Harold the red, and his merciless brother, black Ulf,
With their men on the shore of the wintery sea were carrion cold for the wolf.
Behold! for the battle was finished, the battle that boomed in the day
With the rumble of shields that were shocked and the shatter of spears that did slay;
With the hewing of swords that fierce lightened hot smoking with riotous blood,
And the crush of the mace that was crashed through the helm and the brain that withstood;
And the cursing and shrieking of men at their gods—at their gods whom they cursed,
Till the caves of the ocean re-bellowed and storm on their struggling burst.
And they fought in the flying and drifting and silence of covering snow,
Till the wounded that lay with the dead, with the dead were stiff frozen in woe.
And they fought; and the mystical flakes that were clutched of the maniac wind
Drave sharp on the eyes of the kings, made the sight of their warriors blind.
And they fought; and with leonine wrath were they met till the battle god, Thor,
From his thunder-wheeled chariot rolled, making end of destruction and war.
And they fell—like twin rocks of the mountain the ruinous whirlwinds have hurled
From their world-rooted crags to the ocean below with the strength of the world.
And, lo! not in vain their loud vows! on the stern iron altars of War
Their flesh, their own flesh, yea, the victim, their blood the libation to Thor....