The Saxon king,
A wild, fierce warrior, heard of Vermund’s grief,
And he did rage to snatch, with greedy hand,
The sceptre of the blind.
Madly he poured
His thousands o’er the land;
The red steel clashed—
The curling fire ran—
The ravens fed
On beauty, and the eagles gorged on strength,
The blind prince trembling heard
His people’s dying groan!
IV.
The Saxon king
Rode, like the thunderbolt, his mighty steed
To the sad Danish camp.
He mocked the king—
And to his peers, with haughty action, said
“Doth it become
The noble sons of Odin thus to bend
The knee before a blind man, and a fool?”
V.
“Out on thee, wretch!”
The sightless prince exclaimed;
“It more becomes the warrior to protect
Than scorn the weak and aged!—
Mighty!—to thee—
Thee! whom we fear to name—
Thee! strongest pillar of Odin’s great throne—
Thee! dark, but terrible!—whose woe I bear—
Thee! whose most awful name
The reckless echo dares not repeat, and we
Shudder as we pronounce!
HODER!—I call on thee!—
Be thou the judge
Between this wretch and me!”
VI.
The Saxon heard
And shrunk at that dread name—
The nobles groaned—
The father wept, and clasped,
To his chilled heart, his dumb and idiot boy.
When, lo! a wonder!—
His sacred tears fell on the youthful brow
Like holy rain upon the scorched up earth,
And upward to the sun of glory sprung
The buried seeds of intellect—
He spoke!—
VII.
“Ha! scoffer!” said the boy, “didst thou not know
The blind and weak are sacred?”—
His eye shone
With a miraculous light—
“Hark! Saxon churl!
I summon thee unto the field of death—
I, the dumb idiot—I will meet thee there,
And on thy craven bosom write a truth,
That Vermund hath a son—Denmark a prince,
Who will protect their glories!”
VIII.