Is the Hebrew exile’s guerdon high,
His earnest here of Heaven.
The Norseman chief, in the olden times,
Sprang up, with Valkyriur calls
Ringing shrill and clear in his dreaming ear—
“Up! come to ‘Valhalla’s Halls!’”
Would ye know how the chieftain sought those halls?
—Away to the battle-plain—
The warrior sleeps on the ghastly heaps,
His own red sword has slain!