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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391657" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sword Of The Tomb : A Northern Legend</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Voice of the gifted elder time!<br>Voice of the charm and the Runic rhyme!<br>Speak! from the shades and the depths disclose,<br>How Sigurd may vanquish his mortal foes;<br>Voice of the buried past!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Voice of the grave! 'tis the mighty hour,<br>When night with her stars and dreams hath power,<br>And my step hath been soundless on the snows,<br>And the spell I have sung hath laid repose<br>On the billow and the blast.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the torrents of the North,<br>And the forest pines were still,<br>While a hollow chant came forth<br>From the dark sepulchral hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There shines no sun 'midst the hidden dead,<br>But where the day looks not the brave may tread;<br>There is heard no song, and no mead is pour'd,<br>But the warrior may come to the silent board<br>In the shadow of the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There is laid a sword in thy father's tomb,<br>And its edge is fraught with thy foeman's doom;<br>But soft be thy step through the silence deep,<br>And move not the urn in the house of sleep,<br>For the viewless have fearful might!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then died the solemn lay,<br>As a trumpet's music dies,<br>By the night-wind borne away<br>Through the wild and stormy skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fir-trees rock'd to the wailing blast,<br>As on through the forest the warrior pass'd,-<br>Through the forest of Odin, the dim and old,<br>The dark place of visions and legends, told<br>By the fires of Northern pine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fir-trees rock'd, and the frozen ground<br>Gave back to his footstep a hollow sound;<br>And it seem'd that the depths of those awful shades,<br>From the dreary gloom of their long arcades,<br>Gave warning, with voice and sign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the wind strange magic knows<br>To call wild shape and tone<br>From the grey wood's tossing boughs<br>When night is on her throne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pines clos'd o'er him with deeper gloom,<br>As he took the path to the monarch's tomb;<br>The pole-star shone, and the heavens were bright<br>With the arrowy streams of the northern light,<br>But his road through dimness lay!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He pass'd, in the heart of that ancient wood,<br>The dark shrine stain'd with the victim's blood:<br>Nor paus'd, till the rock where a vaulted bed<br>Had been hewn of old for the kingly dead,<br>Arose on his midnight way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then first a moment's chill<br>Went shuddering through his breast,<br>And the steel-clad man stood still<br>Before that place of rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But he cross'd at length, with a deep-drawn breath,<br>The threshold-floor of the hall of Death,<br>And look'd on the pale mysterious fire<br>Which gleam'd from the urn of his warrior-sire,<br>With a strange and solemn light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then darkly the words of the boding strain<br>Like an omen rose on his soul again,<br>-'Soft be thy step through the silence deep,<br>And move not the urn in the house of sleep,<br>For the viewless have fearful might!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the gleaming sword and shield<br>Of many a battle-day<br>Hung o'er that urn, reveal'd<br>By the tomb-fire's waveless ray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With a faded wreath of oak-leaves bound,<br>They hung o'er the dust of the far-renown'd,<br>Whom the bright Valkyriur's warning voice<br>Had call'd to the banquet where gods rejoice,<br>And the rich mead flows in light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With a beating heart his son drew near,<br>And still rang the verse in his thrilling ear,<br>-'Soft be thy step through the silence deep,<br>And move not the urn in the house of sleep,<br>For the viewless have fearful might!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And many a Saga's rhyme,<br>And legend of the grave,<br>That shadowy scene and time<br>Call'd back, to daunt the brave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But he rais'd his arm-and the flame grew dim,<br>And the sword in its light seem'd to wave and swim,<br>And his faltering hand could not grasp it well-<br>From the pale oak-wreath, with a clash it fell<br>Through the chamber of the dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The deep tomb rang with the heavy sound,<br>And the urn lay shiver'd in fragments round;<br>And a rush, as of tempests, quench'd the fire,<br>And the scatter'd dust of his warlike sire<br>Was strewn on the Champion's head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One moment-and all was still<br>In the slumberer's ancient hall,<br>When the rock had ceas'd to thrill<br>With the mighty weapon's fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stars were just fading, one by one,<br>The clouds were just ting'd by the early sun,<br>When there stream'd through the cavern a torch's flame,<br>And the brother of Sigurd the valiant came<br>To seek him in the tomb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stretch'd on his shield, like the steel-girt slain<br>By moonlight seen on the battle-plain,<br>In a speechless trance lay the warrior there,<br>But he wildly woke when the torch's glare<br>Burst on him through the gloom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The morning wind blows free,<br>And the hour of chase is near:<br>Come forth, come forth, with me!<br>What dost thou, Sigurd, here?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I have put out the holy sepulchral fire,<br>I have scatter'd the dust of my warrior-sire!<br>It burns on my head, and it weighs down my heart;<br>But the winds shall not wander without their part<br>To strew o'er the restless deep!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'In the mantle of death he was here with me now,-<br>There was wrath in his eye, there was gloom on his brow;<br>And his cold still glance on my spirit fell<br>With an icy ray and a withering spell-<br>Oh! chill is the house of sleep!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The morning wind blows free,<br>And the reddening sun shines clear;<br>Come forth come forth, with me!<br>It is dark and fearful here!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'He is there, he is there, with his shadowy frown!<br>But gone from his head is the kingly crown,<br>The crown from his head, and the spear from his hand,-<br>They have chas'd him far from the glorious land<br>Where the feast of the gods is spread!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'He must go forth alone on his phantom steed;<br>He must ride o'er the grave-hills with stormy speed;<br>His place is no longer at Odin's board,<br>He is driven from Valhalla without his sword!<br>But the slayer shall avenge the dead!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That sword its fame had won<br>By the fall of many a crest,<br>But its fiercest work was done<br>In the tomb on Sigurd's breast!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391657" data-title="The Sword Of The Tomb : A Northern Legend de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="'Voice of the gifted elder time!
Voice of the charm and the Runic rhyme!
Speak! from the shades and the depths disclose,
How Sigurd may vanquish his mortal foes;
Voice of the buried past!

'Voice of the grave! 'tis the mighty hour,
When night with..."></div>
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