The Voyage of Zinklar
ARGUMENT.
Sinclair--here Zinklar--a laird of Scotland, is employed by the Swedish crown to conduct raids on Norwegian farmers.  Ignoring the warnings of a mermaid, with fourteen hundred men he comes ashore at Romsdal's coast and commences his work of pillage and slaughter.
He is opposed by a militia of farmers from the districts of Vage, Lessoe and Lom.  They meet at the hill of Kringen in the district of Bredebojgd.  Zinklar is shot with an arrow, and the Scotch host killed to a man.  A stone is raised as a warning to future invaders.  A very loose retelling from the Norwegian.

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A song of other years!

It comes to me, my bright one! as the distant roar of rain.  Without the hall, o Zinklar, prowls thy ghost; thy whispered voice I hear.  Oh, the harp!  The harp!  My fingers tremble in their years!

Over the salty main dragged Zinklar the oar.  For Norway he set his course!  On Gundbrand's cliffs the narrow hall awaited; on Kringen's moss would bleed his brow.

Over the billowing sea he coursed, for Swedish silver sailed.  The dark main parted; before Zinklar the mermaid rose. "Turn back, turn back, o men of Alba!  I tell you true, on Kringen's rock your death awaits."

Red rolled Zinklar's eye; his sword was half-unsheathed.  "Take ear, o she-troll of the waves!  My blood is hot, mine host mighty in war.  Poison are thy words!  Return to thy gloomy deep, lest my sword shall meet thy pallid neck!”

Thrice shone the moon in her crystal cowl; the oars broke the waves.  The fourth dawn came.  With it rose the coast of Romsdal.  Zinklar steered to land, an enemy come with the morn.  He took up blade and buckler; his casque concealed his brow.  Behold the host at his back!  Fourteen hundred raised the spear.

They slew and burned whither they went--all wept at their coming.  Neither age nor youth was spared!  From the mother's breast they tore the babe, and dashed it on the hoary rock.  Before them were driven the maids of an hundred farms.

Clear sounded the signal--hard the herald rode.  To the halls he turned his face. "Wherefore, o Northmen, raise you the shell?  Raise instead the sword--we must our land defend, and cursed the slave who'd spare his blood!"

As rises the rolling tide rose the mists of night on Bredebojgd's vale.  So too rose Zinklar.  Not lightly fell his steps!  His locks were rent by the blast.  The traveler quaked in fear.  To thy Leavings, o Fenrir! the Northmen lifted their spears!

They met, and amid the trees the strife of heroes raged.  The souls of Northmen rose. Heavy fell the axes on Alba's sons, and fast fell the darts of Norway's bows.

On the moss Zinklar fell; he pulled an arrow from his side.  Purple rolled his gore, as rolls the stream to the fjord!  His sword faltered, and in the house of Death he saw his fathers.

"On, Northmen!" the herald cried. "On, favored of Aesir!  We advance with the dawn!  Our souls shine in war."
With dead flesh the ravens ate their fill.  Over the foeman's blood that there did flow, the maids of Alba raised their song.  They looked to the sea; but their heroes returned not.

A stone the Northmen raised at Kringen, and carved in runes thereon: "Hear, o foeman, and fear the Northman's steel!  Here you fell, and fall you shall again!  Remember when, before the dawn, over the heath they came!"

Oh, a song of other years!