The Last Viking

Nora Hopper Chesson

Nora Hopper Chesson portrait

1871 to 1906

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Track 1

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And all the tale of their greatness ceased.
I'm sick of sowing and reaping folk,
And drifted, alive, where the dead seas are,
Has beaten for me, and eyes more fair
They passed from fray and they passed from feast,
Though we met no gods and we saw no star,
When they sat at the feast and they drank brown ale,
And the wind shall take us where we would be,
The kisses fail me, my gold being spent,
They were gods, and answered a dearer call
Yet our path were safer, our guide more kind
We'll out and away on the calling sea,
Row ye well; for my purpose stands,
As the old gods did, with unloving eyes,
Where the sleeping girth of the Midgards-orm
To men grown weary of easy days;
I know not. They followed, and so will I,
Breaks on the homesteads, and faring-folk,
My arms are rusty, my silken gear
And push our helm into shoreless seas,
I've bartered for kisses not warm or dear;
And I go on the path the old gods went.
Till the Twilight come, and our oar-blades fail,
And I am weary of meadowlands.
Of arled herdsmen and beasts in yoke.
But it comes to me, as it comes to all,
Have smiled for me under unbound hair.
Till we lose all knowledge of star or breeze,
And bold though the vaunt of the giant brood,
Than the voices of folk that loved them all.
They were gods, but they knew what the strong sea says,
Oh, fair are the women of stead and town,
It comes to me from the board to rise
Than paths and voices we leave behind.
To sail for ever, and never die!
But softer heart 'neath a vadmal gown
Lies round the earth, till the last great storm
And gold though the trees of Glasir stood,
Of the voice that called to their wayward feet.
As cold as the splatter of water clear.
What signs were set in the Norland sky
On the outland seas we will set our sail,
There's none will pause when the sea-winds blow.
For portent above or for sign below
And talk with the gods that we chance to meet
And they heard the wind through a flapping sail.
And the world grows dim towards Ragnarok.
That I am weary of folk in hall,
That laughter of women falls on my ear
We are well away, and content were I

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