Death Of The Old Sea King.

'Twas a fearful night - the tempest raved          With loud and wrathful pride,      The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,          And rode on the raging tide.      The sea-king lay on his bed of death,          Pale mourners around him bent;      They knew the wild and fitful life          Of their chief was almost spent.      His ear was growing dull in death          When the angry storm he heard,      The sluggish blood in the old man's veins          With sudden vigor stirred.      "I hear them call," cried the dying man,          His eyes grew full of light;      "Now bring me here my warrior robes,          My sword and armor bright.      "In the tempest's lull I heard a voice,          I knew 'twas Odin's call.      The Valkyrs are gathering round my bed          To lead me unto his hall.      "Bear me unto my noblest ship,          Light up a funeral pyre;      I'll walk to the palace of the braves          Through a path of flame and fire."      Oh! wild and bright was the stormy light          That flashed from the old man's eye,      As they bore him from the couch of death          To his battle-ship to die,      And lit with many a mournful torch          The sea-king's dying bed,      And like a banner fair and bright          The flames around him spread.      But they heard no cry of anguish          Break through that fiery wall,      With rigid brow and silent lips          He was seeking Odin's hall.      Through a path of fearful splendor,          While strong men held their breath,      The brave old man went boldly forth          And calmly talked with death.