EINAR TAMBERSKELVER.
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t was Einar TamberskelverStood beside the mast;From his yew-bow, tipped with silver,Flew the arrows fast;Aimed at Eric unavailing,As he sat concealed,Half behind the quarter-railing,Half behind his shield. First an arrow struck the tiller,Just above his head;"Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller,"Then Earl Eric said."Sing the song of Hakon dying,Sing his funeral wail!"And another arrow flyingGrazed his coat of mail. Turning to a Lapland yeoman,As the arrow passed,Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowmanStanding by the mast."Sooner than the word was spokenFlew the yeoman's shaft;Einar's bow in twain was broken,Einar only laughed. "What was that?" said Olaf, standingOn the quarter-deck."Something heard I like the strandingOf a shattered wreck."Einar then, the arrow takingFrom the loosened string,Answered, "That was Norway breakingFrom thy hand, O king!" "Thou art but a poor diviner,"Straightway Olaf said;"Take my bow, and swifter, Einar,Let thy shafts be sped."Of his bows the fairest choosing,Reached he from above;Einar saw the blood-drops oozingThrough his iron glove. But the bow was thin and narrow;At the first assay,O'er its head he drew the arrow,Flung the bow away;Said, with hot and angry temperFlushing in his cheek,"Olaf! for so great a K‰mperAre thy bows too weak!" Then, with smile of joy defiantOn his beardless lip,Scaled he, light and self-reliant,Eric's dragon-ship.Loose his golden locks were flowing,Bright his armor gleamed;Like Saint Michael overthrowingLucifer he seemed.
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