To Go A-Viking

 

This land on which we dwell –

Friend, home, all that is to love

Is left behind, as mournful tolls the bell

When dragon prow breaks foam

Landfall next will cheerless be

 

This country where we now are found

Is mould damp and dripping eaves

Where clammy air must murder sound

Bones not break, but creak yet

All with rheum the augers burn

 

The furrows turned in frozen waves

Brown smell of earth on farmers ‘ feet

Is poor reward for salt sea slaves

Repining, we who must be free, yet

Free of yoke and free of mind

 

Away again with rolling grey

To rise and dip at seagull’s cry

Awake the birth of tangy day

To shove the soil at outstretched arm

Beyond the sight of keenest eye

 

Another landing space is spied

And drawn upon, beached,

Left stranded by the falling tide

While we seek those land-loving dolts

Do break down doors, burn off thatch

 

The pickings poor, we’re gone away

Some other souls to put to sword

Wives rape, gold take, men slay

And more, to burn the Christ-man’s church

In sacrifice to Thor