  Sleep soundly, little Thorlak, Where all thy peers have lain, A hero of no battle, A saint without a stain! Thy courage be upon thee, Unblemished by regret, For that adventure whither Thy tiny march was set. The sunshine be above thee, With birds and winds and trees. Thy way-fellows inherit No better things than these. And silence be about thee, Turned back from this our war To front alone the valley Of night without a star. The soul of love and valor, Indifferent to fame, Be with thee, heart of vikings, Beyond the breath of blame. Thy moiety of manhood Unspent and fair, go down, And, unabashed, encounter Thy brothers of renown. So modest in thy freehold And tenure of the earth, Thy needs, for all our meddling, Are few and little worth. Content thee, not with pity; Be solaced, not with tears; But when the whitethroats waken Through the revolving years, Hereafter be that peerless And dirging cadence, child, Thy threnody unsullied, Melodious, and wild. Then winter be thy housing, Thy lullaby the rain, Thou hero of no battle, Thou saint without a stain. |
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