Tales of a Wayside Inn : Part 1. the Musician's Tale; the Saga of King Olaf 20

It was Einar Tamberskelver Stood 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 flying Grazed his coat of mail. Turning to a Lapland yeoman, As the arrow passed, Said Earl Eric, 'Shoot that bowman Standing by the mast.' Sooner than the word was spoken Flew the yeoman's shaft; Einar's bow in twain was broken, Einar only laughed. 'What was that?' said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck. 'Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck.' Einar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered, 'That was Norway breaking From 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 oozing Through 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 temper Flushing in his cheek, 'Olaf! for so great a Kämper Are thy bows too weak!' Then, with smile of joy defiant On 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 overthrowing Lucifer he seemed.