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THE BATTLE OF STIKLESTAD
In all his life that had found him
In his deeds rejoicing
And laughing.
His way lay clear before him,
As up a sunlit mountain,
All about him glitter
And song.
Felt he as by invisible
Hands were he upborne,
With every blow still higher
He rose,
Until the peak attaining,
Beaming upon him,
Gently smiling saw he
A maid.
Ingigerd was the vision;
’*Mid a host of angels,
In fleecy-white cloud garments
She stood,
Smiled on him, down-reaching
Snow-white hands to greet him... .
Then almost with longing
He swooned.
But once more collected
Were his thoughts—and nothing
Saw he, save the battle
He fought.
Heard he nothing either,
Save the cries of the conflict,
IO!
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