Charles Hubert Hastings Parry
2 voix · Voice, Piano
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A tearful boy king Olaf stood ’Mid his warriors grim and grey, As the good ship bore him over the flood, From his first fond love away. His wistful eyes still sought the shore, But the rough earls laugh’d that Odin’s seed The woodland flow’r should stoop to heed, The Maid of Elsinore. The mountain pine grows strong and sure, By northern tempests sway’d, The frail harebell will bloom secure In the shelter’d forest glade; Thus Olaf’s arm wax’d great in war, Till distant isles his prowess knew, And fairer bloom’d and ever true The Maid of Elsinore. ’Twas ten long years of storm and fight By many a foreign main, Ere great king Olaf’s conquering might Came sailing home again; The Viking ships were rang’d ashore, The rough earls laugh’d in scorn no more, He plac’d her hands within his own, Upon her brow the queenly crown, O’er fjord and field the glad bells peal’d, For the Maid, the Maid of Elsinore.
OpenScore (CC0)
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