Orry The Dane Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

In fifty keels and five
Rush'd over the pirate swarm,
Hornets out of the Northern hive,
Hawks on the wings of the storm;
Blood upon talons and beak,
Blood from their helms to their heels,
Blood on the hand and blood on the cheek!--
In five and fifty keels.

O fiere and terrible horde
That shout about Orry the Dane,
Clanging the shield and clashing the sword
To the roar of the storm-tost main!
And hard on the shore they drive,
Ploughing through shingle and sand,--
And high and dry those fifty and five
Are haul'd in line upon land.

And ho! for the torch straightway,
In honour of Odin and Thor,--
And the blazing night is as bright as the day,
As a gift to the gods of war;
For down to the melting sand,
And over each flaring mast,
Those fifty and five they have burnt as they stand
To the tune of the surf and the blast!

A ruthless, desperate crowd
They trample the shingle at Lhane,
And hungry for slaughter they clamour aloud
For the Viking, for Orry the Dane!
And swift has he flown at the foe,--
For the clustering clans are here,--
But light is the club and weak is the bow
To the Norseman sword and spear;

And woe to the patriot Manx,
The right overthrown by the wrong,--
For the sword hews hard at the staggering ranks,
And the spear drives deep and strong:
And Orry the Dane stands proud
King of the bloodstained field,
Lifted on high, by the shouldering crowd
On the batter'd boss of his shield.

Yet though such a man of blood,
So terrible, fierce, and fell,
King Orry the Dane had come hither for good,
And govern'd the clans right well;
Freedom and laws and right,
He sow'd the good seed all round,--
And built up high in the People's sight
Their famous Tynwald mound;

And elders twenty and four
He set for the House of Keys,
And all was order from shore to shore
In the fairest Isle of the Seas:
Though he came a Destroyer, I wist,
He remain'd as a Ruler to save,
And yonder he sleeps in the roadside kist
They call King Orry's grave.