(See Note 10) Broad The Sails O'Er The North Sea Go; High On Deck In The Morning Glow Erling Skjalgsson From Sole Scans All The Sea Toward Denmark: "Cometh Never Olaf Trygvason?" Six And Fifty The Ships Are There, Sails Are Let Down, Toward Denmark Stare Sun-Reddened Men; - Then Murmur: "Where Is The Great Long Serpent? Cometh Never Olaf Trygvason?" When The Sun In The Second Dawn Cloudward Rising No Mast Had Drawn, Grew To A Storm Their Clamor: "Where Is The Great Long Serpent? Cometh Never Olaf Trygvason?" Silent, Silent That Moment Bound, Stood They All; For From Ocean'S Ground Sighed Round The Fleet A Muffled: "Taken The Great Long Serpent, Fallen Is Olaf Trygvason." Ever Since, Through So Many A Year, Norway'S Ships Must Beside Them Hear, Clearest In Nights Of Moonshine: "Taken The Great Long Serpent, Fallen Is Olaf Trygvason."