a, King of Northumberland. From
the very outset the gods seemed to have decided that Ragnar should not
prove as successful as usual. The poets tell us that they even sent the
Valkyrs (battle maidens of northern mythology) to warn him of his coming
defeat, and to tell him of the bliss awaiting him in Valhalla.

"'Regner! tell thy fair-hair'd bride
She must slumber at thy side!
Tell the brother of thy breast
Even for him thy grave hath rest!
Tell the raven steed which bore thee
When the wild wolf fled before thee,
He too with his lord must fall,--
There is room in Odin's Hall!'"
MRS. HEMANS, _Valkyriur Song_.

[Sidenote: Death of Ragnar Lodbrok.] In spite of this warning, Ragnar went
on. Owing to the magic shirt he wore, he stood unharmed in the midst of the
slain long after all his brave followers had perished; and it was only
after a whole day's fighting that the enemy finally succeeded in making him
a prisoner. Then the followers of Ella vainly besought Ragnar to speak and
tell his name. As he remained obstinately silent they finally flung him
into a den of snakes, where the reptiles crawled all over him, vainly
trying to pierce the magic shirt with their venomous fangs. Ella perceived
at last that it was this garment which preserved his captive from death,
and had it forcibly removed. Ragnar was then thrust back amid the writhing,
hissing snakes, which bit him many times. Now that death was near, the
hero's tongue was loosened, not to give vent to weak complaints, but to
chant a triumphant death song, in which he recounted his manifold battles,
and foretold that his brave sons would avenge his cruel death.

"'Grim stings the adder's forked dart;
The vipers nestle in my heart.
But soon, I wot, shall Vider's wand,
Fixed in Ella's bosom stand.
My youthful sons with rage will swell,
Listening how their father fell;
Those gallant boys in peace unbroken
Will never rest, till I be wroken [avenged].'"
_Death Song of Regner Lodbrock_ (Herbert's tr.).

This heroic strain has been immortalized by ancient scalds and modern
poets. They have all felt the same admiration for the dauntless old viking,
who, even amid the pangs of death, gloried in his past achievements, and
looked ardently forward to his sojourn in Valhalla. There, he fancied, he
would still be able to indulge in warfare, his favorite pastime, and wou