ly one child,
a daughter, called Thora, and had no son. Now he told them to send a
message to Eirik's sons, that they should be kings over the country;
but asked them to hold his friends in respect and honour. "And if
fate," added he, "should prolong my life, I will, at any rate, leave the
country, and go to a Christian land, and do penance for what I have done
against God; but should I die in heathen land, give me any burial you
think fit." Shortly afterwards Hakon expired, at the little hill on the
shore-side at which he was born. So great was the sorrow over Hakon's
death, that he was lamented both by friends and enemies; and they said
that never again would Norway see such a king. His friends removed his
body to Saeheim, in North Hordaland, and made a great mound, in which
they laid the king in full armour and in his best clothes, but with no
other goods. They spoke over his grave, as heathen people are used to
do, and wished him in Valhal. Eyvind Skaldaspiller composed a poem on
the death of King Hakon, and on how well he was received in Valhal. The
poem is called "Hakonarmal":--

"In Odin's hall an empty place
Stands for a king of Yngve's race;
'Go, my valkyries,' Odin said,
'Go forth, my angels of the dead,
Gondul and Skogul, to the plain
Drenched with the battle's bloody rain,
And to the dying Hakon tell,
Here in Valhal shall he dwell.'

"At Stord, so late a lonely shore,
Was heard the battle's wild uproar;
The lightning of the flashing sword
Burned fiercely at the shore of Stord.
From levelled halberd and spearhead
Life-blood was dropping fast and red;
And the keen arrows' biting sleet
Upon the shore at Stord fast beat.

"Upon the thundering cloud of shield
Flashed bright the sword-storm o'er the field;
And on the plate-mail rattled loud
The arrow-shower's rushing cloud,
In Odin's tempest-weather, there
Swift whistling through the angry air;
And the spear-torrents swept away
Ranks of brave men from light of day.

"With batter'd shield, and blood-smear'd sword
Slits one beside the shore of Stord,
With armour crushed and gashed sits he,
A grim and ghastly sight to see;
And round about in sorrow stand
The warriors of his gallant band:
Because the king of Dags' old race
In Odin's hall must fill a place.

"Then up spake Gondul, standing