Thorstein the Red was a son of Olaf the White, King of Dublin. Uniting his forces with those of Earl Sigurd of Orkney, they conquered Caithness, Strathnaver, and Sutherland from the Scots (875). On the death of Guttorm, son of Sigurd, the conquered territories appear to have passed to Earl Duncan (as in Duncansbay), a Scottish noble who had married the Lady Groa, daughter of Thorstein, and heiress of his Scottish conquests. Their daughter Grelauga married Earl Thorfinn of the Orkneys, whose fame has been recorded as the "Cleaver of Helmets", and from these two is lineally descended the present Earl of Caithness, and all the St. Clairs of the Isles. Thorstein's warlike spirit is graphically presented to us in the following animated stanzas: -
'Tis not the gray hawk's flight o'er mountain and mere;
'Tis not the fleet hounds course, tracking the deer;
'Tis not the light hoof-print of black steed or gray,
Though sweltering it gallop a long summer's day,
Which mete forth the lordships I challenge as mine;
Ha! ha! 'tis the good brand I clutch in my strong hand,
That can their broad marches and numbers define.
LAND GIVER! I kiss thee.
Dull builders of houses, base tillers of earth,
Gaping, ask me what lordships I owned at my birth;
But the pale fools wax mute when I point with my sword
East, west, north, and south, shouting: "There am I lord !"
Wold and waste, town and tower, hill, valley and stream,
Trembling, bow to my sway
In the fierce battle fray,
When the star that rules fate is this falchion's red gleam.
MIGHT GIVER ! I kiss thee.
I've heard great harps sounding in brave bower and hall;
I've drunk the sweet music that bright lips let fall;
I've hunted in greenwood, and heard small birds sing;
But a way with this idle and cold jargoning !
The music I love is the shout of the brave,
The yell of the dying.
The scream of the flying,
When this arm wields death's sickle and garners the grave.
JOY GIVER ! I kiss thee.
Far isles of the ocean thy lightning hath known,
And wide o'er the mainland thy horrors have shone.
Great sword of my father, stern joy of his hand;
Thou hast carved his name deep on the stranger's red strand,
And won him the glory of undying song.
Keen cleaver of gay crests,
Sharp piercer of broad breasts,
Grim slayer of heroes, and scourge of the strong !
FAME GIVER! I kiss thee.
In a love more abiding than that the heart knows,
For maiden more lovely than summers first rose,
My heart's knit to thine, and lives but for thee:
In dreamings of gladness thou'rt dancing with me,
Brave measures of madness, in some battle-field,
Where armour is ringing,
And noble blood springing,
And cloven, yawn helmet, stout hauberk, and shield.
DEATH GIVER ! I kiss thee.
The Smile of a maiden's eye soon may depart;
And light is the faith of fair woman's heart;
Changeful as light clouds, and wayward as wind,
Be the passions that govern weak woman's mind.
But thy metal's as true as its polish is bright:
When ills wax in number,
Thy love will not slumber;
But, starlike, burns fiercer the darker the night.
HEART GLADDENER ! I kiss thee.
My kindred have perished by war or by wave;
Now, childless and sireless, I long for the grave.
When the path of our glory is shadowed in death,
With me thou wilt slumber below the brown heath;
Thou wilt rest on my bosom, and with it decay;
While harps shall be ringing.
And Scalds shall he singing
The deeds we have done in our old fearless day.
SONG GIVER ! I kiss thee.