Ragnar Lodbrok, in the mean while, had not been inactive, but had continued his adventurous career, winning numerous battles, and bringing home much plunder to enrich his kingdom and subjects.

“’I have fought battles
Fifty and one
Which were famous;
I have wounded many men.’”

                            Ragnar’s Sons’ Saga.

The hero’s last expedition was against Ella, 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 would lead the einheriar (spirits of dead warriors) to their daily battles.