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Long on these mould'ring bones have beat

The winter's snow, the summer's heat,

The drenching dews, and driving rain!

Let me, let me sleep again.

Who is he, with voice unblest,

That calls me from the bed of reft?

O. A Traveller, to thee unknown,

Is he that calls, a Warriour's Son.

Thou the deeds of light shalt know;

Tell me what is done below,

For whom yon glittring board is spread,

Drest for whom yon golden bed.

Pr. Mantling Pr. Mantling in the goblet see

The pure bey'rage of the bee,


O'er it hangs the shield of gold ,

'Tis the drink of Balder bold:

Balder's head to death is giv'n.

Pain can reach the Sons of Heav'n!

Unwilling I my lips unclose:

Leave me, leave me to repose,

0. Once again my call obey,

Prophetess, arise, and say,

What dangers Odin's Child await,

Who the Author of his fate.

PR. In Hoder's hand the Heroe's doom :

His Brother sends him to the tomb,

Now my weary lips I close :

Leave me, leave me to repose,

O. Prophetess, my spell obey,

Once again arise, and say,

Who th’ Avenger of his guilt,

By whom shall Heder's blood be spilt.

Pr. In the caverns of the west,

By Odin's fierce embrace comprest,

A wondrous Boy shall Rinda bear,

Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair,


Nor wash his visage in the stream,

Nor see the sun's departing beam;

Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile

Flaming on the fun’ral pile.

Now my weary lips I close:

Leave me, leave me to repose.

O. Yet a while my call obey.

Prophetess, awake, and say,

What Virgins these, in speechless woe,

That bend to earth their folemn brow,

That their flaxen tresses tear,

And snowy veils, that float in air.

Tell Tell me whence their sorrows rose :

Then I leave thee to repose.

PR. Ha! no Traveller art thou,

King of Men, I know thee now,

Mightiest of a mighty line

0. No boding Maid of skill divine

Art thou, nor Prophetess of good ;

But mother of the giant-brood!

Pr. Hie thee hence, and bcast at home,

That never shall Enquirer come


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