Ere the ruddy sun be set,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet,

Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

Where our friends the conflict share,

Where they triumph, where they die.

As the paths of Fate we tread,

Wading through th' ensanguined field, Gondula, and Geira, spread

O'er the youthful King your shield.

We the reins to slaughter give,

Ours to kill, and ours to spare:

Spite of danger he shall live.

(Weave the crimson web of war.)

They, whom once the desert beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample sway shall stretch

O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntless Earl is laid,

Gored with many a gaping wound:

Fate demands a nobler head;

Soon a King shall bite the ground.

Long his loss shall Eirin* weep,
Ne'er again his likeness see;
Long her strains in sorrow steep:
Strains of immortality!

Horror covers all the heath,

Clouds of carnage blot the sun. Sisters, weave the web of death.— Sisters, cease: the work is done.

Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph sing!

Joy to the victorious bands;

Triumph to the younger King!

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,
Learn the tenour of our song.

Scotland, through each winding vale

Far and wide the notes prolong.

*Ireland.

Sisters, hence with spurs of speed:

Each her thundering faulchion wield :

Each bestride her sable steed.

Hurry, hurry to the field.

No. XLIII.

THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.

-GRAY.

The original is to be found in Bartholinus, de causis contemnendæ mortis ; Hafnia, 1689, quarto.

Upreis Odinn allda gautr, &c.

*

UPROSE the King of Men with speed,
And saddled straight his coal-black steed:
Down the yawning steep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.*
Him the Dog of Darkness spied;

His shaggy throat he open'd wide,

While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,

Foam and human gore

distill'd:

Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle. Over it presided Hela, the Goddess of Death.

Hoarse he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;
And long pursues, with fruitless yell,
The Father of the powerful spell.
Onward still his way he takes,

(The groaning earth beneath him shakes,) Till full before his fearless eyes

The portals nine of Hell arise.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the moss-grown pile, he sate;
Where long of yore to sleep was laid
The dust of the prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,

Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme;

Thrice pronounced, in accents dread,

The thrilling verse that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground

Slowly breathed a sullen sound.

PROPHETESS.

What call unknown, what charms, presume

To break the quiet of the tomb?

Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite,

And drags me from the realms of night?

A a