HERVOR.
I must to my ships repair;
'Tis nought to me; be that their care; If in the purple fount of life
They steep the steel in mortal strife,
By no ignoble stroke they fall,
And sink with joy to Odin's hall.
ARGANTYR.
Hie thee hence from death's domain,
With rev'rence keep Hialmar's bane;
Touch but the blade, a warrior dies,
On either edge quick poison lies:
Thou art of a race divine,
Take the gift the gods assign.
Never shall Trifingus sleep,
But move with desolating sweep;
Never fear invade my breast,
Nor dying sons my peace molest;
If by Trifingus' stroke they fall,
They sink with joy to Odin's hall.
ARGANTYR.
Hark, e'en now with sullen moan
Victims twelve beneath thee groan:
Armed in paternal might,
Go forth, my child, and dare the fight;
Angrim's portion'd wealth is thine;
Take the gift the gods assign.
Now, in the silence of the tomb,
Dwell undisturb'd till final doom:
I must tread my destin'd road,
And speed me from this drear abode;
For here, as still my steps I turn,
Flaky fires around me burn.
HEAR, ye Rulers of the North,
Spirits of exalted worth;
By the silence of the night,
By subtle magic's secret rite;
By Pèolphan murky King,
Master of th' enchanted ring;
By all and each of hell's grim host,
Howling demon, tortur'd ghost;
By each spell and potent word
Burst from lips of Glauron's Lord;
By Coronzon's awful power;
By the dread and solemn hour,
When Gual fierce, and Damael strong,
Stride the blast that roars along;
Or, in fell descending swoop,
Bid the furious spirit stoop
O'er desolation's gloomy plain,
Haunt of warriors battle slain.
Now the world in sleep is laid,
THORBIORGA calls your aid.
Mark the sable feline coat,
Spotted girdle velvet-wrought;
Mark the skin of glistening snake,
Sleeping seiz'd in forest brake;
Mark the radiant crystal stone,
On which days Sovereign never shone,
From the cavern dark and deep
Digg'd i' th' hour of mortal sleep;
Mark the cross, in mystic round
Meetly o'er the sandal bound,
And the symbols grav'd thereon,
Holiest Tetragrammaton !
Now while midnight torches gleam,
Rivals of the Moon's pale beam,
On ocean's unfrequented shore
Some moss-grown ruin silvering o'er.
While the flame of resinous fire
Mounts aloft in curling spire;
I scatter round this charmed room,
The fragrance of the myrrh's perfume;
And, bending o'er this consecrated sword,
Confirm each murmur'd spell, each inly-thril-
ling word.
BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE.
FILL the honey'd bev'rage high,
Fill the sculls, 'tis ODIN's cry:
Heard ye not the powerful call,
Thund'ring thro' the vaulted hall ?
"Fill the meath, and spread the board,
"Vassals of the griesly Lord."-
The portal hinges grate,-they come-
The din of voices rocks the dome.
In stalk the various forms, and, drest
In various armour, various vest,
With helm and morion, targe and shield,
Some quivering launces couch, some biting maces wield : All march with haughty step, all proudly shake the
The feast begins, the scull goes round,
Laughter shouts-the shouts resound.
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