ODIN.

Yet awhile my call obey;

Prophetess, awake, and say,

What Virgins thefe, in fpeechless woe,
That bend to earth their folemn brow,
That their flaxen treffes tear,

And fnowy veils, that float in air.

Tell me whence their forrows rofe:

Then I leave thee to repose.

PROPHETESS.

Ha! no Traveller art thou,

King of Men, I know thee now;

Mightieft of a mighty line

ODIN.

No boding Maid of skill divine Art thou, nor Prophetefs of good,

But mother of the giant-brood!

PRO

ANODE.

PROPHET ESS.

Hie thee hence, and boast at home,

That never shall enquirer come

To break my iron-sleep again;

Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain.

Never, till fubftantial Night

Has reaffum'd her ancient right;

Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd,

Sinks the fabric of the world.

125

THE

TRIUMPHS OF OWEN.

A FRAGMENT.

FROM

Mr. EVANS's Specimen of Welsh Poetry;

LONDON, 1764, Quarto.

I 3

1

ADVERTISEMENT.

OWEN fucceeded his father GRIFFIN in the

principality of NORTH WALES, A. D.

1120. This battle was fought near forty years afterwards.