Long on these mould'ring bones have beat

The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat,

The drenching dews, and driving rain!

Let me, let me fleep again.

Who is he, with voice unbleft,

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 fhalt know;

Tell me what is done below,

For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread,

Dreft for whom yon golden bed.

PR. Mantling

PR. Mantling in the goblet fee

The pure bev'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 repofe,

O. Once again my call obey,

Prophetess, arife, 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 fends him to the tomb.

Now my weary lips I close :

Leave me, leave me to repose,

O. Prophetess, my spell obey,

Once again arife, and fay,

Who th' Avenger of his guilt,

By whom fhall Hoder's blood be spilt.

PR. In the caverns of the west,

By Odin's fierce embrace compreft,

A wond'rous Boy fhall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er fhall comb his raven-hair,

Nor

Nor wash his visage in the ftream,

Nor fee the fun's departing beam;

Till he on Hoder's corfe fhall smile

Flaming on the fun'ral pile.

Now my weary lips I close:

Leave me, leave me to repofe.

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 treffes tear,

And fnowy veils, that float in air.

Tell

Tell me whence their forrows rofe:

Then I leave thee to repofe.

PR. Ha! no Traveller art thou,

King of Men, I know thee now,

Mightieft of a mighty line

O. No boding Maid of skill divine

Art thou, nor Prophetefs of good;

But mother of the giant-brood!

PR. Hie thee hence, and boaft at home,

That never shall Enquirer come

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