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Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see

That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare, * Its ancient lord secure of victory :

And Anjou'st heroine, and the paler rose, I The theatre's green height and woody wall

The rival of her crown and of her woes, Trembles ere it precipitates its fall;

And either Henry 5 there, The pond'rous mass sinks in the cleaving ground,

The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound.

That broke the bonds of Rome. As when from Ætna's smoking summit broke,

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, The eyeless Cyclops heav'd the craggy rock,

Their human passions now no more, Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar,

Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb,) And parting surges round the vessel roar;

All that on Granta's fruitful plain 'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm,

Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, And scarce Ulysses 'scap'd his giant arm.

And bade these aweful fanes and turrets rise, A tiger's pride the victor bore away,

To hail their Fitzroy's festa) morning come; With native spots and artful labour gay,

And thus they speak in soft accord A shining border round the margin rolld,

The liquid language of the skies.
And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold.

“ What is grandeur, what is power ?
Heavier toil, superior pain.

What the bright reward we gain?

The grateful memory of the good.
PERFORMED IN THE SENATE-HOUSE AT CAMBRIDGE, Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,

JULY 1, 1769, AT THE INSTALLATION OF HIS The bee's collected treasure's sweet,
GRACE AUGUSTUS-HENRY-FITZROY, DUKE OF Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet
GRAFTON, CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY. The still small voice of Gratitude."
" Hence, avaunt, ('t iş holy ground,)

Foremost and leaning from her golden cloud
Comus and his midnight-crew,

The venerable Margʻret || see ! And Ignorance with looks profound,

“ Welcome, my noble son," she cries aloud, And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

“ To this, thy kindred train, and me: Mad Sedition's cry profane,

Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace Servitude that hugs her chain,

A Tudor's T fire, a Beaufort's grace. Nor in these consecrated bowers

Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers.

The flower unheeded shall descry, Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,

And bid it round Heaven's altars shed Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

The fragrance of its blushing head : While bright-ey'd Science watches round:

Shall raise from Earth the latent gem, Hence, away, 't is holy ground !"

To glitter on the diadem. From yonder realms of empyrean day

“ Lo Granta waits to lead her blooming band, Barsts on my ear th' indignant lay :

Not obvious, not obtrusive, she There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine,

No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; The few, whom genius gave to shine

Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd Through every unborn age and undiscoverd clime.

Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: Rapt in celestial transport they,

She reveres herself and thee. Yet hither oft a glance from high

With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow They send of tender sympathy

The laureat wreath, that Cecil** wore, she brings, To bless the place, where on their opening soul

And to thy just, thy gentle hand First the genuine ardour stole.

Submits the fasces of her sway, 'T was Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell,

While spirits blest above and men below And, as the choral warblings round him swell,

Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime,

Through the wild waves as they roar And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.

With watchful eye and dauntless mien Ye brown o'er-arching groves,

Thy steady course of honour keep, That Contemplation loves,

Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore : Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!

The star of Brunswick smiles serene,
Oft at the blush of dawn

And gilds the horrours of the deep."
I trod your level lawn,
Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright

* Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife of John In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,

de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of With Freedom by my side, and soft-ey'd Melancholy.” Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres,

daughter of Edward the First. Hence the poet gives her the But bark! the portals sound, and pacing forth epithet of princely. She founded Clare-Hall. With solemn steps and slow,

† Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, foundress of

Queen's College. The poet had celebrated her conjugal High potentates and dames of royal birth,

fidelity in a former ode. And mitred fathers in long order go:

Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth (hence Great Edward,* with the lilies on bis brow,

called the paler rose, as being of the house of York). She From haughty Gallia torn,

added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou. And sad Chatillon,+ on her bridal morn

Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the founder

of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to Trinity Col• Edward the Third; who added the fleur-de-lis of France lege.

Ü Countess of Richmond and Derby; the mother of Henry to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College. † Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, daughter of

the Seventh, foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges. Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St. Paul in France: of whom The Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor; tradition says, that her husband, Audemar de Valentia, Earl hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament on the day of his who claims descent from both these families. nuptials. She was the foundress of Pembroke College or ** Lord-treasurer Burleigh was chancellor of the University Hall, under the name of Aula Mariæ de Valentia,

in the reign of Queen Elizabeth,

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She-wolf of France, * with unrelenting fangs,

That tears the bowels of thy mangled mate,

From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs

The scourge of Heaven, + What terrours, round him

wait ! “ Ruin seize thee, ruthless king !

Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd;
Confusion on thy banners wait!

And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
Though fanu'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.

“ • Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, Helm, nor hauberk's * twisted mail,

Low on his funeral couch he lies ! Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail

No pitying heart, no eye, afford
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,

A tear to grace his obsequies.
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !” Is the sable warriorg fled ?
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride Thy son is gone: he rests among the dead.
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,

The swarm, that in the noon-tide beam were born,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side

Gone to salute the rising Morn.
He wound with toilsome march his long array. Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,
Stout Glo'ster + stood aghast in speechless trance: While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
To arms! cried Mortimer, I and couch'd his quivering In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ;

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
On a rock, whose haughty brow

Regardless of the sweeping Wbirlwind's sway, Frowns o’er old Conway's foaming flood,

That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening-prey. Rob'd in the sable garb of woe,

“ • Fill high the sparkling bowl, With haggard eyes the poet stood ;

The rich repast prepare: (Loose his beard and hoary hair

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast :
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air,)
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,

Close by the regal chair

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave,

Heard ye the din of battle bray,|| Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath!

Lance to lance, and horse to horse? O'er thee, oh king ! their hundred arms they wave,

Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ;

And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.

With many a foul and midnight murther fed, " Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,

Revere his consort's** faith, his father's ++ fame, That hush'd the stormy main ;

And spare the meek usurper's It holy head. Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed :

Above, below, the roses of snow, Mountains, ye mourn in vain

Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread : Modred, whose magic song

The bristled boar || || in infant gore Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. On dreary Arvon's shore g they lie,

Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, Smeard with gore, and ghastly pale:

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail :

The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,

“Edward, lo! to sudden fate Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes,

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,

Half of thy heart we consecrate. I Ye died amidst your dying country's cries

(The web is wove. The work is done.) No more I weep. They do not sleep.

Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,

Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn:
I see them sit, they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:

* Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous queen. With me in dreadful harmony they join,

+ Triumphs of Edward the Third in France. And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.

Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even

robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his mistress. II.

$ Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before his

father. " • Weave the warp, and weave the woof,

|| Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. The winding-sheet of Edward's race :

Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, Edward the Give ample room, and verge enough

Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c. believed to be murdered seThe characters of Hell to trace.

cretly in the Tower of London. The oldest part of that strucMark the year, and mark the night,

ture is vulgarly attributed to Julius Cæsar. When Severn shall re-echo with affright

** Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, who struggled

hard to save her husband and her crown. The shrieks of death, through Berkley's roofs that ringill

ft Henry the Fifth. Shrieks of an agonizing king ;

11 Henry the Sixth, very near being canonized. The line of

Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown. * The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets, or rings in

$ $ The white and red roses, devices of York and Lancaster. terwoven, forming a coat of mail, that sat close to the body, 11 | The silver-boar was the badge of Richard the Third ; and adapted itself to every motion.

whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of + Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl of Gloucester

The Boar. and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward.

1 Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest of Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore.

Wales. The heroic proof she gave of her affection for her lord The shores of Caernarvonshire opposite to the Isle of is well known. The monuments of his regret, and sorrow for Anglesea.

the loss of her are still to be seen at Northampton, Geddingv Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkley castle. ton, Waltham, and other places.

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Ev'ry warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link :
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce,
Or the grape's ecstatic juice.
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn,
But none from Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong,
(Bursting thro' the bloody throng)
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep, and sing their fall.

In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
Bat oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height
Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Arthur* we bewail.
Al bail, ye genuine kings + Britannia's issue, hail !
“ Girt with many a baron bold
Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old,
In bearded majesty, appear.
In the midst a form divine !
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
What strains of vocal transport round her play ;
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, i hear;
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings,
Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings.
“ The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,
And Trath severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskind measures ♡ move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horrour, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice,|| as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious man, think'st thou, yon sanguine cloud,
Rais’d by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me : with joy I see
The different doom our Fates assign.
Be thine Despair, and scepter'd Care:
To triumph, and to die, are mine."
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.


ADVERTISEMENT. MR. GRAY's Elegy, previous to its publication,

was handed about in MS. and had, amongst other admirers, the Lady Cobham, who resided in the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis. The performance induced her to wish for the Author's acquaintance; Lady Schaub and Miss Speed, then at her house, undertook to introduce her to it. These two ladies waited upon the Author, at his aunt's solitary habitation, where he at that time resided, and not finding him at home, they left a card behind them. Mr. Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned the visit; and as the beginning of this intercourse bore some appearance of romance, he gave the humourous and lively account of it which the Long Story contains.

In Britain's isle, no matter where,
An ancient pile of building stands ; *
The Huntingdons and Hattons there
Employ'd the pow'r of Fairy hands.

To raise the ceiling's fretted height,
Each pannel in achievements clothing,
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages that lead to nothing.

Full oft within the spacious walls,
When he had fifty winters o'er him,
My grave Lord-Keeper + led the brawls :
The seal and maces danc'd before him.

His bushy-beard and shoe-strings green,
His high-crown'd hat and satin doublet,
Mov'd the stout heart of England's queen,
Tho' Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.

What, in the very first beginning,
Shame of the versifying tribe!
Your hist'ry whither are you spinning?
Can you do nothing but describe?

A house there is (and that's enough)
From whence one fatal morning issues
A brace of warriors, I not in buff,
But rustling in their silks and tissues.

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THE DEATH OF HOEL. From the Welsh of Aneurim, styled the Monarch


A. D. 570.
Had I but the torrent's might,
With headlong rage, and wild affright,
Upon Deira's squadrons hurl'd,
To rush and sweep them from the world!
Too, too secure in youthful pride,
By them my friend, my Hoel, dy'd,
Great Cian's son; of Modoc old,
He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd,
He ask'd, and had the lovely maid.

To Cattraeth’s vale, in glittring row,

Twice two hundred warriors go : * It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and should return again to + Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor.

| Taliessen, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth century. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen. Shakspeare.

| Milton. The succession of poets after Milton's time.

reign over Britain.

* The mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis, then in the possession of the Viscountess Cobham. The style of building, which we now call Queen Elizabeth's, is here admirably described, both with regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth as delineate the fantastic manners of her time with equal truth and humour. The house formerly belonged to the Earls of Huntingdon and the family of Hatton.

+ Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen Elizabeth for his graceful person and fine dancing.–Brawls were a sort of a figure dance then in vogue, and probably deemed as elegant as our modern cotillons, or still more modern quadrilles.

1 The reader is already apprized who these ladies were ; the two descriptions are prettily contrasted; and nothing can be more happily turned than the compliment to Lady Cobham in the eighth stanza.

The first came cap-a-piè from France,

Yet on his way (no sign of grace, Her conqu’ring destiny fulfilling,

For folks in fear are apt to pray) Whom meaner beauties eye askance,

To Phæbus he preferr'd his case And vainly ape her art of killing.

And begg'd his aid that dreadful day. The other Amazon kind heav'n

The godhead would have back'd his quarrel : Had arm’d with spirit, wit, and satire !

But with a blush, on recollection, But Cobham had the polish giv'n,

Own'd that his quiver and his laurel And tipp'd her arrows with good nature.

'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. To celebrate her eyes, her air

The court was sat, the culprit there ; Coarse panegyrics would but tease her;

Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, Melissa is her nom du guerre;

The lady Janes and Joans repair Alas: who would not wish to please her:

And from the gallery stand peeping: With bonnet blue and capuchin,

Such as in silence of the night And aprous long, they hid their armour,

Come (sweep) along some winding entry, And veil'd their weapons, bright and keen,

(Styack* las often seen the sight) In pity to the country farmer.

Or at the chapel-door stand sentry; Fame, in the shape of P-t, *

In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish'd (By this time all the parish know it)

Sour visages enough to scare ye, Had told that thereabouts there lurk'd

High dames of honour once that garnish'd A wicked imp they call a Poet.

The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary! Who prowl'd the country far and near,

The peeress comes : the audience stare, Bewitch'd the children of the peasants,

And doff their hats with due submission; Dry'd up the cows and lam'd the deer,

She court'sies, as she takes her chair, And suck'd the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants.

To all the people of condition. My Lady heard their joint petition,

The Bard with many an artfal fib Swore by her coronet and ermine,

Had in imagination fenc'd him, She'd issue out her high commission

Disprov'd the arguments of Squib, To rid the manor of such vermin.

And all that Groom could urge against him. The heroines andertook the task;

But soon his rhetoric forsook him, Thro' lanes anknown, o'er stiles they ventur'd,

When he the solemn hall had seen; Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask,

A sudden fit of ague shook him; But bounce into the parlour enter'd.

He stood as mute as poor Maclean. The trembling family they daunt,

Yet something he was heard to mutter, They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle,

How in the park, beneath an old tree, Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt,

(Without design to hurt the butter, And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle.

Or any malice to the poultry) Each hole and cupboard they explore,

“ He once or twice had penn'd a sonnet, Each creek and cranny of his chamber,

Yet hop'd that he might save his bacon; Run harry scurry, round the floor,

Numbers would give their oaths upon it, And o'er the bed and tester clamber.

He ne'er was for a conj'rer taken." Into the drawers and china pry,

The ghostly prudes with bagged || face, Papers and books, a huge imbroglio!

Already had condem'd the sinner: Under a tea-cup he might lie,

My Lady rose, and with a graceOr creas'd like dogos-ears in a folio.

She smild, and bid him come to dinner. I On the first marching of the troops,

Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget, The Muses, hopeless of his pardon,

Why, what can the Vicountess mean!" Convey'd him underneath their hoops

Cry'd the square hoods, in woeful fidget ; To a small closet in the garden.

“ The times are alter'd quite and clean! So Rumour says; (who will believe)

Decorum's turn'd to mere civility! Bat that they left the door a-jar,

Her air and all her manners shew it: Where safe, and laughing in his sleeve, .

Commend me to her affability; He heard the distant din of war?

Speak to a Commoner and Poet !" Short was his joy : he little knew

(Here 500 stanzas are lost.) The power of magic was no fable;

And so God save our noble king, Out of the window whisk they flew,

And guard us from long winded lubbers, But left a spell upon the table.

That to eternity would sing,
The words too eager to unriddle

And keep my lady from her rubbers.
The Poet felt a strange disorder ;
Transparent birdlime form'd the middle,

* The Housekeeper.
+ The Steward.

1 Groom of the chamber. And chains invisible the border.

$ A famous highwayman, hanged the week before. So cunning was the apparatus,

|| Hagged, i.e. the face of a witch or hag. The epithet The pow'rful pot-hooks did so move him,

hagard has been sometimes mistaken as conveying the same That will he nill he to the great house

idea, but it means a very different thing; viz. wild and faHe went as if the devil drove him.

rouche, and is taken from an unreclaimed bawk, called an

Hagard. * It has been said that this gentleman, a neighbour and ac

| Here the story finishes, the exclamation of the ghosts,

which follows, is characteristic of the Spanish manners of the quaintance of Mr. Gray in the country, was much displeased age when they are supposed to have lived; and the 500 at the liberty here taken with his name, yet surely without any stanzas said to be lost, may be imagined to contain the regreat reason.

mainder of their longwinded expostulation.



Hail the ta x, 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. Sisters, hence, with spurs of speed;

Each her thundering falchion wield; Each bestride ber sable steed:

Hurry, hurry to the field.



Vitt er oprit fyrir valfalli, &c.
Now the storm begins to lour,

(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare,)
Iron sleet of arrowy shower

Hartles in the darken'd air.
Glittering lances are the loom,

Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a soldier's doom,

Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the grisly texture grow,

('T is of human entrails made,)
And the weights that play below,

Each a gasping warrior's head.
Shafts for shuttles, dipt in' gore,

Shoot the trembling cords along;
Sword, that once a monarch bore,

Keep the tissue close and strong.
Mista, black terrific maid,

Sangrida, and Hilda, see,
Join the wayward work to aid :

T is the woof of victory.
Ere the ruddy Sun be set,

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

Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimson web of war,)

Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the conflict share,

Where they triumph, where they die.
As the paths of Fate we tread,

Wading through th' ensanguin'd 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,

Gord 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!
Horrour covers all the heath,

Clouds of carnage blot the Sun.
Sisters, weave the web of death ;

Sisters, cease, the wo is done.




Upreis Odinn allda gauir, &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 distillid;
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 trac'd the Runic rhyme ;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a solemn sound.

Pr. What call unknown, what charms presume,
To break the quiet of the tomb?
Whu thus afflicts my troubled sprite,
And drags me from the realms of night?
Long on these mouldering 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 rest?

0. A traveller, to thee unknown,
Is he that calls, a warrior's son.
Thou the deeds of light shalt know;
Tell me what is done below,
For whom yon glittering board is spread,
Drest for whom yon golden bed ?

Pr. Mantling in the goblet see
The pure beverage of the bee,
O'er it hangs the shield of gold ;
T is the drink of Balder bold:

* The Valkyriur were female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands; and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkallah, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.

* Niflheimr, the Hell of the Gothic nations, consisting 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.

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