VIII.

"Through the wild waves, as they roar,

With watchful eye and dauntless mien
Thy steady course of honour keep,
Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore :
The Star of Brunswick smiles serene
And gilds the horrors of the deep.'

VIII. THE FATAL SISTERS.

From the Norse Tongue.*

Now the storm begins to lower

(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare),

Iron-sleet of arrowy shower

Hurtles in the darken'd air.

• To be found in the Orcades of Thormodus Torfæus; Hafniæ, 1697, folio: and also in Bartholinus.

Vitt er orpit fyrir valfalli, &c.

The design of Mr. Gray in writing this and the three foliowing imitative Odes is given in the Memoirs of his Lite. For the better under

standing the first of these, the reader is to be informed, that in the eleventh century, Sigurd, earl of the Orkney Islands, went with a fleet of ships, and a considerable body of troops, into Ireland, to the assistance of Sictryg with the silken beard, who was then making war on his father-in-law Brian, king of Dublin: the earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sictryg was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the death of Brian, their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day (the day of the battle) "a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw at a distance a number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till looking through an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic figures resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove, they sung the following dreadful song; which, when they had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and (each taking her portion) galloped six to the north and as many to the south. These were the Valkyriur, 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 Valkalla, the hall of edin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.

F

Glitt❜ring lances are the loomi,

Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier's doom, Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.

See the griesly texture grow

("Tis of human entrails made), And the weights, that play below Each a gasping warrior's head. Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,

Shoo the trembling cords along. Sword, that once a inonarch bore, Keeps the tissue close and strong

Mista black, terrific maid,

Sangrida, and Hilda see,

Join the wayward work to aid : "Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy sun be set,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and heimet ring.

(Weave the crimson web of wai)
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' 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 Erin 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 tenor of our song. Scotland, through each winding vale Far and wide the notes prolong.

Sisters, hence with spurs of speed:

Each her thundering falchion wie` Each bestride her sable steed:

Hurry, hurry to the field,

IX. THE DESCENT OF ODIN.
From the Norse- Tongue.

UPROSE the King of Men with speed,
And saddled strait 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:
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 solemn sound.

The original is to be found in Bortholinus, de causis contemnen dæ mortis; Hafniæ, 1689, quarto.

Upreis Odinn allda gautr, &c.

+Niflheimr, the bell 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.

Pr. 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?

Long on these mouldʼring hones 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 glittʼring board is spread,
Drest for whom yon golden bed.

Pr. Mantling in the goblet see
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 repose.

O. Once again my call obey,
Prophetess, arise, and say,

What dangers Odin's child await,
Who the author of his fate.

Pr. In Hoder's hand the hero's doom:

His brother sends him to the tomb.

Now my weary lips I close:

Leave me, leave me to repose.

O. Prophetess, my spell obey,
Once again arise, and say,