Sisters, hence with

spurs

of speed:

Each her thundering faulchion wield :

Each bestride her sable steed.

Hurry, hurry to the field.

No. XLIII.

THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.

-GRAY.

The original is to be found in Bartholinus, de causis contemnendæ mortis ; Hafnia, 1689, quarto.

Upreis Odinn allda gautr, &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

distill'd:

Niflheimr, the hell 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.

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.
he takes,

Onward still his way

(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 sullen sound.

PROPHETESS.

What call unknown, what charms, presume

To break the quiet of the tomb?

Who thus afflicts troubled sprite,

my

And drags me from the realms of night?

ла

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 unbless'd,

Calls me from the bed of rest?

ODIN.

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 glitt'ring board is spread,
Dress'd for whom yon golden bed?

PROPHETESS.

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 given.
Pain can reach the Sons of Heaven!

Unwilling I my lips unclose:

Leave me, leave me to repose.

ODIN.

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

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

PROPHETESS.

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.

ODIN.

Prophetess, my spell obey,

Once again arise, and say,

Who th' Avenger of his guilt,

By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt?

PROPHETESS.

In the caverns of the west,

By Odin's fierce embrace compress'd, A wond'rous boy shall Rinda bear, Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair, Nor wash his visage in the stream, Nor see the sun's departing beam,

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