Encounter, and in foaming conflict join'd,

Loud roars the furious surge, and mounts to heav'n.

Or, as of old, when that Arabian gulf

Into his oozy bed the chosen seed

Receiv'd, while his disparted waves, upheld

By pow'r divine, on either side appear'd
High-rais'd stupendous, like th' embattled wall
Of some imperial city: vaunting loud,

The rash Ægyptian pours in fierce pursuit

Innumerable force of chariots arm'd,

Horsemen, and foot, that shake the spear, or draw

The sounding bow, into the dreadful void.

Then, at th' Almighty bidding, to their bed
Accustom'd rush the whelming waters: loud
They roar, and louder far, than when the storm
Rolls on in thunder through the darken'd air;
Not less the horrid din, when Ætna howls

Through all her caverns with sulphureous flames,

Mix'd with the groans of that rebellious crew

Who warr'd with heaven. Upon the foaming waves

Arms, chariots, ensigns of proud war, appear

At random tost, and floating carcases

Attest Almighty wrath, and baffled pride.

And now two chiefs of force immense, whose spears Wide-wasting had with many an inroad gor'd

The front of battle, in their sanguine course, Approach, and adverse stand with threat'ning arms.

On either side the troops retiring yield

Space for the conflict, and with eager eyes
And awful silence wait th' impending fight.

As when a comet through the darken'd air
Blazes portentous with disastrous fires;

And some bright planet in his rapid course
Threatens with fierce encounter, or fix'd star
To hurl from his appointed seat; dismay'd
The nations view the dreadful prodigy,
And wait the ruin of conflicting worlds.
So gaz'd both armies, when his lifted spear
Brave Leoline withdrew, and thus began.
"Illustrious Uther, in this sanguine field

Say, does thy breast with wonted ardour glow;
While the keen point of thy victorious spear

Is bath'd in kindred blood, and all around
The race of Troy by mutual wounds expire?
We too, in league of friendship once conjoin'd,
Who shar'd the rites of hospitable Jove,

The mantling goblet, and the festal board,
Now with blind fury, lift our impious arms
Against each other's life."- "Alas! my friend,"

The noble Uther with a sigh return'd,

"Avails it aught in war's relentless ear

To pour the lenient balm of prudent speech?
Sweet pity's voice amidst the battle's roar
Unnotic'd dies away, and Justice speaks

Her high command in vain. But what are we,
Whom nor resentment keen of suffer'd wrong,
Nor pride of pow'r defy'd, incites to arms,

But base submission to superior sway?
No more I lift the guilty spear. I mourn
My fatal triumphs, nor the palm of fame

Dare claim from actions, which my soul abhors. Some god, my friend, some god thy breast inspir'd To sheath the sword, and give the nations peace.

Bid we the conflict end." While yet he speaks,

Glad Leoline restrains the rushing bands.

Along the lines the rage of war subsides.

Now o'er the dismal field, with carnage red,

Terrific Mista roll'd her gloomy eyes.

66

Enough," she cried, "has stream'd of vulgar blood.

The hour approaches. Hela's drear abode

Unfolds its vast, and ever-during gates,

And all her shadowy reign is mov'd throughout.

Sisters, prepare the fatal web; prepare

The pow'rful song." The dreadful deities

Each at the word bestrides her sable steed,

Hilda, and Sangrida, abhorred forms,

Besmear'd with blood: Geira, and Gondula,
And the dark frown of Hiorthrimula,

At whose dire aspect nature shrinks appall'd,

The wholesome plants are blasted, and the blood

Chain'd in the frozen veins. At once they rise,

Borne on the rushing blast. The clouds of heav'n

Are roll'd around, and through the misty air

The shepherd dimly views the dreadful forms Glancing with lightning speed. At their approach

The mountain trembles on its solid base,

And at their potent voice, its marble sides,

Disparting, to the eye of day unfold

The secrets of its cavern'd womb, where reigns

Primæval Darkness on her ebon throne.

And now the fatal loom their hands prepare:

And now they weave the dreadful web; meanwhile

They chant the solemn death-devoting strain.

"Begin the song. To us the King of heav'n

Commits the fortune of the sanguine field.

Beneath our hands the fatal texture grows,
Which dooms the heroes of the earth to death.
Thrice blest for whom, in his resplendent hall,

The sire of gods the genial feast prepares,

The fair reward of honourable deeds!