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Weave we the web. Whom Odin's wrath pursues,

Rack'd with disease, palsied with icy age,

Or basely falling in the arms of peace;

To that drear mansion, where her gloomy court
Hela, abhorr'd of gods and men, maintains,
Hurl'd by the Destinies, where Pain resides,
And bloated Sloth, and Famine's meagre form,
Anguish, Repentance, Sorrow, Shame, Despair,
Shall howl in torment. To that dismal reign,

To that abhorred goddess we devote

The wretch, whose pride neglects offended heav'n.

Attend, ye Destinies! and hear, oh hell,

Through all thy realms of horror at our voice

Rouse all thy ghosts, and ratify the doom."

Then all at once upon their winged steeds

The sisters rose in air, and brandish'd fierce

Their blazing falchions. Soon their rapid course

Reach'd the wide plain, with heaps of carnage strew'd,

Where sheath'd in arms the hostile nations stood

Pausing from fight. For with astonish'd eyes

The king beheld the rage of war subside;
And the two chiefs advancing o'er the plain

In social guise, with looks announcing peace.
When thus aloud the noble Uther spoke:
"Hear, each Loëgrian, each Cornubian band,
Whom impious rage to mutual wounds incites,
And ye, obedient to whose high commands
The nations move to war; Belinus, thou,

And thou, Loëgria's monarch, noble Locrine,

Attend to what th' immortal gods inspire,

Who see with pity wretched mortals fall.

Oh spare the relics of the Trojan name,
Our rising country, and our promis'd glory!
The bravest warrior in thy numerous host
Select, oh king; or if thy generous heart
Demands the conflict, in refulgent arms
Go forth thyself, and dare Cornubia's pow'rs
To find an equal foe." The king, incens'd,
Rolls on the chief his angry eyes, and thus
Furious replies: "Though every chief, like thee,

Shrink from the danger of the glorious field,

Myself will dare their gather'd strength in arms, And with unfading laurels grace my brow.

Then let the troops their shining helms unlace, And give to welcome rest their weary limbs.

Her bravest warrior let Cornubia choose

To meet my single arm: great Leoline,
Ebrancus, or Gorbodion's vaunted strength,
Or all combin'd, I dare their rage alone.
Now let the priest the holy rites prepare,
The altar blaze, the sacred victim fall.
Then swear, Cornubia, if th' immortal pow'rs
Shall grace with conquest my victorious arm,
To leave the land in peace." He said, and now
On Jove's high altar rise the hallow'd flames,
The victim falls, and with uplifted hands
Belinus calls th' immortal pow'rs to witness,

And binds with solemn oath the firm accord.

Then each Cornubian chief, whose glowing breast

Heaves with the brave desire of fair renown,

Inscribes his name, and in the golden urn
The lot is thrown. In deep attention fix'd,
(While expectation swells the throbbing breast,)
All gazing stand, and silence reigns around,
When now the Herald to th' impatient hosts
Proclaims the name of Leoline. With joy

The warrior hears, and claims the noble strife.

Then rose the king, and press'd in courteous guise
The hero's hand. "Illustrious Leoline,

The gods, to whom our fame is dear, have giv'n,
Indulgent to our pray'r, a noble foe:

Whose conquest, (and forgive me, generous chief,

If with so bright a hope my bosom glows,)

Shall with its fairest wreath my long career

Of glory crown. Perhaps beneath thy sword

Fate dooms my fall. How vast thy praise, when all

My laurels flourish on thy favour'd brow,

And all the triumphs of my arm are thine!

But now the solemn night her ebon car

Drives up the steep of heav'n, and parting day

Pierces with ruddy beam the western cloud.

Since night forbids the combat, share the feast.

Repose, ye warriors, from your glorious toils,

And draw new vigour from the flowing bowl.

When beams the rosy morn, in glitt'ring arms
We sheath our limbs, and claim the promis'd fight."
Thus spoke the king, with pride and hope elate;
But fate impends and death expects her prey.

From Avon's banks the fierce Sisilius came,

And with Loëgria's youth appear'd in arms,
Him, while the midnight bowl inflam'd to rage,
And frantic deeds, with threats and vile reproach
The king had once dishonour'd: reason soon
Resum'd her sway, and the repentant prince
With gifts of price, and high distinction sooth'd
Th' offended chief, and sought to gain his love.
In vain. He brooded silent o'er his wrong,
And nourish'd in his fierce and gloomy soul
Thirst of revenge, and inextinguish'd hate,
Him, now retiring to his lonely tent,

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