Where long of yore to fleep was laid The duft of the prophetic Maid. Facing to the northern clime, Thrice he traced the runic rhyme; Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread, The thrilling verfe that wakes the Dead; Till from out the hollow ground Slowly breath'd a fullen found. PR. What call unknown, what charms prefume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long Long on these mould'ring bones have beat The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me fleep again. Who is he, with voice unbleft, That calls me from the bed of reft? O. A Traveller, to thee unknown, Is he that calls, a Warriour's Son. Thou the deeds of light fhalt know; Tell me what is done below, For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, Dreft for whom yon golden bed. PR. Mantling PR. Mantling in the goblet fee 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 unclofe: Leave me, leave me to repose. O. Once again my call obey, Prophetefs, arife, and fay, What dangers Odin's Child await, Who the Author of his fate. PR. In Hoder's hand the Heroe's doom: His Brother fends him to the tomb, Now my weary lips I close : Leave me, leave me to repofe, O. Prophetess, my spell obey, Once again arife, and say, Who th' Avenger of his guilt, By whom shall Hoder's blood be fpilt. PR. In the caverns of the west, By Odin's fierce embrace compreft, A wond'rous Boy fhall Rinda bear, Who ne'er fhall comb his raven-hair, Nor Nor wash his visage in the stream, Nor fee the fun's departing beam; Till he on Hoder's corfe fhall smile Flaming on the fun'ral pile. Now my weary lips I clofe: Leave me, leave me to repofe. O. Yet a while my call obey. Prophetess, awake, and say, What Virgins thefe, in fpeechlefs woe, That bend to earth their folemn brow, That their flaxen treffes tear, And fnowy veils, that float in air. Tell |