Thou, without whose genial breath

The North would sleep the sleep of death; Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, Yet hurls proud palaces to earth,— Brightest, keenest of the Powers,

Which form and rule this world of ours,

With my rhyme of Runic, I

Thank thee for thy agency.

Old Reimkennar, to thy art
Mother Hertha sends her part;
She, whose gracious bounty gives
Needful food for all that lives.
From the deep mine of the North,
Came the mystic metal forth,
Doom'd amidst disjointed stones,
Long to cere a champion's bones,

Disinhumed my

charms to aid

Mother Earth, my thanks are paid.

Girdle of our islands dear,
Element of Water, hear!

Thou whose power can overwhelm
Broken mounds and ruin'd realm

On the lowly Belgian strand;
All thy fiercest rage can never
Of our soil a furlong sever

From our rock-defended land;

Play then gently thou thy part,

To assist old Norna's art.

Elements, each other greeting,
Gifts and powers attend your meeting!

Thou, that over billows dark
Safely send'st the fisher's bark,-
Giving him a path and motion
Through the wilderness of ocean;
Thou, that when the billows brave ye,
O'er the shelves canst drive the navy,-
Did'st thou chafe as one neglected,
While thy brethren were respected?
To appease thee, see, I tear
This full grasp of grizzled hair;
Oft thy breath hath through it sung,
Softening to my magic tongue,———
Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly.

Through the wide expanse of sky,
'Mid the countless swarms to sail
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale;
Take thy portion and rejoice,—
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice!

She who sits by haunted well,
Is subject to the Nixie's spell;

She who walks on lonely beach,

To the Mermaid's charmed speech;
She who walks round ring of green,
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen;

And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's cave,
weary weird of woe shall have.

A

By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore,

Minna Troil has braved all this and more;
And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill
A source that's more deep and more mystical
still.-

Thou art within a demon's hold,

More wise than Heims, more strong than Trolld;
No siren sings so sweet as he,-
No fay springs lighter on the lea;

No elfin power hath half the art

To soothe, to move, to wring the heart,

Life-blood from the cheek to drain,

Drench the eye, and dry the vein.

Maiden, ere we farther go,

Dost thou note me, ay or no?

MINNA.

I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign; Speak on with thy riddle-to read it be mine.

NORNA.

Mark me! for the word I speak

Shall bring the colour to thy cheek.

This leaden heart, so light of cost,

The symbol of a treasure lost,

Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace,

That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may

cease,

When crimson foot meets crimson hand

In the Martyrs' Aisle, and in Orkney land.
Be patient, be patient, for Patience hath power
To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower;
A fairy gift you best may hold

In a chain of fairy gold;

The chain and the gift are each a true token, That not without warrant old Norna hath spoken; But thy nearest and dearest must never behold

them,

Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told

them.

Chap. xxviii.

(11.) BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISE

MENT.

POOR sinners whom the snake deceives,
Are fain to cover them with leaves.
Zetland hath no leaves, 'tis true,
Because that trees are none, or few:
But we have flax and taits of woo',
For linen cloth, and wadmaal blue ;
And we have many of foreign knacks
Of finer waft than woo' or flax.

Ye gallanty Lambmas lads appear,
And bring your Lambmas sisters here,
Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or care,
To pleasure every gentle pair.

Chap. xxxii.

(12.) MOTTOES.

CHAP. II.

'Tis not alone the scene- -the man, Anselmo, The man finds sympathies in these wild wastes, And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer views. And smoother waves deny him.

Ancient Drama.

CHAP. IV.

This is no pilgrim's morning-yon gray mist
Lies upon hill, and dale, and field, and forest,
Like the dun wimple of a new-made widow;
And, by my faith, although my heart be soft,
I'd rather hear that widow weep and sigh,
And tell the virtues of the dear departed,
Than, when the tempest sends his voice abroad,
Be subject to its fury.

CHAP. VII.

The Double Nuptials.

She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb.