Huzza! my brave comrades, give way for the Haaf, We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh; For light without mirth is a lamp without oil; Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil! Chap. xxil And you shall deal my lands so wide, And deal my castles nine. But deal not vengeance for the deed, The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace, And the rest in God's own time. Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of trea son; Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason; By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary, Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry! If of good, go hence and hallow thee;- Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild bear's skin Ye slumber'd on, while life was in?A woman now, or babe, may come And cast the covering from thy tomb. Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight But what I seek thou well canst spare. To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud; See, I draw my magic knife- Thou wilt not wake-the deed is done !- Thanks, Ribolt, thanks,-for this the sea She, the dame of doubt and dread, Wisest, wickedest who lives, Well can keep the word she gives. Chap. XXV. [AT INTERVIEW WITH MINNA.] Thou, so needful, yet so dread, The North would sleep the sleep of death,- With my rhyme of Runic, I Old Reim-kennar, 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 aidMother Earth, my thanks are paid. Girdle of our islands dear, On the lowly Belgian strand, From our rock-defended land; Play then gently thou thy part, To assist old Norna's art. Elements, each other greeting, Thou, that over billows dark She who sits by haunted well, By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, still. Edinburgh, to receive him at the Harestone (in which the standard of James IV. was erected when his army encamped on the Boroughmuir, before his fatal expedition to England), now built into the park-wall at the end of Tipperlin Lone, near the Boroughmuir-head; and, standing thereon, to give three blasts on a horn. 7 MS.-"Brave Arthur's Seat's a story higher; Saint Abbe is shouting to Kintire, "You lion, light up a crest of fire.'" As seen from the west, the ridge of Arthur's Seat bears a marked resemblance to a lion couchant. • Mr. Oman, landlord of the Waterloo Hotel. Empty. |