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,
And deal not for the crime;
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
Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with
By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint
Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry!
If of good, go hence and hallow thee;-
If of ill, let the earth swallow thee;-
If thou'rt of air, let the gray mist fold thee;-
If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee;-
If a Pixie, seek thy ring;-
If a Nixie, seek thy spring;-
If on middle earth thou'st been
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin,
Hast eat the bread of toil and strife,
And dree'd the lot which men call life;
Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is scant of
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
Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight!
I come not, with unhallow'd tread,
To wake the slumbers of the dead,
Or lay thy giant reliques bare;
But what I seek thou well canst spare.
Be it to my hand allow'd
To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud;
Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough
To shield thy bones from weather rough.
See, I draw my magic knife-
Never, while thou wert in life,
Laidst thou still for sloth or fear,
When point and edge were glittering near;
See, the cerements now I sever-
Waken now, or sleep for ever!
Thou wilt not wake-the deed is done !-
The prize I sought is fairly won.
Thanks, Ribolt, thanks,-for this the sea
Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee-
And while afar its billows foam,
Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb.
Thanks, Ribolt, thanks-for this the might
Of wild winds raging at their height.
When to thy place of slumber nigh,
Shall soften to a lullaby.
She, the dame of doubt and dread,
Norna of the Fitful-head,
Mighty in her own despite,-
Miserable in her might;
In despair and phrensy great,
In her greatness desolate;
Wisest, wickedest who lives,
Well can keep the word she gives.
[AT INTERVIEW WITH MINNA.]
Thou, so needful, yet so dread,
With cloudy crest, and wing of red;
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 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,
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 power 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,-
Didst 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 Nixies' 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,
A weary weird of woe shall have.
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
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.
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