• Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, confifted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all fuch as died of fickness, old-age, or by any other means than in battle: Over it prefided HELA, the Goddess of Death.

Where long of yore to fleep was laid

The duft of the prophetic Maid.

Facing to the northern clime,

Thrice he trac'd the runic rhyme;

Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,

The thrilling verse 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 fprite,

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 rest?

O. A Traveller, to thee unknown,

Is he that calls, a Warrior's Son.

Thou the deeds of light fhalt know;

Tell me what is done below,

For whom yon glitt'ring board is fpread,

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 repofe.

O. Once again my call obey.

Prophetess, arife, and say,

What dangers Odin's Child await,

Who the Author of his fate.