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

Him the Dog of Darkness spy'd,

His fhaggy throat he open'd wide,

While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,

Foam and human gore diftill'd:

Hoarse he bays with hideous din,

Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ;

And long pursues, with fruitless yell,

The Father of the powerful spell.

Onward ftill his way he takes,

(The groaning earth beneath him shakes)

Till full before his fearless eyes

The portals nine of hell arife.

Right against the eastern gate,

By the inofs grown pile he fate;
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

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 fprite,

And drags me from the realms of night?

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

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 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 say,

What dangers Odin's Child await,

Who the Author of his fate?

PR.

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