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faw twelve gigantic figures resembling women; they were all employed about a loom; and, as they wove, they fung the following dreadful Song; which, when they had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and (each taking her portion) galloped fix to the North, and as many to the South,

THE

FATAL SISTERS.

AN OD E.

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OW the ftorm begins to lowr,
(Hafte, the loom of Hell prepare,)

Note.---The Valkyriur were female divinities, fervants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name fignifies Chufers of the slain. They were mounted on fwift horfes, with drawn fwords in their hands, and in the throng of battle selected fuch as were deftined to flaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradife of the Brave; where they attended the banquet, and ferved the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale,

Iron fleet of

arrowy fhower*

Hurtles in the darken'd air +

Glitt❜ring lances are the loom,
Where the dusky warp we ftrain,
Weaving many a foldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.

See the griefly texture grow,
("Tis of human entrails made),
And the weights that play below,
Each a gafping Warrior's head.

Shafts for shuttles dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling cords along,
Swords that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tiffue close and strong.

* How quick they wheel'd; and flying,

behind them shot

Sharp fleet of arrowy shower---

Milton's Paradife Regain'd.

+ The noife of battle hurtled in the air.

Shakespeare's Julius Cæfar.

Mista, black, terrific Maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda fee,

Join, the wayward work to aid:
"Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy Sun be fet,

Pikes must shiver, javelins fing,
Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

(Weave the crimson web of war) Let us go, and let us fly,

Where our Friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die.

As the paths of Fate we tread, Wading through th' enfanguin'd field: Gondula and Geira spread

O'er the youthful king your shield.

We the reins to flaughter give,
Ours to kill and ours to spare:
Spite of danger he shall live.
(Weave the crimson web of war.)

They, whom once the defart beach Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample fway shall stretch O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntlefs Earl is laid, Gor'd with many a gaping wound; Fate demands a nobler head;

Soon a king fhall bite the ground.

Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeness fee:
Long her ftrains in forrows fteep,
Strains of Immortality!

Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the fun.
Sifters, weave the web of death;
Sifters, cease the work is done.

Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph fing!
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger King.

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