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Him the Dog of Darkness spied,
His shaggy throat he open'd wide,
While from his jaws, with carnage fillid,
Foam and human


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 still his way he takes, ('The groaning earth beneath him shakes). Till full before his fearless eyes, The portals nine of hell arise.

Right against the eastern gate, By the moss-grown pile he fate : Where long of yore to sleep was laid The dust of the prophetic Maid. Facing to the northern clime, Thrice he trac'd the runic rhime; Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread, The thrilling verse thạt wakes the Dead : Till from out the hollow ground Slowly breath'd a fullen found.

Pr. What call unknown, what charms To break the quiet of the tomb ? (presume Who thus afflicts


troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on these mouldring bones have beat The winter's snow, the summer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me sleep again. Who is he with voice unbleft, That calls me from the bed of reft ?

OD. A Traveller, to thee unknown, Is he that calls, a Warrior's Son. Thou the deeds of light shale know: Tell me what is done below, For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, Dress’d for whom yon golden bed?

Pr. Mantling in the goblet fee
The pure bev'ridge of the bee,
O'er it hangs the field of gold;
'Tis the drink of Balder bold:
Balder's head to death is giv'n.
Pain can reach the fons of Heav'n!

Unwilling I my lips unclose :
Leave me, leave me to repose.

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Op. Once again my call obey.
Prophetess, arise, and say,
What 'dangers Odin's Child await,
Who the author of his fate.

Pr. In Hoder's hand the Hero's doom :
His brother sends him to the tomb.
Now my weary lips I close :
Leave me, leave me to repose.

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Od. Prophetess, my spell obey.
Once again arise, and say,
Who th' avenger of his guilt,
By whom shall Hoder’s blood be spilt.

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Pr. In the caverns of the west,
By Odin's fierce embrace compreft,
A wond'rous boy shall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair,
Nor wash his visage in the stream,
Nor see the fun's departing beam;

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Till he on Hoder's corse Thall smile
Flaming on the fun'ral pile.
Now my weary lips I close ;
Leave me, leave me to repose,


Oo. Yet a while my call obey.
Prophetess, awake, and say;
What Virgins thefe, in fpeechless woe,
That bend to earth their solemn brow.
That their flaxen tresses tear,
And fnowy veils, that float in air.
'Tell me whence their forrows rose:
Then I leave thee to repose.

Pa. Ha! no Traveller art thou,
King of Men, I know thee now,
Mightiest of a mighty line-

Op. No boding Maid of skill divine
Art thou, nor Prophetess of good;
But mother of the giant-brood!

Pr. Hie thee hence, and boast at home, That never shall Enquirer come

To break my iron-Neep again,
Till Lok + has burst his ten-fold chain :
Never, till substantial Night
Has reassum'd her ancient right;
Till wrap'd in flames, in ruin hurla,
Sinks the fabric of the world,

+ Lok is the Evil Being, who continues in chains till the Twilight of the Gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds ; the human race, the stars and fun shall disappear; the earth fink in the seas, and fire consume the skies : even Odin himself, and his kindred deities, Mall perish. For a farther explanation of this mythology, fee Mallet's Introduction to the History of Denmark, 1755, Quarto.

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