* What strings symphonious tremble in the air,

What strains of vocal tranfport round her play! Hear from the grave; great Talieffin *, hear!

They breathe a foul, to animate thy clay.

Bright Rapture calls, and foaring, as the fings,

• Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd wings.

III. 3.

• The verse adorn again,

• Fierce War, and faithful Love †, 'And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction dress'd. • In buskin'd measures move ‡,

Pale Grief, and pleafing Pain;

With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 'A voice, as of the cherub choir §,

• Gales from blooming Eden bear;

• And distant warblings leffen on my ear [],
That, loft in long futurity, expire.

Fond, impious man! think'ft thou yon fanguine cloud,
'Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

' And warms the nations with redoubled ray.

Enough for me: with joy I fee

• The diff'rent doom our Fates affign.
Be thine defpair, and fcepter'd care;

To triumph, and to die, are mine!'

He spoke; and, headlong from the mountain's height, Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.

* Talieffin, chief of the bards, flourished in the fixth century. His works' are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen.

Fierce wars and faithful loves fhall moralize my fong.

In the eleventh century Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney islands, went with a fleet of ships and a confiderable body of troops into Ireland, to the affiftance of Siaryg with the filken beard, who was then making war on his father-inlaw Brian, King of Dublin: the earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sictryg was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a greater lofs by the death of Brian, their king, who fell in the action. On Chriftmas-day, (the day of the battle) a native of Caithness in Scotland faw at a distance a number of persons on horseback, riding full speed towards an hill, and feeming to enter into it. Curiofity led him to follow them, till looking through an opening in the rocks he faw twelve gigantick figures refembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove, they fung the following dreadful fong; 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.

OW the ftorm begins to lour,

Now

(Hafte, the loom of hell prepare!)

Iron-fleet of arrowy fhow'r

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.

The Valkyriur were female divinities, fervants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothick mythology. Their name fignifies chufers of the flain. They were mounted on swift horfes, with drawn fwords in their hands; and in the throng of battle felected 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.

See

See the griefly texture grow,

('Tis of human entrails made) And the weights, that play below, Each a gasping warrior's head.

Shafts for fhuttles, dipp'd in gore,
Shoot the tremb'ling cords along:
Sword, that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tiffue close and ftrong.

Mifta, black, terrific maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda, fee:
Join the wayward work to aid;
'Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy fun be set,

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 thro' 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,

They, whom once the defart-beach
Pent within it's bleak domain,
Soon their ample sway shall stretch
O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntless 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 strains in forrow steep,
Strains of immortality!

Horror covers all the heath,

Clouds of carnage blot the fun. Sifters, weave the web of death: Sifters, ceafe; the work is done.

Hail the tafk, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph fing!
Joy to the victorious bands;

Triumph to the younger king.

Mortal, thou that hear't the tale,
Learn the tenor of our fong.
Scotland, through each winding vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong,

Sifters, hence with fpurs of fpeed:

Each her thund'ring faulchion wield; Each beftride her fable fteed.

Hurry, hurry to the field!

THE

THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

AN ODE.

FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.

BY THE SAME.

P rofe the king of men with speed,

UP

And faddled straight his coal-black steed :

Down the yawning steep he rode,

That leads to Hela's drear abode *.
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 purfues, 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 arise.
Right against the eastern gate,
By the mofs-grown pile he fate;
Where long of yore to fleep was laid
The duft of the prophetick Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,

Thrice he trac'd the Runick rhyme;

Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,

The thrilling verse that wakes the dead ;

Nifiheimr, the hell of the Gothick nations, confifted of nine worlds, to

which were devoted all fuch as died of sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it prefided Hela, the Goddess of Death.

Till,