_Odin._ Once again my call obey: Prophetess! arise, and say, What dangers Odin"s child await, Who the author of his fate?
_Proph._ 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.
_Odin._ Prophetess! my spell obey; Once again arise, and say, 60 Who the avenger of his guilt, By whom shall Hoder"s blood be spilt?
_Proph._ In the caverns of the west, By Odin"s fierce embrace compress"d, A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, Who ne"er shall comb his raven hair, Nor wash his visage in the stream, Nor see the sun"s departing beam, Till he on Hoder"s corse shall smile, Flaming on the funeral pile. 70 Now my weary lips I close; Leave me, leave me to repose.
_Odin._ Yet a while my call obey: Prophetess! awake, and say, What virgins these, in speechless woe, That bend to earth their solemn brow, That their flaxen tresses tear, And snowy veils that float in air?
Tell we whence their sorrows rose, Then I leave thee to repose. 80
_Proph._ Ha! no traveller art thou; King of Men, I know thee now; Mightiest of a mighty line--
_Odin._ No boding maid of skill divine Art thou, no prophetess of good, But mother of the giant-brood!
_Proph._ Hie thee hence, and boast at home, That never shall inquirer come To break my iron-sleep again, Till Lok[3] has burst his tenfold chain; 90 Never till substantial Night Has re-a.s.sumed her ancient right; Till, wrapp"d in flames, in ruin hurl"d, Sinks the fabric of the world.
[Footnote 1: "Norse Tongue:" to be found in Bartholinus, De Causis Contemnendae Mortis: Hafniae, 1689, quarto.]
[Footnote 2: "Hela:" Niflheimr, the h.e.l.l of the Gothic nations, consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it presided Hela, the G.o.ddess of Death.]
[Footnote 3: "Lok:" is the evil being, who continues in chains till the twilight of the G.o.ds approaches, when he shall break his bonds; the human race, the stars, and sun, shall disappear, the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself, and his kindred deities, shall perish.]
IX.--THE DEATH OF HOEL.[1]
Had I but the torrent"s might, With headlong rage, and wild affright, Upon Dera"s[2] squadrons hurl"d, To rush and sweep them from the world!
Too, too secure in youthful pride, By them my friend, my Hoel, died, Great Cian"s son; of Madoc old He ask"d no heaps of h.o.a.rded gold; Alone in Nature"s wealth array"d, He ask"d and had the lovely maid. 10
To Cattraeth"s[3] vale, in glittering row, Twice two hundred warriors go; Every warrior"s manly neck Chains of regal honour deck, Wreath"d in many a golden link: From the golden cup they drink Nectar that the bees produce, Or the grape"s ecstatic juice.
Flush"d with mirth and hope they burn: But none from Cattraeth"s vale return, 20 Save Aeron brave and Conan strong, --Bursting through the b.l.o.o.d.y throng-- And I, the meanest of them all, That live to weep and sing their fall.
[Footnote 1: "Hoel:" from the Welsh of Aneurim, styled "The Monarch of the Bards." He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A.D. 570. This ode is extracted from the G.o.dodin.]
[Footnote 2: "Dera:" a kingdom including the five northernmost counties of England.]
[Footnote 3: "Cattraeth:" a great battle lost by the ancient Britons.]
X.--THE TRIUMPH OF OWEN:
A FRAGMENT FROM THE WELSH.
ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.--Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the Princ.i.p.ality of North Wales, A.D. 1120: this battle was near forty years afterwards.
Owen"s praise demands my song, Owen swift, and Owen strong, Fairest flower of Roderick"s stem, Gwyneth"s[1] shield and Britain"s gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores, Nor on all profusely pours; Lord of every regal art, Liberal hand and open heart.
Big with hosts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; 10 This the force of Eirin hiding; Side by side as proudly riding On her shadow long and gay Lochlin[2] ploughs the watery way; There the Norman sails afar Catch the winds and join the war; Black and huge, along they sweep, Burthens of the angry deep.
Dauntless on his native sands The Dragon son[3] of Mona stands; 20 In glittering arms and glory dress"d, High he rears his ruby crest; There the thundering strokes begin, There the press and there the din: Talymalfra"s rocky sh.o.r.e Echoing to the battle"s roar!
Check"d by the torrent-tide of blood, Backward Meniai rolls his flood; While, heap"d his master"s feet around, Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground. 30 Where his glowing eye-b.a.l.l.s turn, Thousand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty rout is there; Marking, with indignant eye, Fear to stop and Shame to fly: There Confusion, Terror"s child, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair and honourable Death. 40
[Footnote 1: "Gwyneth:" North Wales.]
[Footnote 2: "Lochlin:" Denmark.]
[Footnote 3: "Dragon son:" the Red Dragon is the device of Cadwalladar, which all his descendants bore on their banners.]
XI.--FOR MUSIC.[1]
I.
"Hence, avaunt! ("tis holy ground,) Comus and his midnight crew, And Ignorance, with looks profound, And dreaming Sloth, of pallid hue, Mad Sedition"s cry profane, Servitude that hugs her chain, Nor in these consecrated bowers, Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers;
CHORUS.
Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, Dare the Muse"s walk to stain, 10 While bright-eyed Science watches round: Hence, away! "tis holy ground."
II.
From yonder realms of empyrean day Bursts on my ear the indignant lay; There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, The few whom Genius gave to shine Through every unborn age and undiscover"d clime.
Rapt in celestial transport they, Yet hither oft a glance from high They send of tender sympathy, 20 To bless the place where on their opening soul First the genuine ardour stole.
"Twas Milton struck the deep-toned sh.e.l.l, And, as the choral warblings round him swell, Meek Newton"s self bends from his state sublime, And nods his h.o.a.ry head, and listens to the rhyme.
III.
Ye brown o"er-arching groves!
That Contemplation loves, Where willowy Camus lingers with delight; Oft at the blush of dawn 30 I trod your level lawn, Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia, silver-bright, In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy.
IV.
But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth, With solemn steps and slow, High potentates, and dames of royal birth, And mitred fathers, in long orders go: Great Edward,[2] with the Lilies on his brow From haughty Gallia torn, 40 And sad Chatillon,[3] on her bridal morn, That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,[4]
And Anjou"s heroine,[5] and the paler Rose,[6]
The rival of her crown, and of her woes, And either Henry[7] there, The murder"d saint, and the majestic lord That broke the bonds of Rome,-- (Their tears, their little triumphs o"er, Their human pa.s.sions now no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb,) 50 All that on Granta"s fruitful plain Rich streams of regal bounty pour"d, And bade those awful fanes and turrets rise, To hail their Fitzroy"s festal morning come; And thus they speak in soft accord The liquid language of the skies:
V.