Glitt'ring lances are the loom, See the grisly texture grow, Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Mista black, terrific maid, Join the wayward work to aid : · Ere the ruddy snn be set, (Weave the crimson web of war) Where our friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die. these, the reader is to be informed that in the eleventh century, Sigurd, earl of the Orkney Islands, went with a fleet of ships and a considerable body of troops into Ireland, to the assistance of Sictryg with the silken beard, who was then making war on his father-in-law, Brian, king of Dublin: the Earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Syctrig was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the death of Brian their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day, (the day of the battle) a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw at a distance a number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till looking through an opening in the rocks he saw twelve gigantic figures resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove, they sung the following dreadful song; which, when they had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and (each taking her portion) gallopped six to the north and as many to the south. These were the Valkyriur, female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands; and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale. Long his loss shall Eirin weep, Horror covers all the heath, Hail the task, and hail the hands! Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, Sisters, hence with spurs of speed: ODE IX. THE DESCENT OF ODIN.e FROM THE NORSE TONGUE. UP rose the King of men with speed, (The groaning earth beneath him shakes,) The portals nine of hell arise. Right against the eastern gate, Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme; Thrice pronounc'd in accents dread The thrilling verse that wakes the dead; Till from out the hollow ground Slowly breath'd a sullen sound. PR. What call unknown, what charms presume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? c The original is to be found in BARTHOLINUS, de causis contemnendæ mortis; HAFNIE, 1689, quarto, UPREIS ODINN ALLDA GAUTR, &c. Niflheimr, the hell 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 Goddess of Death. Long on these mould'ring 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 unblest, That calls me from the bed of rest? O. A traveller, to thee unknown, For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, PR. Mantling in the goblet see O. Once again my call obey. 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. O. Prophetess, my spell obey, By whom shall Hoder's blood be split PR. In the caverns of the west, By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, 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 O. Yet awhile my call obey. What virgins these, in speechless woe, And snowy veils, that float in air. PR. Ha! no traveller art thou, O. 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 inquirer come To break my iron-sleep again; Till Lokh has burst his tenfold chain. Never, till substantial Night Has reassum'd her ancient right; Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd, Sinks the fabric of the world. · e 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 sun, shall disappear; the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself and his kindred-deities shall perish. For a farther explanation of this mythology, see "Introduction a l'Histoire de Dannemarc, par Mons. Mallet," 1755, quarto; or rather a translation of it published in 1770, and entitled "Northern Antiquities," in which some mistakes in the original are judiciously corrected. |