Now hither, now thither, then danced the

band, gay

By witchcraft the hero surprising,
Who ever sat silent, his sword in his hand,
Their sports and their pleasures despising.

-"Now hear me, thou gallant young warrior, now hear! "If still thou disdain'st what we proffer,

“With dagger and knife from thy breast will we tear "Thine heart, which refuses our offer!"

Oh! glad was the knight when he heard the cock crow!
His enemies trembled, and left him :

Else must he have stayed upon Elver's Hoh,
And the witches of life had bereft him.
Beware then, ye warriors, returning by night
From court, dress'd in gold and in silver;

Beware how slumber on Elver's rough height,
you

Beware of the witches of Elver!

a

No. VII.

THE SWORD OF ANGANTYR.

RUNIC.

M. G. LEWIS.

The original is to be found in Hick's Thesau. Ling. Septen. I have taken great liberties with it, and the catastrophe is my own invention. Several versions of this Poem have already appeared, particularly one by Miss Seward.

HERVOR.

ANGANTYR, awake! awake!

Hervor bids thy slumber's fly!
Magic thunders round thee break,
Angantyr, reply! reply'

Reach me, warrior, from thy grave
Schwafurlama's magic blade ;

Fatal weapon, dreaded glaive,

By the dwarfs at midnight made.

Hervardur, obey my charms,

Hanri too, and Angantyr:

Hither, clad in bloody arms,

Haste with helmet, sword, and spear!

Are the sons of Angrym's race,

They whose breasts with glory burn'd,

All deprived of manhood's grace,

All to dust and ashes turn'd?

Where the blasted yew-tree grows,
Where the bones of heroes lie,

What, will none his grave unclose,
None to Hervor's voice reply?

Shades of warriors cold and dead,
Fear my wrath, nor longer stay!
Mighty souls to Hela fled,

Come! my powerful spells obey.

D 2

Either instant to my hand

Give the sword of mystic power, Which the dwarf and spectre-band

Bathed in blood at midnight hour;

Or, in Odin's hall of cheer,

Never shall ye more repose,

Never more drink mead and beer From the skulls of slaughter'd foes!

ANGANTYR.

Hervor! Hervor! cease thy cries,
Nor oblige, by impious spell,
Ghosts of slaughter'd chiefs to rise ;
Sport not with the laws of hell!

Know, nor friend's, nor parent's hand

Laid in earth's embrace bones:

Natives of a distant land

Raised

my

yon monumental stones:

I the Tyrfing gave to these;

'Twas but justice; 'twas their due.

Hervor! Hervor! rest in peace,

Angantyr has told thee true.

HERVOR.

Dar'st thou still my anger brave?

Thus deceitful dar'st thou speak?

Sure as Odin dug thy grave,

Lies by thee the sword I seek.

I alone may call thee sire,

I alone thine heir can be ; Give me then the sword of fire, Angantyr, oh! give it me!

ANGANTYR.

Hervor! Hervor! cease, and know, It endures no female hand;

Flames around her feet shall glow, Who presumes to touch the brand:

But from thee a son shall spring,
(So the Valkyries declare)
Who shall reign a mighty king ;
He the magic blade shall wear.

HERVOR.

Hela! Hela! thrice around

This enchanted spot I pace:

Hela! Hela! thrice the ground

Thus with mystic signs I trace.