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But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone,
And all resembling her are gone.
What maid e'er show'd such constancy
In plighted faith, like thine to me?
But couch thee, boy; the darksome shade
Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd

Because the dead are by.
They were as we; our little day
O'erspent, and we shall be as they.
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid,
Thy couch upon my mantle made,
That thou mayst think, should fear invade,

Thy master slumbers nigh."
Thus couch'd they in that dread abode,
Until the beams of dawning glow'd.


An alter'd man Lord Harold rose,
When he beheld that dawn unclose-

There's trouble in his eyes,
And traces on his brow and cheek
Of mingled awe and wonder speak :

“My page," he said, “ arise ;-
Leave we this place, my page." —No more
He utter'd till the castle door
They cross'd—but there he paused and said,
My wildness hath awaked the dead-

Disturb'd the sacred tomb !
Methought this night I stood on high,
Where Hecla roars in middle sky,
And in her cavern'd gulfs could spy

The central place of doom;

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And there before


Souls of the dead came flitting by,
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry,

Bore to that evil den!
My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain
Was wilder'd at the elvish train,
With shriek and bowl, dragg’d on amain

Those who had late been men.

X. “ With haggard eyes and steaming hair Jutta the Sorceress was there, And there pass'd Wulfstane, lately slain, All crush'd and foul with bloody stain.More had I seen, but that uprose A whirlwind wild, and swept the snows; And with such sound as when at need A champion spurs his horse to speed, Three armed knights rush on, who lead Caparison'd a sable steed. Sable their harness, and there came Through their closed visors sparks of flame. The first proclaim’d, in sounds of fear, • Harold the Dauntless, welcome here !' The next cried, • Jubilee! we've won Count Witikind the Waster's son!' And the third rider sternly spoke, • Mount, in the name of Zernebock! From' us, O Harold, were thy powers, Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, is ours;

Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, With hell can strive. The fiend spoke true! My inmost soul the summons knew.


As captives know the knell
That says the headsman's sword is bare,
And with an accent of despair,

Commands them quit their cell.
I felt resistance was in vain,
My foot had that fell stirrup ta'en,
My hand was on that fatal mane,

When to my rescue sped
That Palmer's visionary form,
And like the passing of a storm-

The demons yellid and fled !

“ His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd
The features it before conceal'd;

And, Gunnar, I could find
In him whose counsels strove to stay
So oft my course on wilful way,

My father Witikind!
Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for mine,
A wanderer on earth to pine
Until his son shall turn to grace,
And smooth for him a resting-place.-
Gunnar, he must not haunt in vain
This world of wretchedness and pain :
I'll tame my wilful heart to live
In peace — to pity and forgive -
And thou, for so the Vision said,
Must in thy Lord's repentance aid.
Thy mother was a prophetess,
He said, who by her skill could guess
How close the fatal textures join
Which knit thy thread of life with mine,
Then, dark, he hinted of disguise
She framed to cheat too curious eyes
That not a moment might divide
Thy fated footsteps from my side.
Methought while thus my sire did teach,
I caught the meaning of his speech,
Yet seems its purport doubtful now.”
His hand then sought his thoughtful brow.
Then first he mark’d, that in the tower
His glove was left at waking hour.

Trembling at first and deadly pale,
Had Gunnar heard the vision'd tale;
But when he learn'd the dubious close,
He blush'd like any opening rose,
And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek,
Hied back that glove of mail to seek;
When soon a shriek of deadly dread
Summond his master to his aid.

XIII. What sees Count Harold in that bower,

So late his resting-place?
The semblance of the Evil Power

Adored by all his race!
Odin in living form stood there,
His cloak the spoils of polar bear;
For plumy crest a meteor shed
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head,
Yet veil'd its haggard majesty
To the wild lightnings of his eye.
Such height was his, as when in stone
O’er Upsal's giant altar shown :

So flow'd his hoary beard;
Such was his lance of mountain-pine,
So did his sevenfold buckler shine;

But when his voice he rear'd,
Deep, without harshness, slow and strong,
The powerful accents roll'd along,
And while he spoke, his hand was laid
On captive Gunnar's shrinking head.

“ Harold,” he said, “what rage is thine,
To quit the worship of thy line,

To leave thy Warrior-God ? -
With me is glory or disgrace,
Mine is the onset and the chase,
Embattled hosts before my face

Are wither'd by a nod.
Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat
Deserved by many å dauntless feat,
Among the heroes of thy line,
Eric and fiery Thorarine! -
Thou wilt not. Only I can give
The joys for which the valiant live,
Victory and vengeance-only I
Can give the joys for which they die,
The immortal tilt - the banquet full,
The brimming draught from foeman's skull.
Mine art thou, witness this thy glove,
The faithful pledge of vassal's love."-

XV. Tempter," said Harold, firm of heart, "I charge thee, hence! whate'er thou art,

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