CLASS THE THIRD. RUNIC ODES. ΣΟΦΙ ΑΝ ΕΝ ΜΥΧΟΙΣΙ ΠΙΕΡΙΔΩΝ. PIND. PYTH. 6. BY THOMAS JOHN MATHIAS. ODE I. THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS; OR, THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WORLD. FROM the chambers of the East, Till on the plain, with corses strew'd, Trace again the solemn rhyme; Know'st thou what is done above? What Genii shake that nodding frame? Struck with elemental jar, Gods themselves come forth to war: From the many-mansion'd dome Giant tenants loosen'd roam, And around each rock-hewn cell, With heaving groan or fearful yell, Declare what uncontrolled pow'r Presiding rules the mortal hour: These no acts of joy and love— Know'st thou now what's done above? From the regions of the South Caverns yawning, mountains rending; Nods to the air with sudden crash: Stride the steed and couch the lance: And see, from either verge of Heav'n, Why does beauteous Lina weep? Whence those lorn notes in accent deep? For battle Odin 'gins prepare; Aloft in distant realms of air, Mark the murd'rous monster stalk Glowing with paternal fire, And stamps the filial vengeance deep. Think not yet the measure full, Nor fears the brave, nor heeds the strong: |