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“ Is it blest delusion's hour?

“ Rolls mine eye in frenzied trance? “ Beams of glory round me show'r;

“ Troops of radiant forms advance.

“ Founded on that firm-set rock,

“ Rising view the dome of gold, “ Fix'd secure from wintry shock :

“ There the good, and there the bold.

“ High in tracts of troubled air

“ Justice waves her awful sword: « Vice appall’d, with hideous stare,

“ Shrinks ere spoke the dooming word.

“ Conscience comes, a tort'ring fiend,

“ Bids his minions round him roll; Fell Remorse, the breast to rend,

Agony, to storm the soul.

" In Nastronda's northern plain,

“ Hark, th’ envenom’d portals ope : “ Respite there is none of pain,

“ Comfort none, or cheering hope.

“ Dog-ey'd Lust, Adult'ry foul,

“ Murder red with many a stain, " At the fatal entrance scowl,

“ Bound in adamantine chain.

“ Mark the house; if right we deem,

« 'Tis of scales serpentine built;
« Round it brawls a turbid stream:

“ Mortal, such th' abode of guilt.


6. Know'st thou now what's done above?

" Know'st thou now the deeds of night?" They spoke: the feast of joy and love

Glow'd on Inda's glist'ring height.

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By the Same.

HERVOR repairs to the Tomb of her Father ARGANTYR, at the dead of

Night, and invokes his Spirit to deliver up the Magical Sword TRIFIN.
GUS, which was buried with him.

Thy daughter calls : Argantyr, break
The bonds of death ; she calls, awake:
Reach me forth the temper'd blade
Beneath thy dusty pillow laid,
Which once a scepter'd warrior bore,
Forg'd by dwarfs in years of yore.
Where are the sons of Angrim fed ?
Mingled with the valiant dead.
From under twisted roots of oak
Blasted by the thunder's stroke,
Arise, arise, ye men of blood,
Ye who prepar'd the Vulture's food;
Give me the sword and studded belt,
Armies whole their force have felt;
Or grant my pray’r, or mould'ring rot,
Your name your deeds alike forgot;

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Argantyr, rouse thee from thy rest; 'Tis an only child's request.

ARGANTYR. Daughter, I hear the magic sound, That wakes the tenants of the ground: Why call'st thou thus ? what dire intent Is within thy bosom pent? No friendly hand, no parent, gave My bones to rest in hallow'd grave; To me no sacred rite was paid ; Here, by bai b'rous hands convey’d, In this mansion cold, forlorn, My gloomy ghost shall ever mourn. Think not by unceasing pray’r Hence the charmed sword to bear; For know, above in realms of light, Trifingus is anothier's right.


Ha! my sire, what words accurst
Have from the lip of falsehood burst ?
Thou know'st with thee in darkness laid
Sleeps the consecrated blade:
Yield it, 'tis th' appointed hour,
Or dread avenging Odin's pow'r :
Canst thou thus, with tongue unblest,
Deny an only child's request?

ARGANTYR. With awe my words prophetic hear; Hervor, 'tis for thee I fear: The fates have seal'd thy offspring's doom ; Trifingus brings them to the tomb.

Talk not to me of future times;
I swear, by force of magic rhymes,
Repose the dead shall know no more,
'Till thou the gifted sword restore.

Maid, thy warlike soul I bless,
Who rov'st by night in armed dress,
With spell-wrought helmet, iron proof,
And garments wove in mystic woof;
Who dar'st in thrilling accents call
The dead from their sepulchral hall.

No more this idle converse hold;
Once I thought thy spirit bold :
Give me forth the radiant brand :
Hear, and grant my just demand.
Let its strength again be try'd,
'Twas not made below to 'bide,
Yield it, 'tis th' appointed hour,
Or dread avenging Odin's pow'r. .

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