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Angrim's portion'd wealth is thine;
Take the gift the gods assign.

HERVOR. Now, in the silence of the tomb, Dwell undisturb'd till final doom: I must tread my destin'd road, And speed me from this drear abode ; For here, as still my steps I turn, Flaky fires around me burn.

ODE IV.

AN

INCANTATION

FOUNDED ON

THE NORTHERN MYTHOLOGY.

By the Same.

Hear,

ye

Rulers of the North, Spirits of exalted worth; By the silence of the night, By subtle magic's secret rite; By Pèolphan murky King, Master of th’ enchanted ring ; By all and each of hell's grim host, Howling demon, tortur'd ghost; By each spell and potent word Burst from lips of Glauron's Lord; By Coronzon's awful power; By the dread and solemn hour, When Gual fierce, and Damael strong, Stride the blast that roars along; Or, in fell descending swoop, Bid the furious spirit stoop

O'er desolation's gloomy plain,
Haunt of warriors battle slain.
Now the world in sleep is laid,
THORBIORGA calls

your

aid.

Mark the sable feline coat, Spotted girdle velvet-wrought; Mark the skin of glistening snake, Sleeping seiz'd in forest brake; Mark the radiant crystal stone, On which days Sovereign never shone, From the cavern dark and deep Digg’d i' th' hour of mortal sleep; Mark the cross, in mystic round Meetly o'er the sandal bound, And the symbols gravid thereon, Holiest Tetragrammaton! Now while midnight torches gleam, Rivals of the Moon's pale beam, On ocean's unfrequented shore Some moss-grown ruin silvering o'er. While the flame of resinous fire Mounts aloft in curling spire; I scatter round this charmed room, The fragrance of the myrrh's perfume ; And, bending o'er this consecrated sword, Confirm each murmur'd spell, each inly-thril

ling word.

ODE V.

THE

CAROUSAL OF ODIN.

BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE.

Fill the honey'd bev'rage high,
Fill the sculls, 'tis Odin's cry:
Heard ye not the powerful call,
Thund'ring thro' the vaulted hall ?
“ Fill the meath, and spread the board,
“ Vassals of the griesly Lord."-

The portal hinges grate,--they come-
The din of voices rocks the dome.
In stalk the various forms, and, drest
In various armour, various vest,

With helm and morion, targe and shield,
Some quivering launces couch, some biring maces wield:
All march with haughty step, all proudly shake the

crest.

The feast begins, the scull goes round,
Laughter shouts—the shouts resound.

The gust of war subsides—E'en now The grim chiefcurls his cheek, and smooths his rugged

brow.

“ Shame to your placid front, ye men of death!”
Cries HILDA, with disorder'd breath.
Hell echoes back her scoff of shame

To the inactive rev'ling Champion's name. « Call forth the song,” she scream'd ;-the minstrels

came

The theme was glorious war, the dear delight
Of shining best in field, and daring most in fight.

Joy to the soul,” the Harpers sung,
" When embattl'd ranks among,
“ The steel-clad Knight, in vigour's bloom,
(Banners waving o'er his plume)
“ Foremost rides, the Aower and boast

« Of the bold determin'd host!" With greedy ears the guests each note devour'd, Each struck his beaver down, and grasp'd his faith

ful sword.
The fury mark'd th' auspicious deed,
And bad the Scalds proceed.

“ Joy to the soul ! a joy divine !
“ When conflicting armies join ;
“ When trumpets clang, and bugles sound;
" When strokes of death are dealt around ;

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