conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave: where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale. Now the storm begins to lower, Hurtles in the darken'd air. Glittering lances are the loom, See the grisly texture grow! Shoot the trembling cords along. Mista, black terrific maid, Sangrida, and Hilda, see, Join the wayward work to aid: "Tis the woof of victory. Ere the ruddy sun bé set, Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. (Weave the crimson web of war) Let us go, and let us fly, Where our friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die. As the paths of Fate we tread, Wading through the' ensanguined field, Gondula, and Geira, spread O'er the youthful king your shield. We the reigns to slaughter give, Spite of danger he shall live. They, whom once the desert beach Low the dauntless earl is laid, Gored with many a gaping wound; Fate demands a nobler head; Soon a king shall bite the ground. Long his loss shall Eirin weep, Horror covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the sun. Sisters, weave the web of death. Sisters, cease; the work is done. Hail the task, and hail the hands! Mortal, thou that hearest the tale, Sisters, hence with spurs of speed: Each her thundering falchion wield; Each bestride her sable steed. Hurry, hurry to the field! |