No. VII.

THE SWORD OF ANGANTYR.

RUNIC.- -M. G. LEWIS.

The original is to be found in Hick's Thefau. Ling. Septen. I have taken great liberties with it, and the catastrophe is my own invention. Several versions of this Poem have already appeared, particularly one by Miss Seward,

HERVOR.

ANGANTYR, awake! awake!

Hervor bids thy flumbers fly!
Magic thunders round thee break,
Angantyr, reply! reply!

Reach me, warrior, from thy grave
Schwafurlama's magic blade;

Fatal weapon, dreaded glaive,

By the dwarfs at midnight made.

Herxardur,

Hervardur, obey my charms,
Hanri too, and Angantyr:

Hither, clad in bloody arms,

Haste with helmet, fword, and fpear!

Haften, heroes, haften all;

Sadly pace the fpell-bound fod; Dread my anger, hear my call, Tremble at the charmer's rod!

Are the fons of Angrym's race,
They whose breasts with glory burn'd,
All deprived of manhood's grace,
All to duft and afhes turn'd?

Where the blafted yew-tree grows,
Where the bones of heroes lie,
What, will none his grave unclofe,
None to Hervor's voice reply?

Shades of warriors cold and dead,
Fear my wrath, nor longer flay!
Mighty fouls to Hela fled,

Come! my powerful fpells obey.

Either inftant to my hand

Give the fword of myftic power, Which the dwarf and fpe&tre-band Bathed in blood at midnight hour;

Or, in Odin's hall of cheer,
Never shall ye more repose,

Never more drink mead and beer
From the fkulls of flaughter'd foes!

ANGANTYR.

Hervor! Hervor! ceafe thy cries,
Nor oblige, by impious fpell,
Ghosts of flaughter'd chiefs to rise;
Sport not with the laws of hell!

Know, nor friend's, nor parent's hand
Laid in earth's embrace my bones:
Natives of a diftant land

Raised yon monumental ftones;

I the Tyrfing gave to these;

'Twas but justice; 'twas their due, Hervor! Hervor! reft in peace, Angantyr has told thee true.

ANGANTYR.

Hervor! Hervor! ceafe, and know,
It endures no female hand;
Flames around her feet fhall glow,
Who prefumes to touch the brand:

But from thee a fon fhall spring,
(So the Valkyries declare)
Who fhall reign a mighty king;
He the magic blade shall wear.

HERVOR.

Hela! Hela! thrice around
This enchanted spot I pace:
Hela! Hela! thrice the ground
Thus with myftic figns I trace.

While I fwear by Odin's might,
Balder's locks, and Sculda's wing,

By the god renown'd in fight,
By the rhymes the fifters fing,

Still the dead unreft fhall know,
Still fhall wave my magic rod,

Still the fhivering ghofts fhall go

Round and round this fpell-bound fod,

Till the fword, the death of fhields,
Shall my fire to me refign,
Till my hand the Tyrfing wields,
As in his grafp, fear'd in mine!

ANGANTYR,

Bold enchantress, fince no prayers
Can this impious zeal abate,
Since thy haughty bofom dare
To difpute the will of Fate,

I no more retard thy doom:
Arm'd with magic helm and fpear
Seek the Tyrfing, feek my tomb,
When the midnight hour is near.

HERVOR.

Stormy clouds around me lour!
All is filent, mortals fleep!
'Tis the folemn midnight hour!
Angantyr, thy promise keep.

'Tis the time, and here the grave:
Lo! the grate with pain I lift :
Father, reach me forth the glaive,
Reach the dwarf's enchanted gift.

ANGANTYR.

Know, beneath my head it lies,

Deep embrown'd with hoftile gore.

Hervor, daughter, cease thy cries,
Hervor, daughter, afk no more.

Flames curl round in many a spire,
Flames from Hilda's myftic hand;

Ne'er