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! Reach me, warrior, from thy grave Fatal weapon, dreaded glaive, By the dwarfs at midnight made. Herxardur, Hervardur, obey my charms, 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, Where the blafted yew-tree grows, Shades of warriors cold and dead, 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 more drink mead and beer ANGANTYR. Hervor! Hervor! ceafe thy cries, Know, nor friend's, nor parent's hand 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, But from thee a fon fhall spring, HERVOR. Hela! Hela! thrice around While I fwear by Odin's might, By the god renown'd in fight, Still the dead unreft fhall know, Still the fhivering ghofts fhall go Round and round this fpell-bound fod, Till the fword, the death of fhields, ANGANTYR, Bold enchantress, fince no prayers I no more retard thy doom: HERVOR. Stormy clouds around me lour! 'Tis the time, and here the grave: ANGANTYR. Know, beneath my head it lies, Deep embrown'd with hoftile gore. Hervor, daughter, cease thy cries, Flames curl round in many a spire, Ne'er |