His bushy beard, and shoc-mtrings green,

His high-crown'd hat, and satin doublet, Mov'd the stout heart of England's Queen,

Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.

What, in the very first beginning!

Shame of the versifying tribe !
Your history whither are you spinning !

Can you do nothing but describe?

A house there is (and that's enough)

From whence one fatal morning issues A brace of warriors, not in buff,

But rustling in their silks and tissues.

The first came cap-a-pic from France,

Fler conquering destiny fulfilling, Whom meaner beauties eye ankance,

And vainly ape her art of killing,

The other Amazon kind heav'n

Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire . But Cobham had the polish giv'n,

And tipp'd her arrows with good-nature

To celebrate her eyes, her air

Coarse panegyrics would but tease her, Melissa is her Nom de Guerre.

Alas, who would not wish to please her:

With bonnet blue and capuchine,

And aprons long, they hid their armour ,
And veil'd their weapons, bright and keen,

In pity to the country farmer


Onward still his way he takes,
(The groaning earth beneath him shakes)
Till full before his fearless eyes
The portals nine of Hell arise.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the moss-grown pile he sate ;
Where long of yore to sleep was laid
The dust of the prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verse that wakes the Dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a sullen sound.

PROPHETESS. What call unknown, what charms, presume To break the quiet of the tomb ? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on these mouldering bones have beat The winter's snow, the summer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me sleep again. Who is he, with voice unbless'd, That calls me from the bed of rest?


A Traveller, to thee unknown,
Is he that calls a Warrior's Son.
Thou the deeds of light shalt know;
Tell me what is done below,
For whom yon glittering board is spread ?
Dress'd for whom yon golden bed?


Mantling in the goblet see
The pure beverage of the bee ;
O'er it hange the shield of gold,
"Tis the drink of Balder bold :
Balder's head to death is giv'n,
Pain can reach the Sons of Heav'n!
Unwilling I my lips unclose :
Leave me, leave me to repone.


Once again my call obey.
Prophetess, arise, and say,
What dangers Odin's child await,
Who the Author of his fate?


In Iloder's hand the lero's doom ; His brother sends him to the tomb. Now my weary lips I close : Leave me, leave me to repose.


Prophetess, my spell obey, Once again arise, and say, Who the Avenger of his guilt, By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt?


In the caverns of the west, By Odin's fierce embrace compressid, A wondrous Boy shall Rinda beur, Who ne'er shall comb his raven-bair,

Nor wash his visage in the stream,
Nor see the sun's departing beam,
Till he on Hoder's corse' shall smile
Flaming on the funeral pile.
Now my weary lips I close :


leave me to repose.


Yet awhile my call obey ;
Prophetess, awake, and say,
What Virgins these, in speechless woe,
That bend to earth their solemn brow,
That their flaxen tresses tear,
And snowy veils, that float in air?
Tell me whence their sorrows rose :
Then I leave thee to repose.


Ha! no Traveller art thou, King of Men, I know thee now; Mightiest of a mighty line


No boding Maid of skill divine Art thou, nor Prophetess of good ; But mother of the giant-brood !


Hie thee hence, and boast at home,
That never shall Enquirer come
To break my iron-sleep again ;
Till Lok* has burst his tenfold chain ;

* Lok is the Evil Being, wbo continues in chains till the Twi. light of the Gods approaches ; when he shall break his bonds; tho

Never, till substantial Night
Has reassum'd her ancient right;
Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.




Ower's praise demands my song,
Owen swift, and Owen strong ;
Fairest flower of Roderic's stem,
Gwyneth'st shield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours ;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding,
Side by side as proudly riding,

human race,


stars, and sun, shall disappear; the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself, and his kindred deities, shall perish. For a further explanation of this mythology, see ·Introduction à l'Histoire de Dannemarc, par Mons. Mallet,' :755, quarto; or rather a translation of it published in 1770, and entitled Northern Antiquities ;' in which some mistakes in the original : re judiciously corrected.

• From Mr. Evans's Specimens of the Welch Poetry; London, 1764, quarto. Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the principality of North Wales, A, D, 1120. This battle was fought near forty years afterwards.

+ North Wales.

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