Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett Part 21

[Footnote 17: 'Rose of snow:' the White and Red Roses, devices of York and Lancaster.]

[Footnote 18: 'Boar:' the silver Boar was the badge of Richard III., whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of The Boar.]

[Footnote 19: 'Half of thy heart:' Eleanor of Castile, Edward's wife, died a few years after the conquest of Wales.]

[Footnote 20: 'Long-lost Arthur:' it was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, and should return again to reign over Britain.]

[Footnote 21: 'Genuine kings:' both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this island, which seemed to be accomplished in the House of Tudor.]

[Footnote 22; 'Awe-commanding face:' Queen Elizabeth.]

[Footnote 23: 'Taliessin:' chief of the Bards, flourished in the sixth century; his works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration, among his countrymen.]

[Footnote 24: 'A voice:' Milton.]

[Footnote 25: 'Warblings:' the succession of poets after Milton's time.]

VII.--THE FATAL SISTERS.

FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1]

'Vitt er orpit Fyrir valfalli.'

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.--The author once had thoughts (in concert with a friend) of giving a history of English poetry. In the introduction to it he meant to have produced some specimens of the style that reigned in ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or those who had subdued the greater part of this island, and were our progenitors: the following three imitations made a part of them. He afterwards dropped his design; especially after he had heard that it was already in the hands of a person[2] well qualified to do it justice both by his taste and his researches into antiquity.

PREFACE.--In the eleventh century, Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney Islands, went with a fleet of s.h.i.+ps, and a considerable body of troops, into Ireland, to the a.s.sistance of Sigtryg with the Silken Beard, who was then making war on his father-in-law, Brian, King of Dublin. The Earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sigtryg was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the death of Brian, their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day (the day of the battle) a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw, at a distance, a number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till, looking through an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic figures,[3] resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove they sung the following dreadful song, which, when they had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and each taking her portion, galloped six to the north, and as many to the south.

1 Now the storm begins to lower, (Haste, the loom of h.e.l.l prepare!) Iron-sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darken'd air.

2 Glittering lances are the loom Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier's doom, Orkney's woe and Randver's bane.

3 See the grisly texture grow, ('Tis of human entrails made,) And the weights that play below, Each a gasping warrior's head.

4 Shafts for shuttles, dipp'd in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along: Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and strong.

5 Mista, black, terrific maid!

Sangrida and Hilda see, Join the wayward work to aid: 'Tis the woof of victory.

6 Ere the ruddy sun be set, Pikes must s.h.i.+ver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

7 (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.

8 As the paths of Fate we tread, Wading through th' ensanguined field, Gondula and Geira spread O'er the youthful king your s.h.i.+eld.

9 We the reins to Slaughter give, Ours to kill and ours to spare: Spite of danger he shall live; (Weave the crimson web of war.)

10 They whom once the desert beach Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch O'er the plenty of the plain.

11 Low the dauntless earl is laid, Gored with many a gaping wound: Fate demands a n.o.bler head; Soon a king shall bite the ground.

12 Long his loss shall Eirin[4] weep, Ne'er again his likeness see; Long her strains in sorrow steep, Strains of immortality!

13 Horror covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the sun: Sisters! weave the web of death: Sisters! cease; the work is done.

14 Hail the task and hail the hands!

Songs of joy and triumph sing!

Joy to the victorious bands, Triumph to the younger king!

15 Mortal! thou that hear'st the tale, Learn the tenor of our song; Scotland! through each winding vale Far and wide the notes prolong.

16 Sisters! hence with spurs of speed; Each her thundering falchion wield; Each bestride her sable steed: Hurry, hurry, to the field.

[Footnote 1: 'Norse tongue:' to be found in the Orcades of Thormodus Torfaeus, Hafniae, 1697, folio; and also in Bartholinus.]

[Footnote 2: 'Person:' Percy, author of 'Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.']

[Footnote 3: 'Figures:' the Valkyriur were female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies 'Choosers of the Slain.' They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands, and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and 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.]

[Footnote 4: 'Eirin:' Ireland.]

VIII.--THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1]

'Upreis Odinn Allda gautr.'

Uprose the King of Men with speed, And saddled straight his coal-black steed; Down the yawning steep he rode That leads to Hela's[2] drear abode.

Him the Dog of Darkness spied; His s.h.a.ggy throat he open'd wide, While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, Foam and human gore distill'd: Hoa.r.s.e he bays with hideous din, Eyes that glow and fangs that grin, 10 And long pursues with fruitless yell The Father of the powerful spell.

Onward still his way he takes, --The groaning earth beneath him shakes,-- Till full before his fearless eyes The portals nine of h.e.l.l 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. 20 Facing to the northern clime, Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme, Thrice p.r.o.nounced, in accents dread, The thrilling verse that wakes the dead, Till from out the hollow ground Slowly breathed a sullen sound.

_Proph._ 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? 30 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 unblest, That calls me from the bed of rest?

_Odin._ 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, 40 For whom yon glittering board is spread; Dress'd for whom yon golden bed?

_Proph._ Mantling in the goblet see The pure beverage of the bee, O'er it hangs the s.h.i.+eld of gold; 'Tis the drink of Balder bold: Balder's head to death is given; Pain can reach the sons of Heaven!

Unwilling I my lips unclose; Leave me, leave me to repose. 50