o repose. 80

_Proph._ Ha! no traveller art thou;
King of Men, I know thee now;
Mightiest of a mighty line--

_Odin._ No boding maid of skill divine
Art thou, no prophetess of good,
But mother of the giant-brood!

_Proph._ Hie thee hence, and boast at home,
That never shall inquirer come
To break my iron-sleep again,
Till Lok[3] has burst his tenfold chain; 90
Never till substantial Night
Has re-assumed her ancient right;
Till, wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.

[Footnote 1: 'Norse Tongue:' to be found in Bartholinus, De Causis
Contemnendae Mortis: Hafniae, 1689, quarto.]

[Footnote 2: 'Hela:' Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations,
consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of
sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it
presided Hela, the goddess of Death.]

[Footnote 3: 'Lok:' is the evil being, who continues in chains till
the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds;
the human race, the 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.]

* * * * *

IX.--THE DEATH OF HOEL.[1]

Had I but the torrent's might,
With headlong rage, and wild affright,
Upon Deira's[2] squadrons hurl'd,
To rush and sweep them from the world!
Too, too secure in youthful pride,
By them my friend, my Hoel, died,
Great Cian's son; of Madoc old
He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd,
He ask'd and had the lovely maid. 10

To Cattraeth's[3] vale, in glittering row,
Twice two hundred warriors go;
Every warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link:
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce,
Or the grape's ecstatic juice.
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn:
But none from Cattraeth's vale return, 20
Save Aeron brave and Conan strong,
--Bursting through the bloody throng--
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep and sing their fall.

[Footnote 1: 'Hoel:' from the Welsh of Aneurim, styled 'The Monarch of
the Bards.' He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A.D. 570. This
ode is extracted from the Gododin.]

[Footnote 2: