XXXVI 
RUNIC INVOCATION. 
Each from his filent tomb I call ; 
Ghofts of the dead, awaken all ! 
With helmet, thield, and coat of mail, 
With fword and fpear, I bid ye hail ! 
Where twifted roots of oak abound, 
And undermine the hollow ground, 
Each from his narrow cell I call ; 
Ghofts of the dead, awaken all! 
In what darkfome cavern deep, 
Do the fons of Angrym fleep ? 
Duft and afhes tho” ye be, 
Sons of Angrym, anfwer me. 
Lift’ning in your clay-cold beds, 
Sons of Eyvor, lift your heads. 
Rife, Hiorvardur, rife and fpeak ; 
Hervardur, thy long filence break. 
Duft and afhes tho” ye be, 
One and all, oh anfwer me. 
Never, oh never may ye reft 5 
But rot and putrefy unblefs'd, 
If ye refufe the magic blade, 
And belt, by fairy fingers made! 
ANGANTYR. 
Ceafe, oh daughter, ceafe to call me ; 
Didft thou know what will befall thee, 
Thou hadft never hither fped, 
With Runic fpells to wake the dead ; 
‘Thou, that in evil hour art come 
To brave the terrors of the tomb, 
Nor friend, nor weeping father, gave 
Angantyr’s reliques to the grave; 
And Tirfing, that all-conqu’ring fword, 
No longer calls Azgantyr lord. 
A living warrior wears it now——— 
HERVOR, 
*Tis falfe, Angantyr ; only thou, 
So may great Odin ever keep 
In peace the turf where thou doft fleep ; 
As Tirfing fill befide thee lies, 
Th’ attendant of thy obfequies ! 
My juft inheritance I claim ; 
‘Conjure thee by a daughter’s name, 
Thy only child ! 
ANGANTYR. 
Too well I knew 
Thou wouldft demand what thou fhalt rue. 
By Tirfing’s fatal point fhall die 
The braveft of thy progeny. 
A warlike fon fhall Hervor bear, 
Hervor's pride, and Tirfing’s heir 5 
Already, daughter, I forefee 
Heidrek the hero’s name will be: 
To him, the young, the bold, the ftrong, 
Tirfing hereafter will belong. 
HERVoOR, 
Ne’er fhall my inchantments ceafe, 
Nor you, ye fpirits, reft in peace, 
Until ye grant what I demand, 
And Tirfing glitters in my hand. 
ANGANTYR. 
Oh Virgin, more than woman bold ! 
Of warlike mien, and manly mould! 
What has induc’d thy feet to tread 
The gloomy manfions of the dead, 
At this lone hour, devoid of fear, 
With fword, and fhield, and magic {pear ? 
HeERVOR, 
The caufe thou know’ft, why to thy tomb 
T've wander'd thro’ the midnight gloom + 
Yield then the Fairies work divine ; 
Thou art no father elfe of mine ; 
But goblin damnd. 
ANGANTYR. 
Then hear me, Maid, 
That art not ey’n of death afraid ! 
Hialmar’s bane thou fhalt command ; 
The fatal {word is in my hand: 
But fee the flames that round it rife! 
Doft thou the furious fire defpife ? 
HERVOR. 
Yes ; I dare feize, amidft the fire, , 
The object of my foul’s defire ; 
Nor do thefe eyes behold with dread, 
The flame that plays around the dead, 
ANGANTYR. 
Rath Maid! will nothing then controul 
The purpofe of thy daring foul ? 
But 
