Now the storm begins to lower,
(Haste, the loom of hell prepare,)
Iron sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darken'd air.

Glitt'ring lances are the loom,

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

Var. V. 5. Launces. MS.

V. 3.

Gray.

"How quick they wheel'd, and, flying, behind them shot Sharp sleet of arrowy show'r." Par. Reg. iii. 324. Avianus has a similar expression: "Ausa pharetratis imbribus ista loqui," Fab. xli. v. 6. "Sic et mbrem ferreum dicunt, cum volunt multitudinem significare telorum," Lactant. Epitome, c. xi. Virg. Æn. xii. 284: "Tempestas telorum ac ferreus ingruit imber." Many other examples could be given. Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail, And shiver'd lances dark the troubled air."

Spanish Trag. Vid. Hawkins. Ant. Drama. V. 4. "The noise of battle hurtled in the air."

Julius Cæsar, act ii. s. 2. Gray.

V. 7. In Thomson. Masque of Alfred, p. 126, the weaving of the enchanted standard is thus described:

Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king,
Of furious Ivar, in a midnight hour,
While the sick moon, at their enchanted song
Wrapt in pale tempest, labour'd thro' the clouds.
The demons of destruction then, (they say,)
Were all abroad, and mixing with the woof
Their baleful power; the Sisters even sung,
'Shake, standard, shake, this ruin on our foes!""

See the grisly texture grow!

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

Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,

Shoot the trembling cords along.

Sword, that once a monarch bore,

Keep the tissue close and strong.

Mista, black terrific maid,

Sangrida, and Hilda, see,

Join the wayward work to aid:
'Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy sun be set,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing,
Blade with clattering buckler meet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

(Weave the crimson web of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,

Var. V. 15. Sword] Blade. MS.

V. 17. Mista, black] Sangrida, terrific.
V. 18. Sangrida and] Mista black, and.
V. 23. Blade] Sword. W. MS.

MS.

MS.

10

15

20

25

V. 11. Dr. Warton, in his Notes on Pope (vol. ii. p. 227), has compared this passage of Gray to some lines in the Thebais of Statius, i. 720.

V. 17. The names of the Sisters, in the original, are Hilda, Hiorthrimula, Sangrida, and Swipula.

Where our friends the conflict share,
Where they triumph, where they die.

As the paths of fate we tread,

Wading through th' ensanguin'd field,
Gondula and Geira, spread

O'er the youthful king your shield.

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.)

They, whom once the desert-beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample sway shall stretch

O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntless earl is laid,

Gor'd with many a gaping wound :
Fate demands a nobler head;

Soon a king shall bite the ground.

Long his loss shall Eirin weep,

Ne'er again his likeness see;

Var. V. 31. Gondula and Geira] Gunna and Gondula.
V. 44. Shall] Must. MS.

V. 40. "Insult the plenty of the vales below."

Essay on the Alliance, &c. Luke. V. 44. (Shall bite the ground) “ Θνητοι όδαξ έλον όνδας.” Hom.

V. 45. Eirin] Ireland.

F

Long her strains in sorrow steep;
Strains of immortality!

Horror covers all the heath,

Clouds of carnage blot the sun.
Sisters, weave the web of death;

Sisters, cease; the work is done.

Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph sing!
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger king.

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,
Learn the tenour of our song.

Scotland, thro' each winding vale
Far and wide the notes prolong.

V. 50 Sun! MS.

V. 59. Winding] Echoing. MS.

V. 49. This stanza, as it appears in the original, Mr. Herbert has translated without the insertion or omission of a word:

"Tis horrid now to gaze around,

While clouds thro' heaven gore-dropping sail;

Air must be stain'd with blood of men,

Ere all our oracles shall fail."

Select Icelandic Poetry, p. 50.

V. 59. This and the following line are not in the original. Indeed, this poem is not so much a translation, as a loose, though highly-spirited paraphrase; and, as Herbert observes, inferior to the "Descent of Odin."

V. 61. "Bear me hence on wheels of speed."

V. Philips. (Pind. 1. Æn. 3.)

Sisters, hence with spurs of speed:
Each her thundering faulchion wield;
Each bestride her sable steed.

Hurry, hurry to the field!

V. 61-64.

"Sisters, hence, 'tis time to ride:

Now your thundering faulchion wield;

Now your sable steed bestride.

Hurry, hurry to the field." MS.

THE VEGTAM'S KIVITHA;

OR, THE DESCENT OF ODIN. * AN ODE. FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.

[The original is to be found in Saemund's Edda, and in Bartholinus, De Causis contemnendæ Mortis; Hafniæ, 1689, quarto, Lib. III. c. ii. p. 632. (See Warton. Hist. of E. Poetry, vol. i. p. xii. And Warton's Pope, vol. ii. p. 70. "This Ode, I think with Lord Orford, equal to any of Gray's."]

Upreis Odinn allda gautr, &c.

*This Ode is much more literally translated than the preceding. The original title I have restored from Gray's MS. The first five stanzas of this Ode are omitted; in which Balder, one of the sons of Odin, was informed that he should soon die. Upon his communication of his dream, the other gods, finding it true by consulting the oracles, agreed to ward off the approaching danger, and sent Frigga to exact an oath from every thing not to injure Balder. She, however, overlooked the Misletoe, with a branch of which he was afterwards slain by Hoder, at the instigation of Lok. After the execution of this commission, Odin, still alarmed for the life of his son,