Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert ... Excepting those on botany and natural history. With additions and corrections by the author |
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| II. | CANTO II. |
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 | Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert |  |
42
CANTO II.
Hard by the eastern gate of Hell
In ancient time great Vala fell;
And there she lies in massive tomb
Shrouded by night's eternal gloom.
Fairer than Gods, and wiser, she
Held the strange keys of destiny;
And not one dark mysterious hour
Was veil'd from her all-searching power.
She knew what chanced, ere time began,
Ere world there was, or Gods, or man;
And, had she list, she might have told
Of things that would appal the bold.
No mortal tongue has ever said
What hand unknown laid Vala dead;
But yet, if rumor rightly tells,
In her cold bones the spirit dwells;
And, if intruder bold presume,
Her voice unfolds his hidden doom:
And oft the rugged ear of Death
Is soothed by her melodious breath,
Slow-rising from the hollow stone
In witching notes and solemn tone;
Immortal strains, that tell of things,
When the young down was on the wings
Of hoary Time, and sometimes swell
With such a wild enchanting spell,
As heard above would fix the eye
Of nature in sweet ecstacy,
Steal every sense from mortal clay,
And drag the willing soul away.
In ancient time great Vala fell;
And there she lies in massive tomb
Shrouded by night's eternal gloom.
Fairer than Gods, and wiser, she
Held the strange keys of destiny;
And not one dark mysterious hour
Was veil'd from her all-searching power.
She knew what chanced, ere time began,
Ere world there was, or Gods, or man;
And, had she list, she might have told
Of things that would appal the bold.
No mortal tongue has ever said
What hand unknown laid Vala dead;
But yet, if rumor rightly tells,
In her cold bones the spirit dwells;
And, if intruder bold presume,
Her voice unfolds his hidden doom:
And oft the rugged ear of Death
Is soothed by her melodious breath,
Slow-rising from the hollow stone
In witching notes and solemn tone;
Immortal strains, that tell of things,
When the young down was on the wings
Of hoary Time, and sometimes swell
With such a wild enchanting spell,
As heard above would fix the eye
Of nature in sweet ecstacy,
43
And drag the willing soul away.
Dark is the path, and wild the road,
That leads unto that dread abode;
By shelving steeps, through brier and wood,
Through yawning cliff and cavern'd flood,
Where thousand treacherous spirits dwell,
Loose the huge stones, bid waters swell,
And guard the dire approach of Hell.
And none, since that high Lord of Heaven,
To whom the sword of death is given,
Stern Odin, for young Balder's sake,
Has dared the slumbering Vala wake.
But love can pass o'er brier and stone
Unharm'd, through floods and forests lone;
Love can defy the treacherous arm
Of spirits leagued to work its harm,
Pierce the dread silence of the tomb,
And smooth the way, and light the gloom.
That leads unto that dread abode;
By shelving steeps, through brier and wood,
Through yawning cliff and cavern'd flood,
Where thousand treacherous spirits dwell,
Loose the huge stones, bid waters swell,
And guard the dire approach of Hell.
And none, since that high Lord of Heaven,
To whom the sword of death is given,
Stern Odin, for young Balder's sake,
Has dared the slumbering Vala wake.
But love can pass o'er brier and stone
Unharm'd, through floods and forests lone;
Love can defy the treacherous arm
Of spirits leagued to work its harm,
Pierce the dread silence of the tomb,
And smooth the way, and light the gloom.
Whence art thou? essence of delight!
Pure as the heavens, or dark as night!
Feeding the soul with fitful dreams,
And ever blending the extremes
Of joys so fearful, cares so sweet,
That wo and bliss together meet!
Thy touch can make the lion mild,
And the sweet ringdove fierce and wild.
Thy breath can rouse the gentlest maid
That e'er on couch of down was laid,
Brace her soft limbs to meet the cold,
And make her in the danger bold;
The breast, that heaves so lily-white,
Defy the storms and brave the night,
While the rude gales that toss her hair,
Seem whispers of the tremulous air,
And heaviest toils seem passing light,
And every peril new delight.
Pure as the heavens, or dark as night!
Feeding the soul with fitful dreams,
And ever blending the extremes
Of joys so fearful, cares so sweet,
That wo and bliss together meet!
Thy touch can make the lion mild,
And the sweet ringdove fierce and wild.
Thy breath can rouse the gentlest maid
That e'er on couch of down was laid,
Brace her soft limbs to meet the cold,
And make her in the danger bold;
The breast, that heaves so lily-white,
Defy the storms and brave the night,
44
Seem whispers of the tremulous air,
And heaviest toils seem passing light,
And every peril new delight.
O whose is that love-lighted eye?
What form is that, slow gliding by?
Sweet Helga, risen from the bed
Where sleepless lay thy virgin head,
Thou darest explore that dread abyss,
To learn what tides thee, wo or bliss!
Whether it stand by fate decreed
That stern Angantyr's breast shall bleed,
Or he to whom in secret turn'd
Thy heart with gentle passion burn'd,
He whom thy soul had learn'd to cherish,
For thy dear sake untimely perish.
The night was calm; a pallid glow
Stream'd o'er the wide extended snow,
Which like a silvery mantle spread
O'er copse, and dale, and mountain's head.
O who has witness'd near the pole
The full-orb'd moon in glory roll!
More splendid shines her lustrous robe,
And larger seems the radiant globe;
And that serene unnumber'd choir,
That pave the heaven's blue arch with fire,
Shoot through the night with brighter gleam,
Like distant suns, their twinkling beam.
While in the north its streamers play,
Like mimic shafts of orient day;
The wonderous splendor fiery red
Round half the welkin seems to spread,
And flashes on the summits bleak
Of snowy crag or ice-clad peak,
Lending a feeble blush, to cheer
The twilight of the waning year.
The thoughtful eye undazzled there
May pierce the liquid realms of air,
And the rapt soul delighted gaze
On countless worlds that round it blaze.
No floating vapor dims the sight
That dives through the blue vault of night,
While distance yields to fancy's power,
And rapture rules the silent hour.
What form is that, slow gliding by?
Sweet Helga, risen from the bed
Where sleepless lay thy virgin head,
Thou darest explore that dread abyss,
To learn what tides thee, wo or bliss!
Whether it stand by fate decreed
That stern Angantyr's breast shall bleed,
Or he to whom in secret turn'd
Thy heart with gentle passion burn'd,
He whom thy soul had learn'd to cherish,
For thy dear sake untimely perish.
The night was calm; a pallid glow
Stream'd o'er the wide extended snow,
Which like a silvery mantle spread
O'er copse, and dale, and mountain's head.
O who has witness'd near the pole
The full-orb'd moon in glory roll!
More splendid shines her lustrous robe,
And larger seems the radiant globe;
And that serene unnumber'd choir,
That pave the heaven's blue arch with fire,
Shoot through the night with brighter gleam,
Like distant suns, their twinkling beam.
While in the north its streamers play,
Like mimic shafts of orient day;
The wonderous splendor fiery red
Round half the welkin seems to spread,
45
Of snowy crag or ice-clad peak,
Lending a feeble blush, to cheer
The twilight of the waning year.
The thoughtful eye undazzled there
May pierce the liquid realms of air,
And the rapt soul delighted gaze
On countless worlds that round it blaze.
No floating vapor dims the sight
That dives through the blue vault of night,
While distance yields to fancy's power,
And rapture rules the silent hour.
A calm so holy seem'd to brood
O'er white-robed hill and frozen flood,
A charm so solemn and so still,
That sure, if e'er the sprites of ill
Shrink from the face of nature, this
Must be the hallow'd hour of bliss,
When no dark elves or goblins rude
Dare on the walks of man intrude.
O'er white-robed hill and frozen flood,
A charm so solemn and so still,
That sure, if e'er the sprites of ill
Shrink from the face of nature, this
Must be the hallow'd hour of bliss,
When no dark elves or goblins rude
Dare on the walks of man intrude.
Pure as the night, at that calm hour,
Young Helga left her virgin bower;
And trod unseen the lonely road
To gloomy Hela's dire abode.
The broken path and toilsome way
Adown a sloping valley lay,
Where solid rocks on either side
Might have the hand of Time defied;
But some convulsion of old Earth
Had given the narrow passage birth.
Onward with laboring steps and slow
The virgin pass'd, nor fear'd a foe.
The moon threw gloriously bright
On the grey stones her streaming light;
Till now the valley wider grew,
And the scene scowl'd with dreariest hue.
From the steep crag a torrent pouring
Dash'd headlong down, with fury roaring,
Through frozen heaps that midway hung;
And, where the beams their radiance flung,
Columns of ice and massive stone
Blending and undistinguish'd shone;
While each dark shade their forms between
Lent deeper horror to the scene;
And gloomy pines, that far above
Lean'd from the high and rocky cove,
With frozen spray their heads besprent
Under the hoary burthen bent.
Before her spread a forest drear
Of antique trees with foliage sere;
Wreathed and fantastic were their roots,
And one way stretch'd their stunted shoots:
Each hollow trunk some beast might hide,
Or fiends more wily there abide.
She seem'd in that strange wilderness
A spirit sent to cheer and bless,
A beauteous form of radiant light
Charming the fearful brow of night.
The wind with a low whisper'd sigh
Came rushing through the branches dry;
Heavy and mournful was the sound,
And seem'd to sweep along the ground.
The virgin's heart throbb'd high; the blood
Beat at its doors with hastier flood:
But, firm of purpose, on she pass'd,
Nor heeded the low rustling blast.
A mist hung o'er the barren ground,
And soon she was all mantled round
In a thick gloom, so dark and dread,
That hardly wist she where to tread.
Mute horror brooded o'er the heath,
And all was dark and still as death:
When sudden a loud gust of wind,
Shaking the forest, roar'd behind,
And wolves seem'd howling in the brake,
And in her path the hissing snake.
Then all was hush'd; till swift and sheen
A meteor flash'd upon the scene;
A hoarse laugh burst upon her ear,
And then a hideous shriek of fear.
Dire phantoms, in the gloom conceal'd,
Were instant by that light reveal'd;
For, lurking sly, behind each tree
Strange faces peep'd with spiteful glee,
And ghastly forms and shapes obscene
Glided the hoary rocks between.
O who shall save thee, Helga! mark
The ambush'd spirits of the dark!
Those are the powers accurst, that ride
The blasting whirlwind, and preside
O'er nature's wrecks; whose hands delight
To weave the tempest of the night,
Spread the red pestilence, and throw
A deeper gloom o'er human wo!
Those are the fiends, that prompt the mind
To deeds of darkness, and behind
Send their fell crew with sickening breath,
Despair, and infamy, and death!
Young Helga left her virgin bower;
And trod unseen the lonely road
To gloomy Hela's dire abode.
The broken path and toilsome way
Adown a sloping valley lay,
Where solid rocks on either side
Might have the hand of Time defied;
But some convulsion of old Earth
Had given the narrow passage birth.
Onward with laboring steps and slow
The virgin pass'd, nor fear'd a foe.
46
On the grey stones her streaming light;
Till now the valley wider grew,
And the scene scowl'd with dreariest hue.
From the steep crag a torrent pouring
Dash'd headlong down, with fury roaring,
Through frozen heaps that midway hung;
And, where the beams their radiance flung,
Columns of ice and massive stone
Blending and undistinguish'd shone;
While each dark shade their forms between
Lent deeper horror to the scene;
And gloomy pines, that far above
Lean'd from the high and rocky cove,
With frozen spray their heads besprent
Under the hoary burthen bent.
Before her spread a forest drear
Of antique trees with foliage sere;
Wreathed and fantastic were their roots,
And one way stretch'd their stunted shoots:
Each hollow trunk some beast might hide,
Or fiends more wily there abide.
She seem'd in that strange wilderness
A spirit sent to cheer and bless,
A beauteous form of radiant light
Charming the fearful brow of night.
The wind with a low whisper'd sigh
Came rushing through the branches dry;
Heavy and mournful was the sound,
And seem'd to sweep along the ground.
The virgin's heart throbb'd high; the blood
Beat at its doors with hastier flood:
47
Nor heeded the low rustling blast.
A mist hung o'er the barren ground,
And soon she was all mantled round
In a thick gloom, so dark and dread,
That hardly wist she where to tread.
Mute horror brooded o'er the heath,
And all was dark and still as death:
When sudden a loud gust of wind,
Shaking the forest, roar'd behind,
And wolves seem'd howling in the brake,
And in her path the hissing snake.
Then all was hush'd; till swift and sheen
A meteor flash'd upon the scene;
A hoarse laugh burst upon her ear,
And then a hideous shriek of fear.
Dire phantoms, in the gloom conceal'd,
Were instant by that light reveal'd;
For, lurking sly, behind each tree
Strange faces peep'd with spiteful glee,
And ghastly forms and shapes obscene
Glided the hoary rocks between.
O who shall save thee, Helga! mark
The ambush'd spirits of the dark!
Those are the powers accurst, that ride
The blasting whirlwind, and preside
O'er nature's wrecks; whose hands delight
To weave the tempest of the night,
Spread the red pestilence, and throw
A deeper gloom o'er human wo!
Those are the fiends, that prompt the mind
To deeds of darkness, and behind
48
Despair, and infamy, and death!
Nor yet unmoved the virgin gazed;
She trembled as that meteor blazed;
But high she spread her white arms sheen,
And thus she pray'd to beauty's Queen.
She trembled as that meteor blazed;
But high she spread her white arms sheen,
And thus she pray'd to beauty's Queen.
“Immortal Freya! if e'er my mind
“Has to thy gentle rites inclined;
“If e'er my hand fresh garlands wove
“Of flowers, the symbols of chaste love,
“And cull'd from all its blooming hoards
“The sweets which opening spring affords;
“If I have knit the silken twine
“To deck thy pure and honor'd shrine;
“Immortal Freya, attend my prayer!
“To a lone virgin succour bear!
“Give me to reach great Vala's grave,
“And from the powers of darkness save!”
“Has to thy gentle rites inclined;
“If e'er my hand fresh garlands wove
“Of flowers, the symbols of chaste love,
“And cull'd from all its blooming hoards
“The sweets which opening spring affords;
“If I have knit the silken twine
“To deck thy pure and honor'd shrine;
“Immortal Freya, attend my prayer!
“To a lone virgin succour bear!
“Give me to reach great Vala's grave,
“And from the powers of darkness save!”
Fair Helga spoke; and as she pray'd,
A charm descended on the maid,
Like the sweet fall of measured sound,
Or dew distill'd on holy ground;
And vanish'd seem'd the powers of ill,
And nature smiled serene and still.
The darksome mist was roll'd away,
And tranquil, as the fall of day,
A milder gloom imbrown'd the way;
While through that wild and barren scene
The lofty gates of Hell were seen.
A strain delightful pouring slowly
Breathed in soft cadence pure and holy:
And the strange voice she long'd to hear
Stole gently on her wondering ear.
Hark! the wild notes are sweetly swelling,
Now upon things unearthly dwelling,
And now of Time's old secrets telling.
A charm descended on the maid,
Like the sweet fall of measured sound,
Or dew distill'd on holy ground;
And vanish'd seem'd the powers of ill,
Hafa Hæliar ranni, the lofty abode of Hela. Vegtam's Quida. The words “Portals nine of Hell,” which Gray has inserted in the descent of Odin, and the note saying that the hell of the gothic nations consisted of nine worlds, are erroneous. They reckoned that there were nine worlds or heavens, and that hell was below them.
And nature smiled serene and still.
The darksome mist was roll'd away,
And tranquil, as the fall of day,
A milder gloom imbrown'd the way;
While through that wild and barren scene
The lofty gates of Hell were seen.
A strain delightful pouring slowly
Breathed in soft cadence pure and holy:
And the strange voice she long'd to hear
Stole gently on her wondering ear.
49
Now upon things unearthly dwelling,
And now of Time's old secrets telling.
To rapture charm'd, fair Helga long
Stood listening that immortal song;
But onward now she sprang with haste,
And thro' Hell's portals quickly paced.
Then, starting from his gory bed,
The whelp of Hela raised his head,
And, as he view'd the daring maid,
Gnash'd his keen fangs, and fiercely bay'd.
His glowing eyes with fury scowl'd,
And long and loud the monster howl'd:
For well he mark'd athwart the gloom
A living form by Vala's tomb.
But unappall'd the virgin stood,
And thus, in calm unalter'd mood:
Stood listening that immortal song;
But onward now she sprang with haste,
And thro' Hell's portals quickly paced.
Then, starting from his gory bed,
The whelp of Hela raised his head,
And, as he view'd the daring maid,
Gnash'd his keen fangs, and fiercely bay'd.
His glowing eyes with fury scowl'd,
And long and loud the monster howl'd:
For well he mark'd athwart the gloom
A living form by Vala's tomb.
But unappall'd the virgin stood,
And thus, in calm unalter'd mood:
“By the force of Runic song,
“By the might of Odin strong,
“By the lance and glittering shield
“Which the Maids of slaughter wield,
“By the gems whose wonderous light
“Beams in Freya's necklace bright,
“By the tomb of Balder bold,
“I adjure thine ashes cold.
“Vala, list a virgin's prayer!
“Speak! Hialmar's doom declare!”
“By the might of Odin strong,
“By the lance and glittering shield
“Which the Maids of slaughter wield,
“By the gems whose wonderous light
“Beams in Freya's necklace bright,
“By the tomb of Balder bold,
“I adjure thine ashes cold.
The inhabitants of the north believed that the rocky regions were inhabited by dwarfs, who had secret forges in the caverns, and were most skilful artificers of all sorts of weapons, which by the force of magic they could endow with the most extraordinary powers. A long list of their names is given in Völospá. They were called in the old tongue Dvergar.—In almost all countries the superstition of the ruder natives has peopled the stones quarries, and caverns, and rocky solitudes, with supernatural inhabitants; and indeed it seems natural to have imagined, that those places which could afford shelter, and were yet from their desolation unfit for the abode of men, might be occupied by malicious spirits. I recollect having somewhere met with a tradition, that the Emperor Maximilian the First had been decoyed by an evil spirit amongst the rocks in the neighbourhood of Inspruck, though I forget from whence I derived the story. Maximilian goes out from Inspruck to the chase with a splendid retinue, and is led by the pursuit into the rocky mountains. A holy man meets them, and warns the Emperor to beware of the mountain spirits. He is scoffed at by the Emperor; but urges his admonitions, assuring him that nothing but the vigilance of the good spirits (who also dwell there, but assist only the faithful) can save those who entangle themselves amongst the haunted precipices. The Emperor pursues the chase, and at the foot of a stupendous rock he starts a beautiful chamois, at which he fires, but misses his aim, which he had not done for ten years before. He pursues the chamois, which frequently stops and looks at him. He fires at it repeatedly, but in vain. At evening the beast suddenly vanishes, and the Emperor finds himself alone and lost amongst the cavities of the rocks. He wanders two days there, living with difficulty upon wild berries. On the second night he bethinks himself of praying to the Holy Virgin for her protection, after which he falls into a sweet sleep, and in the morning is awakened by a beautiful youth dressed like a peasant, who brings him fruit and milk, and offers to conduct him out of the mountains. Maximilian joyfully follows him, till he arrives at the foot of the same stupendous rock where he had first seen the chamois; and there his conductor vanishes, and he immediately hears the horn of his huntsman. I believe that such superstitions are common to almost all rocky countries.
“Vala, list a virgin's prayer!
“Speak! Hialmar's doom declare!”
She ceased; when, breathing sad and slow,
Like some unwilling sound of wo,
A sweetly solemn voice was sent
Forth from that gloomy monument.
Like some unwilling sound of wo,
A sweetly solemn voice was sent
Forth from that gloomy monument.
50
“Deep-bosom'd in the northern fells
“A pigmy race immortal dwells,
“Whose hands can forge the falchion well
“With many a wonderous mutter'd spell.
“If bold Hialmar's might can gain
“A weapon from their lone domain,
“Nor stone, nor iron shall withstand
“The dint of such a gifted brand;
“Its edge shall drink Angantyr's blood,
“And life's tide issue with the flood.
“Victorious, at night's silent hour,
“The chief shall reach fair Helga's bower.
“But thou, who darest with living tread
“Invade these realms, where rest the dead;
“Breaking the slumbers of the tomb
“With charms that rend Hell's awful gloom;
“Who seek'st to scan, with prescience bold,
“What Gods from mortal man withhold,
“Soon shall thine heart despairing rue
“The hour that gave these shades to view,
“And Odin's wrath thy steps pursue.”
“A pigmy race immortal dwells,
“Whose hands can forge the falchion well
“With many a wonderous mutter'd spell.
“If bold Hialmar's might can gain
“A weapon from their lone domain,
“Nor stone, nor iron shall withstand
“The dint of such a gifted brand;
“Its edge shall drink Angantyr's blood,
“And life's tide issue with the flood.
“Victorious, at night's silent hour,
“The chief shall reach fair Helga's bower.
“But thou, who darest with living tread
“Invade these realms, where rest the dead;
“Breaking the slumbers of the tomb
“With charms that rend Hell's awful gloom;
“Who seek'st to scan, with prescience bold,
“What Gods from mortal man withhold,
“Soon shall thine heart despairing rue
“The hour that gave these shades to view,
“And Odin's wrath thy steps pursue.”
It ceased; and straight a lurid flash
Burst through the gloom with thunder-crash.
It lighted all Death's dreary caves,
It glared on thousand thousand graves.
Hell's iron chambers rang withal,
And pale ghosts started at the call;
While, as the gather'd tempest spreads,
Rush'd the red terror o'er their heads.
And well I deem, those realms might show
Unnumber'd shapes of various wo;
Lamenting forms, a ghastly crew,
By the strange gleam were given to view;
And writhing Agony was there,
And sullen motionless Despair:
Sights, that might freeze life's swelling tide,
Blanch the warm cheek of throbbing pride,
And shake fair reason's frail defence,
Though strongly nerved by innocence.
Nor dared the breathless virgin gaze
On Hell's dread cells and devious ways;
Back rush'd unto her heart the blood,
And horror staid its curdling flood;
As fainting nigh the gates of Hell
In speechless trance young Helga fell.
Her glowing lips are pale and cold;
Her dainty limbs of heavenly mould,
Fashion'd for bliss and form'd to rest
On couch of down by love carest,
Lie by yon damp and mouldering tomb,
Faded, and stript of mortal bloom;
Like flowers on broken hawthorn bough,
Or snow-wreaths on the mountain's brow.
Burst through the gloom with thunder-crash.
It lighted all Death's dreary caves,
It glared on thousand thousand graves.
Hell's iron chambers rang withal,
And pale ghosts started at the call;
While, as the gather'd tempest spreads,
Rush'd the red terror o'er their heads.
And well I deem, those realms might show
Unnumber'd shapes of various wo;
51
By the strange gleam were given to view;
And writhing Agony was there,
And sullen motionless Despair:
Sights, that might freeze life's swelling tide,
Blanch the warm cheek of throbbing pride,
And shake fair reason's frail defence,
Though strongly nerved by innocence.
Nor dared the breathless virgin gaze
On Hell's dread cells and devious ways;
Back rush'd unto her heart the blood,
And horror staid its curdling flood;
As fainting nigh the gates of Hell
In speechless trance young Helga fell.
Her glowing lips are pale and cold;
Her dainty limbs of heavenly mould,
Fashion'd for bliss and form'd to rest
On couch of down by love carest,
Lie by yon damp and mouldering tomb,
Faded, and stript of mortal bloom;
Like flowers on broken hawthorn bough,
Or snow-wreaths on the mountain's brow.
Shall e'er that bosom move again,
To know love's subtle bliss or pain?
Shall e'er those languid beauties stir?
Shall Heaven's pure light revisit her?
Or is she thus enveloped quite
By curtain of eternal night?
And ye, who in life's varied scene
Still its frail joys and sorrows glean,
Say, does her fate for pity cry,
Or were it best to sink and die,
While innocence is chaste and pure,
And flattering fancies yet allure,
To leave the hopes of youth half tasted,
To fly, before its dreams are blasted,
Its charms foredone, its treasures wasted?
Ere guilty bliss with secret smart
Has touch'd the yet untainted heart,
To shun the pleasure and the crime,
Nor trust the wintery storms of time?
To know love's subtle bliss or pain?
Shall e'er those languid beauties stir?
Shall Heaven's pure light revisit her?
Or is she thus enveloped quite
By curtain of eternal night?
And ye, who in life's varied scene
Still its frail joys and sorrows glean,
Say, does her fate for pity cry,
Or were it best to sink and die,
52
And flattering fancies yet allure,
To leave the hopes of youth half tasted,
To fly, before its dreams are blasted,
Its charms foredone, its treasures wasted?
Ere guilty bliss with secret smart
Has touch'd the yet untainted heart,
To shun the pleasure and the crime,
Nor trust the wintery storms of time?
True to the charge, some guardian power
Watch'd over Helga's deathlike hour;
Whether by pity moved and love
Bright Freya glided from above,
Spread round her limbs a viewless spell,
And snatch'd her from the jaws of Hell;
Or Odin's self reserved the fair
For other woes and worse despair;
For at the earliest dawn of day
In her still bower young Helga lay,
And waked, as from a feverish dream.
To hail the morning's orient beam.
Watch'd over Helga's deathlike hour;
Whether by pity moved and love
Bright Freya glided from above,
Spread round her limbs a viewless spell,
And snatch'd her from the jaws of Hell;
Or Odin's self reserved the fair
For other woes and worse despair;
For at the earliest dawn of day
In her still bower young Helga lay,
And waked, as from a feverish dream.
To hail the morning's orient beam.
END OF CANTO II
| Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert | |