Poems and Plays :: :: University of Virginia Library

When urg'd by Destiny th' eventful year
Sail'd thro' the portal of the northern sphere,
Of Scandinavia the rude Genius rose,
His breast deep-lab'ring with creation's throes:
Thrice o'er his head a pow'rful wand he whirl'd,
Then call'd to life a new Poetic world.

First thro' the yawning waves that roar'd around,
Uprising slow from out the gulph profound,

Amidst the fury of the beating storm
The giant Ymir heav'd his horrid form.

Now on the stormy cloud the rainbow glows,
Where gay Diversity her colouring throws.
Beyond the sun the Pow'r now cast his eyes,
And bade the splendid city Asgard rise;
Obedient to the loud creative call
She rises, circled with a crystal wall,
Her sapphire mansions crown'd with opal tow'rs,
O'er which the Pow'r a flood of radiance show'rs.

Now a more daring task the Genius plann'd,
He seiz'd the rapid lightning in his hand,
And as around the broken rays he flung,
From the fall'n spires the gods of Asgard sprung.

See the dread Ash exalt its lofty head,
And o'er a wide extent its umbrage shed:

There twelve of Asgard's gods in close divan
Sit in strict judgment on the deeds of man:
Amidst the waving boughs enthron'd on high
An eagle sends around his watchful eye.

Three virgin forms, in snowy vests array'd,
Stand in the deep recesses of the shade,
The rich endowments of whose radiant mind
Are by the Pow'r to different acts consign'd.
He gives to thee, sage Urda, to restore
The splendid deeds of times that are no more,
And (faithful as the echo to the sound)
Repeat transactions that were once renown'd.
Clear to thy view, Vernandi, are unfurl'd
The various scenes that fill the extensive world.
To thee, O Skulda, the dread pow'r is giv'n,
To read the counsels in the breast of heav'n;
With daring forecast pierce th' abyss of time,
And (utt'ring first some strange mysterious rhyme)

Proclaim which babe, when rear'd to warlike form,
Shall o'er his country roll destruction's storm;
And which, directed to a better fate,
Shall rise the pride and pillar of the state.

Next, at the awful Pow'r's commanding call,
Arose to view great Odin's festive hall!
Engrav'd with sun-beams on the crystal gate
Appear'd—

—Here they reside in splendid state,
Who, as they slept in death, reclin'd their head
On valour's bier, the battle's rugged bed,
Who to the bliss th' intrepid claim aspir'd,
Who welcom'd pain, and with a smile expir'd.

Now as the Genius waves his hallow'd hand
The Valkeries appear, a female band,
Prompt to the storm of lances to repair,
On viewless steeds to scour the fields of air,

Mark as they hover o'er the crowded plain
The chosen chiefs, the death-devoted train.

The Pow'r now form'd the coward's dwelling-place,
The seat of pain, and mansion of disgrace:
Deep under earth he fix'd the drear abode,
Thro' which the rueful stream of anguish flow'd;
Loud roar the surges thro' the gulph profound,
While cavern'd echoes murmur back the sound.
Close at the gate sat Death's terrific Maid,
Her meagre form in sable weeds array'd;
A wreath of living snakes entwine her head,
And thus with shrilling voice the spectre said:
‘Haste to my caves, ye impotent of heart,
‘Who meanly shrink from valour's daring part,
‘Ye too, who ling'ring on with feeble breath,
‘Crept thro' the languor of old age to death.’

See on the horrid battle's bleeding plain
The raven-brood rejoicing o'er the slain!

Yet then in vain they gorge the grateful food,
Death smites them at the dire repast of blood;
When lo! their pinions to the wond'ring view
Combining, into one vast texture grew;
The gory heads conjoin'd in one dread fold,
Around the frame a grisly margin roll'd:
Now self-upborne the sable banner flings
Bold to the wind its wide-expanding wings;
‘Exalt,’ the Genius cries, ‘thy plumes on high,
‘Wave thy dark signal to the warrior's eye;
‘Th' intrepid Youth beneath thy magic shade
‘Thro' slaughter'd heaps to victory shall wade .’

Now from a rock on which the Genius stood,
He mark'd below a slowly-waving wood,
Then rais'd his awful voice—‘Hail, hallow'd gloom,
‘(Where Thought is rear'd, and Fancy decks her plume)

‘Who hold'st within thy vast sequester'd bow'r
‘A numerous train, that wait the rip'ning hour:
‘Resign thy charge, yield to demanding time,
‘The living fathers of the Runic rhyme.’
Swift at his word the ancient sire survey'd,
Tumultuous rushing from the solemn shade,
Arm'd with the pow'rful harp, an ardent throng,
The mighty founders of the northern song.
'Twas then the Pow'r resum'd—‘Ye chosen band,
‘At Nature's furnace take your faithful stand:
‘There forge the verse amidst the fiercest glow,
‘And thence the thunderbolts of Genius throw;
‘Rouse, rouse the tyrant from his flatt'ring dream,
‘Full at his vices wield the daring theme,
‘Till o'er his cheek shall flash intruding shame,
‘That blushing dawn of Virtue's rising flame.

‘Now on the bosom of the list'ning Youth
‘Impress, engrave the sacred form of Truth;

‘Bid them, as varying life unfolds to view,
‘Be still thro' all her scenes to honor true;
‘True to the man on Friendship's list enroll'd,
‘Th' entrusted secret of his soul untold.
‘Woe to that Chief, and blasted be his fame,
‘Whose mean soul chills Affection's holy flame;
‘Forgetting that he once, with zeal impress'd,
‘Drank the pure drops that flow'd from Friendship's breast.

‘Now to the realm, ye hallow'd Bards, impart
‘This truth, and touch with joy the human heart,
‘In man's too transient perishable frame
‘A glowing unabating fire proclaim,
‘Which, as that frame lies mould'ring into clay,
‘Shall thro' th' encircling ruin burst its way:
‘Thus when a torrent of impetuous rain
‘Drowns the low nest that trusted to the plain;
‘High soars the bird beyond Destruction's flow,
‘And owns no kindred with the wreck below.

‘Then o'er some stately tomb's dim entrance bend,
‘And from the daring harp unerring send
‘(As from the sounding bow with vigour sped)
‘The darts of harmony that wake the dead.
‘—Be too of prophecy the dreadful lords,
‘And strike the solemn, deep, mysterious chords;
‘Skill'd to reveal futurity's dark laws,
‘Inforce the song with many an awful pause.
‘In sounds that terrify the soul disclose
‘(Veil'd in the womb of time) destructive woes:
‘Say whirlwinds shall provoke the roaring main;
‘Say stars shall drop like glitt'ring gems of rain:
‘Say Fenris, bursting from his time-worn chains,
‘Shall bear wild horror thro' the Runic plains;
‘Doom'd while the course of havoc he shall run,
‘With jaws outstretch'd to rend the falling sun.
‘Say the gigantic ship, the floating world,
‘Shall, on the iron rock of ruin hurl'd,
‘Sink—like a dream that, rushing from the mind,
‘Leaves not a glimm'ring of its pomp behind

‘Ye bold Enthusiasts, join the warlike train,
‘When true to fame they seek the hostile plain;
‘Bid the loud harp delight the valiant throng,
‘And add the forceful eloquence of song.
‘Thinn'd of his numbers, mark the struggling Chief
‘Encircled close, and sever'd from relief:
‘Now strike the cheering harp—'tis heard no more,
‘Lost in the conflict's wild encreasing roar.
‘Yet strike again, yet strike the note profound,
‘I to the Chief will wast th' inspiring sound;
‘Till thro' the pressure of the battle's storm,
‘He o'er the slain a rugged path shall form.
‘Thus on the main when frozen fragments sail,
‘And with huge mounds oppose the giant whale;
‘The ocean's lord, enrag'd at the delay,
‘Thro' stubborn crashing ice-rocks bursts his way.

‘Now round some death-struck Chief in silence throng,
‘While thus he breathes his own historic song:—

Tho' gash'd with wounds, unwounded is my fame,
In the war's field I chas'd the flying game;
Wrapt in the jealous veil of ling'ring night,
Did we not chide the time's reluctant flight?
Did not our voices hail the morning ray,
Shouting the matins of th' important day?
When foreign streamers glitter'd to our view,
How swift our weapons from the scabbards flew!
'Twas joy to see the riven helmets fly,
'Twas joy to swell confusion's thund'ring cry,
'Twas joy to see (extending all around)
The hostile banners spread the lowly ground;
Methought the Danish field, thus mantled o'er,
Heav'd conscious of the gorgeous robe it wore.

‘Thus as the Chief shall mitigate his pain ,
‘With choral voice relieve the pausing strain:
‘Now, now again your soothing tones suspend,
‘And o'er the dying Chief attentive bend.

Rush'd we not forth, at valour's daring call,
To crush the forces of the Christian Gaul?
Rush'd we not forth in terrible attire,
To celebrate the mass of war a length'ning quire?
Our glitt'ring swords, impatient of the fight,
Were the dread relics that adorn'd the rite.
But agony returns—my fading breath
Denies expression to the song of death.
Farewell—ye battle-sisters hover nigh,
Receive your prize—and waft my soul on high!
‘Now ere he sinks beneath the blow of fate,
‘Reveal the honors of his future state;
‘Where to his wond'ring vision shall expand,
‘Adorn'd with heroes, a refulgent land.

‘Ye glowing masters of the Scaldic song ,
‘Still other pow'rful gifts to you belong:

‘The lofty pine that meets the mountain gale,
‘Th' expanding oak that crowns the lowly vale,
‘Shall as your fingers touch the furrow'd rind,
‘Display the treasures of the musing mind:
‘There by the voice of whisp'ring Nature call'd,
‘In future times shall stand the youthful Scald,
‘There shall he meditate the Runic store,
‘There woo the science of the tuneful lore;
‘There view the tree with speechless wonder fraught,
‘Whose womb mysterious bears the Poet's thought;
‘There (from the busy world's incessant din)
‘Inhale the breathings of the Pow'r within.

‘Enough—the pow'r I now bestow enjoy,
‘In Virtue's cause the forceful harp employ:
‘Go forth, ye glorious conquerors of the mind,
‘Atchieve the hallow'd task to you assign'd:
‘Applaud the valiant, and the base controul,
‘Disturb, exalt, enchant the human soul.’

Thus to his Minstrels spoke the awful Pow'r—
The warm Enthusiasts own th' inspiring hour;
And now dividing into many a band,
Strew their wild poetry o'er all the land:
So while descending with resistless tide,
The snow-flood hurries down the mountain's side,
The sun, bright sailing 'midst his ardent beams,
Melts the rude havoc into various streams;
Which rushing thro' the naked vales below,
Rouse vegetation as they roughly flow;
Till a new scene o'erspreads the teeming earth,
And smiling Nature hails the summer's birth.

THE END OF THE FIRST PART.

Tho' the Raven-banner is not mentioned in the Edda, it is of great antiquity; it was supposed to be endued with some magical power, and to insure success.

See the notes the Reverend Mr. Johnstone has added to his translation of the Death-song of Loderoc.

In the first rude ages rocks and trees supplied the materials for writing, and on them were inscribed the rudiments of that art: the trees thus marked were held in veneration, and were even believed to inclose some supernatural agent.