"The hostile spirit shouting-once-once more "In the thick harvest of the spears we'll shine"There will be work anon."

"I'm waken'd too,"

Replied the sable helmet (tenanted

By a like inmate)" Hark!-I hear the voice "Of the impatient ghosts, who straggling range "Yon summit (crown'd with ruin'd battlements "The fruits of civil discord), to the din

"The spirits, wand'ring round this Gothic pile, "All join their yell-the song is war and death"There will be work anon."

"Furbish

"Call armourers, ho!

my vizor-close my rivets up

"I brook no dallying".

"Soft, my hasty friend,"

Said the black beaver, "Neither of us twain "Shall share the bloody toil-War-worn am I, "Bored by a happier lance, I let in fate

"To my once master;-since, unsought, unused “ Pensile I'm fix'd—yet too your gaudy pride

"Has nought to boast, the fashion of the fight "Has thrown your gilt and shady plumes aside "For modern foppery ;-still do not frown,

"Nor lower indignantly your steely brows, "We've comfort left enough-the bookman's lore "Shall trace our sometime merit ;-in the eye "Of antiquary taste we long shall shine: "And as the scholar marks our rugged front,

"He'll say this Cressy saw, that Agincourt:

"Thus dwelling on the prowess of his fathers,
"He'll venerate their shell.-Yet more than this,
"From our inactive station we shall hear

"The groans of butchered brothers, shrieking plaints

“Of ravished maids, and matrons' frantic howls,

Already hovering o'er the threaten'd lands.

"The famished raven snuffs the promised feast,

"And hoarslier croaks for blood-'twill flow."

"Forbid it, Heaven!

"O shield my suffering country !-Shield it,” pray'd The agonizing priest.

XLVII.

THE CAROUSAL OF ODIN.

PENROSE.

FILL the honeyed beverage high,
Fill the sculls,-'tis Odin's cry!
Heard ye not the powerful call,
Thundering through the vaulted hall?
"Fill the mead, and spread the board,
"Vassals of the griesly lord."-

The portal hinges grate,-they come→

The din of voices rocks the dome.

In stalk the various forms, and drest

In various armour, various vest,

With helm and morion, targe and shield,

Some quivering lances couch, some biting maces wield:
All march with haughty step, all proudly shake the crest.
The feast begins, the scull goes round,
Laughter shouts-the shouts resound.

The gust of war subsides.-E'en now

The grim chief curls his cheeks, and smoothes his rugged brow.

"Shame to your placid front, ye men of death!"

Cries Hilda, with disordered breath.

Hell echoes back her scoff of shame

To the inactive revelling champion's name.

"Call forth the song," she screamed;-the minstrels

came

The theme was glorious war, the dear delight

Of shining best in field, and daring most in fight.

"Joy to the soul," the harpers sung, "When embattled ranks among,

"The steel-clad knight, in vigour's bloom,

"(Banners waving o'er his plume)

"Foremost rides, the flower and boast

"Of the bold determined host!"

With greedy ears the guests each note devoured,

Each struck his beaver down, and grasped his faithful

sword.

The Fury marked th' auspicious deed,

And bade the scalds proceed.

"Joy to the soul! a joy divine! "When conflicting armies join:

"When trumpets clang, and bugles sound;

"When strokes of death are dealt around;
"When the sword feasts, yet craves for more;
“And every gauntlet drips with gore.”

The charm prevail'd, up rush'd the maddened throng,
Panting for carnage, as they foamed along,

Fierce Odin's self led forth the frantic band,

To scatter havock o'er many a guilty land.