ANODE.

Now my weary lips I cloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repofe.

ODIN.

Prophetefs, my ſpell obey:
Once again arife, and ſay,
Who th' avenger of his guilt,
By whom ſhall Hoder's blood be ſpilt.

PROPHETESS.

In the caverns of the weſt,
By *Odin's* fierce embrace compreſſt,
A wond'rous boy ſhall *Rinda* bear,
Who ne'er ſhall comb his raven hair,
Nor waſh his viſage in the ſtream,
Nor fee the fun's departing beam,
Till he on *Hoder's* corſe ſhall ſmile
Flaming on the ſuneral pile.
Now my weary lips I cloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repofe.

I

ODIN.

124 THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

ODIN.

Yet awhile my call obey;
Prophetefs, awake, and fay,
What Virgins thefe, in fpeechlefs woe,
That bend to earth their Solemn brow,
That their flaxen trefſes tear,
And snowy veils, that float in air.
Tell me whence their forrows roſe:
Then I leave thee to repofe.

PROPHETESS.

Ha! no Traveller art thou,
King of Men, I know thee now;
Mightiest of a mighty line—

ODIN.

No boding Maid of ſkill divine
Art thou, nor Prophetefs of good,
But mother of the giant-brood!

PRO-