"I will not!" thundered the giant; and with one quick bound he sprang forward, raised his shining sword, and with a sweep miles high, cut the great cable which held the writhing serpent. Another roar, and the great serpent arched his back even to the blue dome of the sky above. Then, with a hiss that sounded through Midgard and even up to the shining city of the fair Mt. Ida, he shot down beneath the waters, and over him closed the angry waves. The foam dashed mountains high; the caves howled and boomed; the skies echoed crash on crash; and the whole earth trembled with the upheaval of the troubled waters. A rushing back, a heaping up, a breaking of great waves--and never again, by man or giant or god, was the loathsome serpent seen above the waters, until on that last sad, fateful day when the light had gone out from the sun, and the dread chill of Ragnarok had fallen even upon Valhalla and the beautiful shining city of Asgard. VALKYRIES' SONG. The Sea-king looked o'er the brooding wave; He turned to the dusky shore, And there seemed, through the arch of a tide-worn cave A gleam, as of snow, to pour; And forth, in watery light, Moved phantoms, dimly white, Which the garb of woman bore. Slowly they moved to the billow side; And the forms, as they grew more clear, Seemed each on a tall, pale steed to ride, And a shadowy crest to rear, And to beckon with faint hand, From the dark and rocky strand, And to point a gleaming spear. Then a stillness on his spirit fell, Before th' unearthly train, For he knew Valhalla's daughters well, The Choosers of the slain! And a sudden rising breeze Bore, across the moaning seas, To his ear their thrilling strain. "Regner! tell thy fair-haired bride She must slumber at thy side! Tell the brother of thy breast, Even for him thy grave hath rest! Tell the raven steed which bore thee, When the wild wolf fled before thee, He too with his lord must fall,-- There is room in Odin's Hall!" There was arming heard on land and wave, When afar the sunlight spread, And the phantom forms of the tide-worn cave With the mists of morning fled; But at eve, the kingly hand Of the battle-axe and brand, Lay cold on a pile of dead!--Hemans. XXI. THE DYING BALDUR. Ages upon ages had rolled away. And now the day of sorrow, which always Odin had known must come, drew near. Already the god of song had gone with his beautiful wife Idun down into the dark valley of death; and there was a new strange rustle among the leaves of Ygdrasil, like the rustling of leaves that were dead. Odin's face grew sad; and, try as he would, he could not join with the happy gods about him in their joys and festal games.