See where the murderer EGILL stands, He grasps the harp with skilful hands, And pours the soul-emoving tide of song; Mute admiration holds the listening throng: The royal sire forgets his murder'd son; ERIC forgives; a thousand years Their swift revolving course have run, Since thus the bard could check the father's tears, Could soothe his soul to peace, And never shall the fame of EGILL cease. Dark was the dungeon, damp the ground, Beneath the reach of cheering day, Where REGNER dying lay; Poisonous adders all around On the expiring warrior hung, Yet the full stream of verse flow'd from his dauntless tongue: "We fought with swords," the warrior cry'd, "We fought with swords," he said--he dy'd. Jomsburg lifts her lofty walls, Sparta revives on Scandinavia's shore; Undismay'd each hero falls, And scorns his death in terror to deplore. "Strike, THORCHILL, strike! drive deep the blow, Jomsburg's sons shall not complain, Never shall the brave appear Bound in slavery's shameful chain, Freedom ev'n in death is dear. Strike, THORCHILL, strike! drive deep the blow, We joy to quit this world of woe; We rush to seize the seats above, And gain the warrior's meed of happiness and love." The destin'd hour at length is come, And vengeful heaven decrees the queen of cities' doom; No longer heaven withholds the avenging blow From those proud domes whence BRUTUS fled; Where just CHEREA bow'd his head, And proud oppression laid the GRACCHI low: In vain the timid slaves oppose, For freedom led their sinewy foes, For valour fled with liberty: Rome bows her lofty walls, The imperial city falls, "She falls--and lo, the world again is free!" BION. * * * * * _THE DEATH OF ODIN._ Soul of my much-lov'd FREYA! yes, I come! No pale disease's slow-consuming power Has hasten'd on thy husband's hour; Nor pour'd by victor's thirsty hand Has ODIN's life bedew'd the land: I rush to meet thee by a self-will'd doom. No more my clattering iron car Shall rush amid the throng of war; No more, obedient to my heavenly cause, Shall crimson conquest stamp his ODIN's laws. I go--I go; Yet shall the nations own my sway Far as yon orb shall dart his all-enlivening ray: Big is the death-fraught cloud of woe That hangs, proud Rome, impending o'er thy wall, For ODIN shall avenge his ASGARD's fall.