Me no tender father laid
Entomb'd beneath an hallow'd shade;
It was no friendly voice that gave

The oak, that screen'd a warrior's grave,
Gave it, in malignant tone,

To the blasting thunderstone.
Timeless now these bones decay,
Pervious to the baleful ray

Of the swart star.-'Mid battle's yell
The charm'd, the fatal weapon fell
From my unwary grasp.-A knight.
Seiz'd the Sword of magic might.
Virgin, of thy spells demand

His name, and from his victor hand,
Try if thy intrepid zeal

May win the all-subduing Steel.

HERVA.

Warrior, thus, with falsehood wild,

Seek'st thou to deceive thy child ?—

I was not buried either by father or other friends-Two "which lived after me, got Turfing, one of whom is now possessor thereof."

"Hervor.Thou dost not tell the truth-so let Odin hide thee

" in the tomb, as thou hast got Turfing by thee. Art thou

unwilling, Argantyr, to give an inheritance to thy only "child?"

Sure as Odin doom'd thy fall,

And hides thee in this silent hall,

Here sleeps the Sword.-Pale Chief, resign
That, which is by birthright mine!

Fear'st thou, spirit of my sire,
At thy only child's desire,
Glorious heritage to yield,
Conquest in the deathful field?

ARGANTYR.

Daring HERVA, listen yet,

Spare thy heart its long regret!

Why trembling shrunk thy mother's frame
When the Fatal Present came ?

Virgin, mark the boding word,

Sullen whisper'd o'er the Sword!
It prophesied Argantyr's foes

Should rue its prowess;-yet that woes

Greater far his Race should feel,

Victims of the Cruel Steel,

When, in blood of millions dyed,
It arms an ireful fratricide.

Maid, no erring accents warn ;

Of sons to thee, hereafter born,

Argantyr.-I will tell thee, Hervor, what is to come to pass. "This Turfing will, if thou dost believe me, destroy almost "all thy offspring.—Thou shalt have a son, and many think "that he will be called Hydrec by the people."

One thy Chiefs shall HYDRECK name,
Dark spirited!--but dear to fame
Shall blooming HIARALMO live.-
Maid, his doom thy mandates give!
Renounce, renounce the dire demand,
Or to thy sons, in HYDRECK's hand,
Fatal proves, some future day,

The Charmed Sword.-Disturb it not!-away!..

HERVA.

ARGANTYR,-hear thy daughter's voice,

Spells decree an only choice!

Or, in perturbed tomb unblest,

The silence of sepulchral rest

Shall no more thy sunk eye steep,

Close no more thy pallid lip,

Or, ere this night's shadows melt,

Mine the Sword, and gorgeous belt.

ARGANTYR..

Young maid, who as of warrior might,
Roamest thus to tombs by night,

"Hervor.I do, by enchantments, make that the dead shall "never know peace, or rest, unless thou deliver up to me Turfing."

"Argantyr.-Young maid, I say thou art of manlike courage, "who dost roam, about by night to tombs, with spear en

In coat of mail, with voice austere,
Waving the corse-awakening Spear
O'er thy dead ancestors ;-offence,
And danger threaten !-hie thee hence!

HERVA.

Obey, obey, or sleep no more!

Now my sacred right restore!

The Sword, that joys when foes assail,
Sword, that scorns the ribbed mail,
Scorns the car, in swift career,
Scorns the helmet, scorns the spear;
Scorns the nerv'd experienc'd arm;
ARGANTYR, yield it to my charm!
'Tis not well the victor's pride,
With thee in silent tombs to hide;
Thy child, thy only child, demands,—
Reach it with thy wither'd hands!

graven by magical spells, with helmet and coat of mail, "before the door of our hall."

"Hervor.-I took thee for a brave man before I found out

your halls. Give me out of the tomb the workmanship of "the Dwarfs, which hates all coats of mail.-It is not good " for thee to hide it."

ARGANTYR.

The death of HIARALMO lies

Beneath this mouldering arm!-and rise

Round its edge, the lurid fires,

Hostile to unaw'd desires.

Hie thee hence, nor madly dare

The death-denouncing grasp;-beware!

HERVA.

Not if thousand fires invade
Streaming from its angry blade.
Innoxious are the fires that play
Round the corse, with meteor ray,
And in these waste hours of night
Silent death-halls dimly light;
Yet, gliding with consuming force,
Undaunted would I meet their course,

ARGANTYR.

Thou, whose awless voice proclaims
Scorn of the sepulchral flames,

"Argantyr.-The death of Hialmor lies beneath my shoul"ders. It is all wrapt up in fire. I know no maid of any "country that dares take this Sword in hand.”

"Hervor.-I shall take and keep it in my hand, if I may ob

"tain it. I do not think the fires will burn that play about "the sight of deceased men."

Argantyr,-O, conceited Hervor, thou art mad! Rather