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But the dreams of rest were still on earth,

And the silent stars on high, And there waved not the smoke of one cabin-hearth 'Midst the quiet of the sky;

And along the twilight bay

In their sleep the hamlets lay,
For they knew not the Norse were nigh!

The Sea-king look'd o'er the brooding wave:

He turn'd to the dusky shore, And there seem'd 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, Seem'd 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 :

“ There are songs in Odin's Hall,
For the brave, ere night to fall !
Doth the great sun hide his ray ?--
He must bring a wrathful day!
Sleeps the falchion in its sheath ?-
Swords must do the work of death !
Regner !-sea-king !—thee we call! -
There is joy in Odin's Hall.

66 At the feast and in the song,
Thou shalt be remember'd long!
By the green isles of the flood
Thou hast left thy track in blood !
On the earth and on the sea,
There are those will speak of thee!
'Tis enough—the war-gods call-
There is mead in Odin's Hall !

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Regner ! tell thy fair-hair’d bride
She must slumber at thy side !
Tell the brother of thy breast
Ev’n for him thy grave hath rest !
Tel 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 !

“Lo! the mighty sun looks forth-
Arm ! thou leader of the north !
Lo! the mists of twilight fly-
We must vanish, thou must die !
By the sword and by the spear,
By the hand that knows not fear,
Sea-king! nobly shalt thou fall !
There is joy 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 !



The three founders of the Helvetic confederacy are thought to sleep in a cavern near the Lake of Lucerne. The herdsmen call them the Three Tells; and say that they lie there in their antique garb, in quiet slumber ; and when Switzerland is in her utmost need, they will awaken and regain the liberties of the land.

See Quarterly Review, No. 44. The Grütli, where the confederates held their nightly meetings, is a meadow on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne, or Lake of the Forest-cantons, bere called the Forest-sea.

Oh! enter not yon shadowy cave,

Seek not the bright spars there,
Though the whispering pines that o'er it wave,
With freshness fill the air :

For there the Patriot Three,

In the garb of old array'd,
By their native Forest-sea

On a rocky couch are laid.

The Patriot Three that met of

yore Beneath the midnight sky, And leagued their hearts on the Grütli shore, In the name of liberty !

Now silently they sleep

Amidst the hills they freed;
But their rest is only deep,

Till their country's hour of need.

They start not at the hunter's call,

Nor the Lammer-geyer's cry,
Nor the rush of a sudden torrent's fall,
Nor the Lauwine thundering by!

And the Alpine herdsman's lay,

To a Switzer's heart so dear!
On the wild wind floats away,

No more for them to hear.

But when the battle-horn is blown

Till the Schreckhorn's peaks reply, When the Jungfrau's cliffs send back the tone

Through their eagles' lonely sky ;

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