Classic Poem

HERVOR .

Thy daughter calls; Argantyr, break
The bonds of death; she calls, awake.
Reach me forth the temper'd blade,
Beneath thy marble pillow laid;
Which once a scepter'd warrior bore,
Forg'd by dwarfs in years of yore.
Where are the sons of Angrim fled?
Mingled with the valiant dead.
From under twisted roots of oak,
Blasted by the thunder's stroke,
Arise, arise, ye men of blood,
Ye who prepar'd the Vulture's food;
Give me the sword, and studded belt;
Armies whole their force have felt:
Or grant my pray'r, or mould'ring rot,
Your name, your deeds alike forgot.
Argantyr, rouse thee from thy rest;
Hear, and grant my firm request.

ARGANTYR .

Daughter, I hear the magic sound
Mutter'd o'er this sacred ground:
Why call'st thou thus? What dire intent
Is within thy bosom pent?
No friendly hand, no parent, gave
My bones to rest in hallow'd grave;
To me no solemn rite was paid;
Here by barbaric hands convey'd,
In this mansion cold, forlorn,
My gloomy ghost shall ever mourn.
Think not by unceasing pray'r,
Hence the charmed sword to bear;
For know, above in realms of light,
Trifingus in another's right.

HERVOR .

Ha! my Sire, what words accurst
Have from the lip of falsehood burst?
Thou know'st, with thee in darkness laid,
Sleeps the consecrated blade:
Yield it, 'tis th' appointed hour,
Or dread avenging Odin's pow'r.

ARGANTYR .

With awe my words prophetic hear;
Hervor, 'tis for thee I fear:
The fates have scal'd thy offspring's doom;
Trifingus brings them to the tomb.

HERVOR .

Talk not to me of future times:
I swear, by force of magic rhymes,
Repose the dead shall know no more,
Till thou the gifted sword restore.

ARGANTYR .

Maid, thy warlike soul I bless,
Who rov'st by night in armed dress,
With spell-wrought helmet, iron proof,
And garments wove in mystic woof;
Who dar'st in thrilling accents call
The dead from their sepulchral hall.



No more this idle converse hold:
Once I thought thy spirit bold:
Give me forth the radiant brand;
Hear, and grant my just demand.
Yield it, 'tis th' appointed hour,
Or dread avenging Odin's pow'r.

ARGANTYR .

Here within the fated sheath,
Hialmar's ruin lies beneath,
Wrapt in its own terrific flame;
What maid but trembles at the name?


HERVOR .

I tremble not — the flame though bright,
Is but ineffectual light,
That plays around the buried corse,
With meteor glare devoid of force;
I'll grasp the sword in terror drest,
And give thy gloomy spirit rest.
ARGANTYR .

Rash virgin, to thy pray'r I yield:
Lo! Trifingus stands reveal'd,
Blazing like the noonday sun!
HERVOR .

King of men, 'tis nobly done:
This blade with rapt'rous joy I own,
A greater gift than Norway's throne.
ARGANTYR .

Fond, exulting daughter, know,
These transports work thee lasting woe;
By the dread sword ('tis thus decreed)
Thy sons, e'en Hydrek's self, shall bleed.

HERVOR .

I must to my ships repair;
Battle is the warrior's care.
If in the purple fount of life
They steep the steel in mortal strife;
By no ignoble stroke they fall,
And sink with joy to Odin's hall.;

ARGANTYR .

Hic thee hence from death's domain,
With rev'rence keep Hialmar's bane;
Thou art of a race divine,
Take the gift the gods assign.

HERVOR .HERVOR .

Never shall Trifingus sleep,
But move with desolating sweep;
Never fear invade my breast,
Nor dying sons my peace molest;
If by Trifingus' stroke they fall,
They sink with joy to Odin's hall.

HERVOR .ARGANTYR .

Hark! e'en now with sullen moan,
Victims twelve beneath thee groan:
Armed in paternal might,
Go forth, my child, and dare the fight:
Angrim's portion'd wealth is thine;
Take the gift the gods assign.

HERVOR .

Now, in the silence of the tomb,
Dwell undisturb'd till final doom:
I must tread my destin'd road,
And speed me from this drear abode:
For here, as still my steps I turn,
Flaky fires around me burn.