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114
LAYS OF MANY LANDS.



The fir-trees rock'd to the wailing blast,
As on through the forest the warrior pass'd,—
Through the forest of Odin, the dim and old,
The dark place of visions and legends, told
      By the fires of Northern pine.

The fir-trees rock'd, and the frozen ground
Gave back to his footstep a hollow sound;
And it seem'd that the depths of those awful shades,
From the dreary gloom of their long arcades,
      Gave warning, with voice and sign.

But the wind strange magic knows
To call wild shape and tone
From the grey wood's tossing boughs
When night is on her throne.


The pines clos'd o'er him with deeper gloom,
As he took the path to the monarch's tomb;
The pole-star shone, and the heavens were bright
With the arrowy streams of the northern light,
      But his road through dimness lay!

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