By Odin’s fierce embrace comprest,
A wond’rous Boy shall Rinda bear,
Who ne’er shall comb his raven hair,
Nor wash his visage in the stream,
Nor see the sun’s departing beam;
Till he on Hoder’s corpse shall smile,
Flaming on the fun’ral pile.
Now my weary lips I close:
Leave me, leave me to repose.
O.—Yet awhile my call obey!