"Far, far around, star-gleams are sparkling Amid the twilight space; And Earth, that lay so cold and darkling, Has veiled her dusky face. Are those the Nornes that beckon onward To seats at Odin's board, Where nightly by the hands of heroes The foaming mead is poured?
"'Tis Skuld! her star-eye speaks the glory That waits the warrior's soul, When on its hinge of music opens The gateway of the Pole,— When Odin's warder leads the hero To banquets never done, And Freya's eyes outshine in summer The ever-risen sun.
"On! on! the Northern lights are streaming In brightness like the morn, And pealing far amid the vastness, I hear the Gjallarhorn: The heart of starry space is throbbing With songs of minstrels old, And now, on high Walhalla's portal, Gleam Surtur's hoofs of gold!"
Bayard Taylor.
BOOT AND SADDLE.
"Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Rescue my Castle, before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silvery gray, (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; Many's the friend there will listen and pray "God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay, (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"