Argantyr

Daring HERVA, listen yet, Spare thy heart its long regret! Why trembling shrunk thy mother’s frame When the Fatal Present came? Virgin, mark the boding word, Sullen whisper’d o’er the Sword! It prophesied Argantyr’s foes Should rue its prowess;—yet that woes Greater far his Race should feel, Victims of the Cruel Steel, When, in blood of millions dyed, It arms an ireful fratricide. Maid, no erring accents warn;— Of sons to thee, hereafter born, One thy Chiefs shall HYDRECK name, Dark spirited!—but dear to fame Shall blooming HIARALMO live.— Maid, his doom thy mandates give! Renounce, renounce the dire demand, Or to thy sons, in HYDRECK’S hand, Fatal proves, some future day, The Charmed Sword.—Disturb it not!—away!