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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.

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!