Was it a god or destiny which drove us?

THE FIRST. Thou knowest that the morning sun illumines
Ten thousand spears on Scotland's heathy mountains;
High beats with joy each warrior's heart. In silence,
They forward press, and only wait my on-cry.
Thither would I--but hear the strange adventure
Which stopp'd my flight upon these rocks. Envelop'd
In a black, tempest, I a Finman follow'd,
Who boldly climb'd the mountain summits,
And sprang o'er every yawning rift undaunted:
Then saw I Hothbrod's valiant son. I saw him
As in the brook he cleans from dust his armour,
And sharp'd laboriously his rusty dagger,
And prov'd upon the pine's thick stem his falchion;
Then brandish'd he his hunting-spear: far backward
He drew his nervous arm; I heard the weapon
Hiss, but my eye beheld it scarce a moment,
For like the lightning which the black clouds swallow
It vanished, and the heir vainly sought it.
Then look'd I round about, and saw my Finman,
Who held the spear and laugh'd; I storm'd with fury.
Then down he plung'd within a midnight chasm;
And from the deep uprose a voice like thunder
Which slowly booms among the Finnish deserts.
"Unarm'd," it bellow'd, "shall the warrior perish?
Wither shall he of age, and deep in Haelheim
Be hidden, far from Odin, far from Valhall."
Angry, I rooted up the oaks in search of
A spear for battle's friend--and this I fix'd on;