Day by day from the rill,
The Nornas besprinkle
The ash Ygg-drassill, [181]
The hart bites the buds,
And the snake gnaws the root,
But the eagle all-seeing
Keeps watch on the fruit.

These drops on thy tomb
From the fountain I pour;
With the rune I invoke thee,
With flame I restore.
Dread Father of men,
In the land of thy grave,
Give voice to the Vala,
And light to the Brave."

As she thus chaunted, the Morthwyrtha now sprinkled the drops from the
vessel over the bautastein,--now, one by one, cast the fragments of
bark scrawled with runes on the fire. Then, whether or not some
glutinous or other chemical material had been mingled in the water, a
pale gleam broke from the gravestone thus sprinkled, and the whole
tomb glistened in the light of the leaping fire. From this light a
mist or thin smoke gradually rose, and took, though vaguely, the
outline of a vast human form. But so indefinite was the outline to
Harold's eye, that gazing on it steadily, and stilling with strong
effort his loud heart, he knew not whether it was a phantom or a
vapour that he beheld.

The Vala paused, leaning on her staff, and gazing in awe on the