BALDER and THOR are seated upon stones at some distance from each other.
Both are armed--THOR with his hammer, and BALDER with spear and sword.
BALDER. Land whose proud and rocky bosom
Braves the sky continually!
THOR. Where should strength and valour blossom,
Land of rocks, if not in thee?
BALDER. Odin's shafts of ruddy levin
Back from thy hard sides are driven;
Never sun thy snow dispels.
THOR. Sure, he'll joy in deeds of daring,
Ne'er for ease voluptuous caring,
Who upon the mountain dwells.
BOTH. Land whose proud and rocky bosom
Braves the sky continually!
Where should strength and valour blossom,
Land of rocks, if not in thee?
BALDER (he springs up, but THOR remains sitting, like one in deep
thought). Ha! I will quickly fly from thee for ever,
Thou hated land, where everything so proudly
Upbraids me for my weakness--for my fetters:
Where I, pursu'd by pains of hopeless passion,
The live-long nights among deaf rocks do wander--
Whose echoes sport with Balder's lamentations,
Each cold, each feelingless, as Nanna's bosom,
The fair, unpitying savage!
THOR. Son of Odin!
BALDER. Speak, mighty Thor!
THOR. Thou sighest, then--and vainly?
BALDER. Vainly: without a glimpse of hope; bewildered.
What, what have I not promised, vow'd, attempted?
How oft have I, O Thor!--I blush, but hear it--
To tears debas'd myself: my tears have trickled--
Have vainly trickled--before Gevar's daughter.
THOR. Ha! Gevar's daughter?
BALDER. Yes, the haughty Nanna.
THOR. Dost mean the daughter of the wise King Gevar,
Who reads the actions of the unborn hero,
The will of Fate, malicious foemen's projects,
And war and death of warriors in the planets:
Dost mean his daughter?
BALDER. Think'st thou other fathers possess a Nanna?
THOR. Gods!
[He again casts his eyes upon the ground, like one who meditates deeply.
BALDER. Behind yon pine wood he built an altar unto thee and Odin,
There thou mayst see the roof of his still dwelling.
There lives the earthly Freia--cruel maiden--
There slumbers she, perhaps--the proud one rests in
Joy's downy arms, undreaming aught of Balder!
As if I did not love, were not a half-god;
As if by Skalds my name were never chanted
As if I were a demon, bad as Loke!
Ha! if upon my tongue lurked bane and magic,
When fear enchains it and the pale lip trembles;
When broken words and a disordered wailing
Are all with which I can express my bosom's
Desire intense, and dread unwonted torments.
Ha! were my voice like Find's when he, distracted,
Goes over Horthedal; as when he bellows,
And wild at last, and blind with fury, splinters
The oaks, the glory of the sacred forest.
Ha! if the blood of maids and unarm'd wretches
Of harmless travellers, stained the hands of Balder--
If ruddy lightnings burnt between these fingers--
Then might'st thou well be pale;
And thou wert right to fly from me, O Nanna!
THOR. Now, Balder, hear my word, and fly from Nanna!
BALDER. From Nanna! Yes, I ought--that see I plainly.
Ha! some accursed fiend my foot has fasten'd
To these wild mountains and to Nanna's shadow!
And is there nothing then of hope remaining?
When did I first become so grim--so frightful?
When? Tell me, Thor, is breath of mine destructive?
Has death among my tears and smiles its dwelling?
What shall I do? Reply! But thou art silent,
And from thine eyeball flames contemptuous anger.
THOR (he rises). Ha! drivellest thou before the God of Thunder?
BALDER. To Thor, to Odin's friend, I breathe my sorrow.
THOR. How long dost think, degenerate son of Odin,
Unmanly pining for a foolish maiden,
And all the weary train of love-sick follies,
Will move a bosom that is steeled by virtue?
Thou dotest! Dote and weep, in tears swim ever;
But by thy father's arm, by Odin's honour,
Haste, hide thy tears and thee in shades of alder!
Haste to the still, the peace-accustom'd valley,
Where lazy herdsmen dance amid the clover.
There wet each leaf which soft the west wind kisses,
Each plant which breathes around voluptuous odours,
With tears! There sigh and moan and the tired peasant
Shall hear thee, and, behind his ploughshare resting,
Shall wonder at thy grief, and pity Balder!
BALDER. And is this all the comfort thou canst offer?
THOR. I gave thee counsel: fly from her who flies thee!
What holds thee here, where thou canst hope for nothing?
BALDER. And can I? Ah, my friend, that is my duty!
But fly! And never, never see thee, Nanna!
And ne'er again behold the roof where under
Thou sleepest! Honour the mere thought destroyeth!
Ere that, I'll perish here, unfamed, forgotten!
THOR. Well, perish, then! I see too plain 'tis useless
Against a harsh, eternal fate to struggle!
The hill fiend dreads my hammer's might
Before it turns the Jotun white,
And rocks, whereon I strike, give way.
But nothing cruel fate can move;
And what Allfather there above
Resolves upon, stands firm for aye.
Know, son of Odin, thou whom reason, friendship,
Whom scorn--e'en scorn--to move are all unable,
Know that prophetic were thy words! Fate hastens!
The Valkyrie prepares the spear already,
Its deadly point already does she sharpen.
Ah, see! the prince of battle holds it brandish'd;
He strikes! he strikes! and all the Aser sorrow.
BALDER. Dark is thy speech, O Thor! dark as thy visage.
THOR. Before my eyes are murky shadows flitting.
A mortal youth, with blood of Asa crimson'd!
The fight and death of gods, the fall of Asgara!
Hear, son of Odin, wretched slave of passion,
Think not that dreams, that magic's foul deception,
That spectres of the night my brain bewilder;
And oh! think not that merely chance has led me
To Balder's presence, and to these high forests!
I sought thee, came with speed to give thee warning:
Fear, then! It is thy friend, 'tis Thor, who's speaking!
And on my lips I bear the words of Odin.
Thou know'st there grows in night's mysterious valley
A tree, as yet by men or gods seen never;
It bears a bough, which bough, when once 'tis harden'd
In Nastroud's flames, can slay thee.
BALDER. Yes, I know it.
THOR. That knowest thou, friend! And is it a mere slumber,
A fleeting trance, a pleasant dream of battle,
With which the spear's impregnated in Nastroud?
Ha! whom it slays wakes never up in Valhall;
In mist and darkness must he lie for ever.
From gods and men alike for ever parted,
Must Balder be detested--Haela's booty,
Not Odin's quest?
BALDER. Aye; when the tree's discover'd.
THOR. Well, now, attend and heed a father's warning!
When Odin high from Lidskialf saw thee raving,
In toils of love, 'mong Norway's snowy mountains,
The speech of Mimmer on his heart fell heavy.
Hear it and tremble! Not for death, O Balder!
Nor e'en for Haela, but thy father's anguish;
"The year"--such was his word (thou knowest Mimmer,
And scarce canst think he'd breathe the words of falsehood)--
"The year when Norway's desert hills shall echo
The half-god's wasted love-caus'd lamentations,
When he's rejected by a prophet's daughter,
That year shall see the spear which holds his ruin,
Shall see the gods in grief, and Odin weeping."
Hear that and quake! And fly, and spare thy father!
If not, dote on and die, for that's thy fortune!
[He disappears among the trees.
BALDER (alone). And must I die? Ah well, I merely forfeit
A worthless breath, which is by Nanna hated.
Ha! hated. How that thought that Nanna hates me
Torments my breast! Death, only death, can drown it.
It burns, it scorches me, like Nastroud's blazes.
Come, tenfold death, come quickly, and extinguish
The thought: destroy it, crush it, with this bosom.
Thanks be to Thor, for he my eyelids lifted,
Disclosing I had chance of rest--of dying!
E'en Surtur, he whose hostile fingers planted
The tree, the black tree, by the feeble starlight;
Who nurs'd its infant root with blood fresh taken
From slaughter'd babes, and drew a circle round it,
And mutter'd magic words, and gave it power
To shoot the bane of Nastroud in my bosom,
Was not so cruel as thyself, O Nanna!
What! cruel? No, by Odin! Pity drove him
To rear up remedy benign and grateful
For the dire wound with which thou torment'st me.
Ah, maid! thou mak'st me look to death with longing
And yet to die! and die from thee! and never--
Ha! my heart freezes! The mere word would kill me!
But then, most likely thou wilt pity Balder,
And with a hot, a precious tear bedew him!
Say, O maid! when thou dost pour
From thine eyes the briny shower
O'er a lifeless lump of clay!
Cease thy weeping, cruel maiden:
All thy grief is vainly vented:
See the breast so long tormented
Which thy pity now should gladden,
Beats no more and rots away!
O Nanna! Nanna!
[He sits down and holds both his hands before his eyes.
LOKE (in the shape of an old Finman). Balder!
[He walks in a crooked attitude, and supports himself upon a knotted
staff. He enters so that his back is turned to BALDER.
Help, ye gods of heaven!
Oh, I unfortunate! that frost and hunger,
And fear of bears and wolves and evil spirits
Should now destroy me on these frightful mountains!
Oh, that I but beheld a smoke uprising,
A single trace of a bewildered hunter!
That I but heard a cheery horn resounding!
But nothing, nothing! Never, never rises
A friendly sound among these wildernesses,
Which human feet till now has never trodden.
Ah! who will succour me?
BALDER (goes towards him and takes him kindly by the arm). What ails
thee, father?
LOKE (as if terrified). Aha! I can no more! Ah!
BALDER. Come and rest thee!
Here lean upon my arm!
LOKE. Ah!
BALDER. How thou tremblest,
My hoary friend! But cast thy terrors from thee--
There thou art safe: this breast is warmed by pity.
LOKE. Forgive me, sir; forsooth, I was confounded!
Thou see'st in me a poor and ancient Finman.
Far, far away from these terrific mountains,
This year I built of flags and stones my hovel;
I sought for reindeer--all my wealth; they doubtless
Were captured by the bear! I, wretched being!
My sight is feeble, and the night surprised me;
The wind, as I observe too late, has shifted,
And not a star is gleaming in the heavens:
Ah! far must be the way unto my hovel!
My feet are wearied out, for I have wandered
The long and chilly night among the mountains.
BALDER. What wishest thou?
LOKE. I die of frost and hunger.
Whoe'er thou art, and if thou feelest pity--
Excuse my doubt--yet wouldst thou save the remnant
Of life which trembles on my lips, conduct me
Straight to the cheering hearth where bask thy servants.
BALDER. The way would prove for thee too far; but see'st thou
The lofty roof behind the forest yonder,
There, there resides of earth the fairest daughter:
Thither repair, thou fortunate old stranger!
There she resides.--Ah! thou wilt be to Nanna
A dear, a welcome guest! She loves the wretched;
Her noble heart swells always with compassion
For every sufferer. Only not--Thou stayest!
Why go'st thou not?
LOKE. I go; but thou wast speaking,
Methinks, of Nanna?
BALDER. Yes.
LOKE. Of Gevar's daughter?
BALDER (astonished). Thou know'st her?
LOKE. No; but oftentimes her bridegroom
Has come fatigued with hunting, to my hovel.