Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

An Edition of 250 Copies only will be printed.
No more will be published.

THE DEATH OF BALDER
FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EWALD
(1773)
TRANSLATED BY GEORGE BORROW

Author of “Bible in Spain,” “Lavengro,” “Wild Wales,” etc.

LONDON
JARROLD & SONS, 3 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.
1889

PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION.

The works of the late poet Ewald are deservedly popular in Denmark. The present tragedy, and the opera of “The Fishermen” (“Fiskerne”), in which occurs the bold lyric which has become the national song of the Danes, are esteemed his best productions.

For the fidelity with which the present version has been made I appeal to those of my countrymen who understand the original, and demand whether I have given a thought or expression equivalents to which are not to be found in the Danish tragedy.

I have imitated the peculiar species of blank verse in which the original is composed, in order that the English reader may form an exact idea thereof, and though by having done so my poetry may have somewhat of a cramped, embarrassed gait, I have a firm hope that I shall not meet very severe reprehension for having sacrificed elegance to fidelity.

GEORGE BORROW.

THE PERSONS.

Balder. Hother.
Thor. Nanna.
Loke. The Three Valkyrier.

The place of action is a pine-wood on the Norwegian mountains. Round about it are seen steep and uneven rocks. The top of the hindermost and highest is covered with snow.

ACT THE FIRST.

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—Hæla’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 Hæla, 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.

BALDER. Ah who—

LOKE (turns away as if to depart). She dwells there, does she?

BALDER (seizes him by the arm). Stay! who is the bride-groom?
Speak, reptile, speak! Who? When? Reply, thou traitor,
Or here thou diest!

LOKE. Spare me, sir, in mercy!
I faint with terror!

BALDER. Speak! by all the powers,
Thy smallest hair is sacred! I have promised.
Now, speak!

LOKE. I am an old and harmless creature.

BALDER. But Nanna’s bridegroom?

LOKE. Truly, sir, I wonder,
That one like thee, a dweller ’mongst these mountains,
Should know him not, the noblest and the bravest
Of all the sons of earth.

BALDER. Ye gods of heaven!
And who? His name?

LOKE. One who is bold as Odin,
And strong as Thor, and beautiful as Balder.

BALDER. Ha! kill me not, but answer: name him.

LOKE (with a loud voice). Hother!

BALDER (with agitation). What! Who? The Leire King?
The Skioldung Hother?

LOKE. Who here is foster’d up by Nanna’s father.

BALDER. Thou killest me! Thou see’st how I tremble!
Yet, that I never saw him here! Where is he?

LOKE. At Gevar’s.

BALDER. By the gods, it overcomes me!
What, under Nanna’s roof?

LOKE. At night-time only,
As I believe; for ere the east hills redden,
Upstarts he, lovely as a young spring morning,
And griping firm his lusty spear, he wanders
Among the rocks. Ah, master! thou hast seen him—
Withouten doubt thou hast. ’Tis true he hideth
For some time past his god-like form in wadmal, [{1}]
And rolls beneath a rugged cap his tresses—
I wonder, wherefore.

BALDER. Ha! thou flash of lightning,
Which clear’st all up at once! I, wretched madman!
How senseless was I, and by pride how blinded
To sons of earth my eyes I never lower’d.
Ah! is my proud solicitude thus baffled?
But she can only love the gods, I’m certain!

LOKE. Excuse me, sir, I do not understand thee.
She loves not Odin half so much as Hother.

BALDER. Fly, slave—begone! for Udgaard, Loke’s poison,
Is on thy tongue! That foe of gods has sent thee:
Thou art his messenger, thou art—thou art, thou traitor!
Dost dare to linger? But thou art in safety,
For, worm, thy weakness and my oath protect thee.
Ha! I myself will fly before my fury. [He goes.

LOKE (he looks contemptuously after BALDER, then raises himself to his full height, discards at once his assumed figure, and appears as LOKE). My weakness, mighty Balder? Do not scorn it!
To dust and ashes, boaster, it shall crush thee.
Not Loke’s messenger, but Loke, stung thee.
Already bellows the young god with torment:
Hear, Odin! hear thy lov’d one, hear him howling!
Delay thee not! enjoy his voice and feel it!
Harmonious is it to the ears of Loke.
Quick, quick! thou ne’er again, perchance, will hear it.
Survey him near: how swells each vein with poison,
Which I have poured into his breast with cunning!
Soon Odin, soon will thy beloved be silent;
Soon from thy sight will Balder flit for ever;
Then will it be thy turn to mourn, O tyrant!
It comes—the long-protracted day of vengeance!
It comes—the sigh’d-for hour of retribution!
How long hast thou not tortur’d Loke’s bowels,
And fearless trampled ’neath thy feet his offspring?
Hear Hæl and Fenris’ Wolf, and Midgaard’s Serpent—
Loud howl they!—hear them night and day proclaiming
Thy unmatched cruelty with frightful voices!
Each of them was a god, and fair as Balder,
But now to earth and heaven, and to myself, a horror:
Each is a monster, bow’d with chains of darkness.
The hour’s at hand, the tardy hour of vengeance:
Already blow I in war’s horn: to combat,
Up, up ye mighty gods, and rescue Balder!
There see I him, the hero youth, who only,
Arm’d with the tree of death by Odin’s maidens,
Can be—so Fate decrees—this Balder’s slayer.
And he shall be it: quickly shall he brandish
The life-destroying bough, if Asa Loke,
By mighty art and wonderful delusions,
Knows how to work the maidens to his purpose.
He comes! I will conceal myself, and listen.

HOTHER, and presently LOKE—the first dressed like a Norwegian peasant, with a hunting-spear in his hand; the other undistinguished.

HOTHER (he comes down from the rocks and unbinds the skiers [{2}] from his feet ere he steps forward on the scene).

Upon the oak’s summit,
A squirrel at play
Deceives with a rustle
The hunter so gay;
He starts, and, low crouching,
His spear he grasps tight,
And, swelling up, boundeth
His hand with delight.

Now quick—be not daunted!
He’s coming—take heed!
The bold bear, the old bear,
Doth hitherward speed.
Oh, sound the most pleasant
This ear ever knew!
He cometh—a bigger
This weapon ne’er slew.

Thou sovereign of forests!
Thou pride of thy race!
Oh, fortunate hunter—
Oh, glorious chase!
Now quick! be not daunted,
He comes—be prepared!
Where is he, the savage?
His bellow, who heard?

No more on the oak-top
The squirrel doth play;
Deceived has a rustle
The hunter so gay;
No sound as he listens
His hearing assails,
Save the pattering of leaves
That are moved by the gales.

There comes he—where? Oh, what a foolish stripling
Am I, who here about four days have wandered
In quest of a mere phantom! Surely, Nanna,
Thou dost deceive me—dost but prove thy lover;
And think’st thou, virtuous one, that if a godhead
Came down in light effulgent, and before thee
Knelt and laid heaven at thy feet—Ha! think’st
Thou that fear, base doubt of Nanna’s faith and
Honour, would sully Hother’s breast? I know thou
Lovest me—thou hast avowed it: what shall then
This wooer avail—this wooer who must not be
Anger’d? Why the deception?

LOKE. Hail, thou son of Hothbrod!

HOTHER (astonished). Ha! scarcely do I know myself!
By Odin,
I look more like a rugged elf than Hother.
And who art thou, that knowest me? who art thou?

LOKE. My name is Vanfred! When thy mother bore thee
I was at hand and swore unto thee friendship.

HOTHER. Grim is thy visage, and thine eye doth promise,
But little good. What dost thou seek?

LOKE. Whom, Skolding,
Whom fearest thou? Why hide in yonder vestments?

HOTHER. I fear? thou warlock! Wise thou wert in speaking
Of friendship!

LOKE. Spare thy wrath my youthful warrior!
Reserve it for thy foes!

HOTHER. They shall not miss it!

LOKE. And yet ’tis plain thou hidest thee from some one.

HOTHER. It was Nanna bade me. Ha! I blush by heaven!
When Nanna spake I always blindly listen’d.
She has disguised me, as thou see’st, stranger;
She plagues me with her fears; the dreamer would not—
Would really not—for all the wide world’s riches,
That the wood goblin, or perhaps some lover
Invisible, should know me.

LOKE. Pretty folly!
Balder invisible! the handsome half-god!

HOTHER. What! Balder, son of Odin? He her lover?
O heaven! Say, where is he? where?

LOKE. With Nanna.

HOTHER. There? Now? (After some refection.) She drove me out.

LOKE. Perhaps, thou see’st
That she has rid herself of thee by cunning.

HOTHER. I simply thought the Alf had caus’d thy terror;
But Balder, false one, he shall soon experience
That I fear no one. [About to go.

LOKE. Softly, prince! be cautious!
I see thy courage; but thy foe is mighty.

HOTHER. Is my arm weak?

LOKE. It is against a half-god;
Yet he can die. I know a spear which slayeth.

HOTHER. Thou dreamest!

LOKE. Spare thy doubts. That spear or nothing
Can wound his breast.—But see, the sun is rising,
And I must fly to subterranean places;
But I’ll forsake thee not. This horn I give thee,
And when thy need is greatest, then, O Hother!
Blow strongly in that horn, and turning westward,
Call thrice aloud on Vanfred—Vanfred! Vanfred!

[The two last times he cries it with a hollow voice, after having disappeared among the rocks, and the last time of all evidently farther away than the other. Immediately thereupon a noise is heard among the rocks, as of distant thunder.

HOTHER, and presently NANNA.

HOTHER (casts away the horn). Accurs’d be thou, thy horn, and all thy magic!
Is Hother fearful? Does he crave in battle
The aid of warlocks and of arts ignoble?
Is not my arm sufficient? Ha! I’ll show thee!

[He is going; but NANNA meets him at the entrance of the scene.

NANNA. Where now?

HOTHER. I go to dare the wrath of Balder.

NANNA (affrighted). Ah!

HOTHER. His stern look may teach me how to tremble.

NANNA. O Heaven!

HOTHER. Hold me not!

NANNA (anxiously and affectionately). Where now, my Hother?

HOTHER. I soon shall find him!

[He goes in spite of NANNA’S endeavour to detain him.

NANNA. Ah! he goes—he rages;
And Balder yells with wrath. Some serpent surely
Has breath’d to-day his poison in their bosoms.
They hate, they seek each other! Who asunder
Will hold the raging bears. Ah! who will soften
The foaming ones? I have this hour expected,
And long by art have I delay’d its coming;
But now is art, and prayer, and all else useless:
E’en now they meet in conflict. I am powerless!
What can my tears avail? Alas! blood only
Will satiate them and Heaven: thine must trickle,
My Hother. What art thou against a half-god?
When thy fire, Ourath, but glimmers,
Tears can quench it instantly;
But it flames, and now ’twere wonder
Could the weak drops keep it under.
Ah! thy blazes fierce and cruel
In the lov’d one’s grief find fuel,
And are fann’d by plaintive cry.
Tear, with which mine eye is swelling,
Thou canst not remove the ill;
O keep in thou fruitless wailing,
Let my bosom hide thee still. [She goes.

ACT THE SECOND.

The three VALKRIER. They are armed as war-maids, and besides the spears which hang over their shoulders, each has a short spear in her hand: they take each other by the hands, and walk in a circle, singing.

ALL THREE. O’er the hill, o’er the dell,
O’er the sea’s foamy waters,
Unweariedly ply,
Valhalla, thy daughters,
The blood-dropping wing:
Die, battle, and die!
Is the bidding they bring.

THE FIRST. Not fever’s foul pains.

THE SECOND. Not hunger.

THE THIRD. Not chains.

ALL THREE. But fight and delight.
For the brave ever brings,
Valhalla, thy daughters,
By light and by night,
O’er the land and the waters,
With blood-drooping wing.

THE FIRST. The crash of the spear,
In deadly career,
Is alone to me dear.

THE SECOND. The feeble moan press’d
From the dying man’s breast
Is what pleases me best.

THE THIRD. The cry on the plain
Round the corse of the slain
I list to most pain.

ALL THREE. Die, battle, and die!
O’er the hill, o’er the dell,
O’er the sea’s foamy waters,
Unweariedly ply,
Valhalla, thy daughters,
The blood-dropping wing:
Die, battle, and die,
Is the bidding they bring.

THE FIRST. I hear the sound of arms; but now it ceases.
How long will he delay, the noble warrior?

THE SECOND. Whom wait’st thou for?

THE FIRST. And thou? what will my sister
In this wild spot which blood has never crimson’d?

THE SECOND. What has assembled us? and here where scarcely
A sword has flashed since days of Jotun Ymer,
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 Hælheim
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;
I gave it tempest’s speed and strength to humble
Each warrior whom it smiteth, when with wonder
Of thy fast sounding voice I heard an echo.

THE SECOND. Ye stars! what sorcery! But to me now listen!
I hasten’d unto Hortha’s gloomy forests,
To glut myself in Roman blood; then look’d I
Down from the thunder-cloud in which I journey’d,
And on these towering hills my eyes I fastened;
Then saw I Denmark’s Hother, prince of battle,
Like the rock-pine, which o’er the ocean beetles;
He stood, and storm-winds with his locks were playing,
Then from the brake a wolf sprang, grim and frightful,
And big as Fenri’s Wolf: the Skoldung saw it,
And brandish’d high his spear. Forth went it booming,
As booming goes from the cold North a whirlwind;
Straight vanished wolf and spear; but deep a-forest
Was heard as from a thousand wolves a howling.
“See, see,” it howl’d, “the Skoldung Hother loses
His spear, and in his hand the sword is fragile.
Now have we peace, and Norway’s Kemps may slumber.”
Disturb’d at such dark sorcery, I seiz’d on
The spear of steel thou see’st, and laid lightning
And fiends’ death on its point, when I beheld thee.

THE THIRD (who hitherto has stood in deep thought). Sharp is my sight in war; but here is darkness.
But do not think that chance and magic
Here assembled battle’s angry daughters.
Allfather for the fight prepares; Allfather
Assembles us with murky wink: I saw him,
The mighty Thor; wroth was he, and his hammer
Was in his hand. He stood by Gevar’s dwelling:
He spoke to me, and soon as e’er I answer’d
He vanished, thundering in the eastern heavens.
It is not sport, nor any childish quarrel,
Be ye assured, makes Thor descend from Asgaard.

THE FIRST. He spake to thee?

THE THIRD. As when the warriors slumber,
And suddenly are wak’d to thousand dangers
By din of shields and mingled squadrons’ tumult,
So tower’d he up and shouted when he saw me,
And dread and hollow as the ocean’s bellow,
As moan of forests in the nightly tempest,
Sounded his voice unto my ear!
“What, Rota!” he shouted; Rota here! “Ye gods of heaven!
Whom seekest thou, where unclomb rocks engirdle
Peace, smiling peace? O say! whom, sent by Skulda,
Wilt thou devote upon the stilly mountains?
But ah! what light had I the power to kindle?
Dark is my spirit. The terrific Norna,
She who allots to time, ere it approaches,
It’s luck, and binds it with determined fingers
Unto Fate’s will, is silent, and drives Rota
Far from each plain belov’d where battle rages.
Yet shook the fatal spear with which conflicting
Monarchs I greet, at sunrise thrice it trembled;
And death lies heavy in my arm—that know I,
But for the victim.

THE FIRST. Threatens Fate our Hother?

THE SECOND. Thor’s fear and even thine betoken danger.

THE THIRD. So seems it. Ah! if it concern’d our Hother!
Ye mind full well how high the Danish hero
I ever lov’d—I saw him by a fountain,
Dejected, weaponless, and half in slumber;
But deep into the forest fled the savage,
From whom he took his sword, the sharp-edged Mimer,
And Hother’s spear in his rude hands he carried.
“Retain my falchion, thou ferocious warrior!
Little in conflict shall it e’er avail thee!”
So shouted he, and all the rocks resounded.
Then straight I brought my choicest spear from Valhall—
Long since I cut it from a lonely wild beech,
Which, hid from day, grew up in Lapland’s deserts;
A circle of grey stones stood round about it,
On each was clotted blood, and bones, and ashes;
Blood as I cut the spear the stem emitted—
It crushes stone, and steel, and giants’ armour.

HOTHER, THE OTHERS.

HOTHER (he is armed, but without a spear). Where is this prince of beauty, Nanna’s half-god?

[He starts slightly upon perceiving the VALKYRIER. They advance towards him, hand in hand.

Excuse me my astonishment, fair war-maids!

THE FIRST. Hail to thee dauntless warrior, bane of Gelder!

THE SECOND. Hail to thee, Skoldung, valiant son of Hothbrod!

THE THIRD. Hail, hail to thee, my Hother, Leire’s ruler!

HOTHER (astonished.) Ye know me!

THE THIRD. Yes, thou noble youth, and love thee!

HOTHER. Your goodness overwhelms me—to what godhead
Stand I indebted for this lucky meeting?

THE FIRST. I bring to thee a spear to fight with heroes!

THE SECOND. And this, I hand to thee, can slaughter demons!

THE THIRD. This spear is excellent in fight with Jotuns.

HOTHER. How shall I e’er repay these costly presents?

THE FIRST. Be valiant! fight! send battle’s sons to Valhall!

THE SECOND. Extend the Danish sway and Odin’s worship!

THE THIRD. The sire of many warlike kings of Leire!

[They vanish.

HOTHER. There’s nought but sorcery upon these mountains!
They’ve vanished! Do I dream to-day? Where am I?
Sight, feeling, reason are alike enchanted!
But here, ye gods! here in my bosom rages
The magic—Vanfred’s poison. Nanna, Nanna!
Shall I mistrust thee, then—shall I, thy Hother?

[He places the two spears against a tree, whereon he hangs his shield. That which the first VALKYRIER gave him he retains in his hand.

The fire which love enkindles
First warms with bliss the heart,
But soon, ah! soon the traitor
Awaketh burning smart!
Love’s flame at first discloses
Pure innocence alone;
But quickly by its splendour
A deed of guilt is shown.
O love! thy bliss is vanish’d,
Thy flame extinguish quite,
For in my bride black falsehood
Now only meets my sight.

NANNA, HOTHER.

NANNA (who has stood at the entrance of the scene, and has heard the latter part of Hother’s song). I overheard thee, weak, ignoble Hother!

HOTHER. Ah yes, weak! credulous!

NANNA. Save thyself repentance!

HOTHER. Where is thy demigod?

NANNA. This bosom, Hother, acquitteth me;
That were enough for Nanna, if—

HOTHER. Oh, pray, proceed!

NANNA (affectionately). Lov’d less—

HOTHER (contemptuously). Whom? Balder?

NANNA. Savage! what fiend has pour’d into thy bosom
His bane of late? Ha! fly from me: detest me!
Wilt thou love her thou canst mistrust!

HOTHER. Ah, Nanna!

NANNA. I have debas’d myself to excusation
(Virtue from that, O Hother, ever shrinketh);
Yet trust’st thou not?—one’s wont to trust the lov’d one!
Thou know’st (I told it thee before) that Gevar,
Thy wise instructor, has declar’d that Heaven
Threatens a bloody, horrible misfortune,
In case our love be nois’d about in Asgaard,
Ere certain stars shall stand in other orbits;
And canst thou wonder when so great an Asa
As Odin’s Balder cometh unexpected,
That I all trembling will conceal—

HOTHER. Ha, trembling!
My curse upon the slave who first invented
A word which ne’er my Nanna’s lips should sully;
Thy excusations kill me! I imagined
It was a chaste, a maidenish reflection,
That made my Nanna blush at our affection:
Unmurmuring I obeyed, and kept in secret.
Why hast thou ta’en from me that sweet delusion?
Why spak’st thou not, and say for whom thou tremblest?
For Balder’s death? Thou lovest then thy half-god.
But no, ye gods! No, I believe thee, Nanna!
It is for mine, for Hother’s death, thou fearest.
Then think’st thou me so weak, so wholly powerless,
And lov’st me still? When e’er lov’d maids the dastard?

NANNA. ’Tis no disgrace to quake before a half-god!

HOTHER. ’Fore Odin’s self mere cowards quake. Now hear me!
I—I, or Balder, die to-day!

NANNA. O Hother!
I came to quarrel, came prepar’d with anger;
But ah, in burning tears it soon has melted.
Thou die, or Balder! he—a half-god!

HOTHER. Nanna!
Thy tears insult me sore, and yet—I know not—
They gladden me—they torture—they enchant me.
I love them—I excuse them—I—I know not—
O tear—sweet, bitter tear, desist from flowing!
Thou showest tenderness—but ah! betrayest
Mistrust and slight respect!—ah, love thy Hother,
But oh! believe, he will deserve thee, Nanna:
Thy heart is far too noble for the coward
Who beareth shield and sword and yet can tremble.

HOTHER. The slave only feareth.

NANNA. The hero can fall!

HOTHER. Ah then his fame cheereth
His bride in her thrall.

NANNA. Ah then his bride weeps!

HOTHER. She’s honour’d.

NANNA. She weepeth!

HOTHER. She’s honour’d.

NANNA. And weepeth.

HOTHER. Ah, then his fame cheereth
His bride in her thrall.

BOTH. Ah then his fame cheereth
His bride in her thrall.

NANNA. Ah, if thou now fallest?

HOTHER. And if I now fall?

NANNA. Then I shall be wasted
By ne’er-ceasing smart.

HOTHER. But were my fame blasted
Then break would thy heart.

NANNA. Oh! what is remaining?

HOTHER. My valour’s proud story.

NANNA. Mere grief and complaining!

HOTHER. My name is thy glory.

NANNA. Oh! if thou now fallest.

HOTHER. And if I now fall,

NANNA. Then I shall be wasted
With grief and complaining!

HOTHER. My name is remaining;
But honour once blasted
We both should lose all.

BOTH. The slave only feareth,
The hero can fall;
But then his fame cheereth
His bride in her thrall.

NANNA (with a terrified look, she seizes HOTHER by the arm, upon perceiving BALDER). Ah! Hother, come.

BALDER, HOTHER, NANNA.

BALDER. Dost fly me, cruel Nanna!
Am I so frightful? how have I offended?

HOTHER (will rush towards BALDER, but NANNA makes every effort to prevent him). Ha, Balder, we have met at last.

NANNA (much agitated). My Hother!
Ah, if thou lovest me—if thou respectest my prayer—

BALDER. Thy Hother? O, ye gods! how bitter!

HOTHER. To thee, perhaps to me ’tis sweet and grateful!

BALDER (with majesty). Presumptuous one!

NANNA (casts herself in her anguish nearly at HOTHER’S feet, who is about to lay hands on BALDER). If thou hast ever lov’d me,
Come with me, Hother! come unto my father!

HOTHER. What! shall I fly?

NANNA. Do thou whate’er thou pleasest!
Thou wouldst not have me perish in the forest,
Thou wouldst not, sure, that I should be a witness—

BALDER. Ha, Nanna! fly not from me!

HOTHER (to BALDER). Thou commandest,
I say she shall fly from thee. (To NANNA) Come, my Nanna!
(To BALDER). But do not thou despair! nor yet imagine
Thou wilt have long to wait, if wait thou darest.

[HOTHER and NANNA exeunt.

BALDER. Ha! wherefore crush’d I not to earth the brawler?
But Nanna loves him—and shall Balder render
Nanna unhappy, cause despair to enter
Her breast, and dim with tears her eyes’ effulgence?
And what is his offence, the noble hero?
He loves—ha, who can gaze upon thy beauties
And love thee not, proud maiden? But he braves me!
Ah! he is young and fortunate, and if I
Had slain him now, ’twas Nanna’s love I punish’d,
And not his insolence; and, O my bosom!
Shall thy pure flame dishonour thee? No, Balder!
Love on and die, but of thyself be worthy!
Ha, let me lose my life and all, Allfather!
And Nanna e’en! Yes, let me lose e’en Nanna!
But not the virtue she herself doth honour!

[He hangs his shield upon a tree, which is opposite to that where Hother’s hangs, and sets his spear up against it.

True bliss, through virtue only known,
By virtue’s self deserv’d alone.
Only for thee doth Balder sigh:
My sad heart would a heaven disdain
Which through dishonour it must gain.
So dear let slaves enjoyment buy!
Yes, Balder, worthy of thyself continue!
Canst thou wish Nanna to abandon Hother?
Wish her whose virtue thy high soul so worships
Should weak and base become for thy advantage?
But—does she love him? has he won her promise?
Who knoweth but she merely has dissembled,
And shown a fictious flame to prove thee, Balder!
Transporting dream!

NANNA, BALDER.

NANNA (rushes in, terrified). Ha! Balder if thou lovest—Ah, if thou—

BALDER (casts himself at NANNA’S feet). Heavens,
Nanna! canst thou doubt it?
I burn, I burn!

[Whilst NANNA in her terror makes every effort to raise him, they come into a familiar attitude, in which HOTHER, who has slain bears, and who is wiping the blood from his spear at the moment he appears, perceives them. He starts, and remains standing among the trees, so that he cannot hear what they say.

NANNA. Oh, rescue then my Hother!
Two savage bears among the bushes yonder
Attack’d him; if thou hast love for virtue,
Assist him quick; if thou delayest a moment,
The noblest heart that ever beat they’ll mangle!
Oh! quick: bethink thee not!

BALDER. No, cruel Nanna!
Fear not! My arm shall rescue him thou lovest!

[Just as he is about to rise HOTHER steps forward.

HOTHER, THE LAST.

HOTHER. Ye heavens! do I dream! Enamour’d half-god!
Excuse me for disturbing thee!

BALDER (as he rises up). There is he!

NANNA (goes tenderly to meet HOTHER). Ah, Hother! Ah, my Hother!

HOTHER (pushes her back with his hand). Go, false woman!

BALDER. Gods, how unthankful art thou—how ferocious!
Can such a bear of Nanna be deserving?

HOTHER (takes his shield down from the tree). Now, pay for all, and end thy prate in Valhall!

NANNA. Savage, thou mean’st not sure—

HOTHER. Beware thee, Nanna!

NANNA. Oh, hear me—

HOTHER. I have seen. Go, hide thee, false one!

NANNA. Thou wilt not sure—

HOTHER. I will! And now, by Hothbrod,
He dieth by my hand!

BALDER. Presumptuous mortal!

HOTHER. Thy shield! thy spear! I hate all vaunt, my half-god.

NANNA (rushes towards BALDER, who taketh his weapons). O Balder! noble Balder!

BALDER. Ah, poor Nanna!
Thou see’st he forces me—that death he beggeth!

HOTHER. Ha! this is all too much. Protect him—hide him!
Cover thy gallant with thy faithless bosom!
I will not slay thee; but my oath is uttered,
That he or I shall fall! And now!

[He turns the point of his spear against himself.

NANNA. Ah, Hother!
What doest thou?

HOTHER. I’ve sworn!

NANNA. Hold, hold, thou savage!
I go—I fly. Oh help, ye gods of heaven!

[She goes away in a kind of distraction, but she remains standing at the entrance of the scene, where she with fearful curiosity looks on and off the combatants. The warriors go in circle with uplifted spears.

HOTHER. Now, valiant Balder, call upon thy father!

BALDER. Shame on thee, Hother! Thou offendest Nanna.

HOTHER. Prat’st still, my hero?

BALDER. Well—thou wilt?

HOTHER. Ha, Hothbrod!

[He casts the spear which he had received from the first VALKYRIER, and had retained in his hand. It striketh BALDER, but falls, without taking any effect, at his feet. BALDER in return casts his spear into his left hand, and tears down a huge piece of the neighbouring rock.

NANNA. Ye gods of Gevar!

BALDER. Nanna!

[He casts his spear behind him out of the scene.

NANNA. Noble being!

HOTHER. Ha! darest thou mock me, thou inflated braggart?

[He takes from the tree the spear which the Valkyrier, ROTA, gave him, and casts it. It strikes so hard against BALDER’S breast, that he nearly sinks upon his knee; but it nevertheless falls to the ground without wounding him.

BALDER. Ha! Surtur, ha! Was that the fell destroyer?
Fly from my fury!

HOTHER. Cool its heat in Valhall!

[He casts the last spear, which he has seized in the meantime, but, like the first, without any apparent effect.

BALDER (as he draws his sword). Now, then, presumptuous?

HOTHER (as he likewise draws). Demon! and no half-god!
Thou blunt’st the spear; but here’s a sword remaining!
Now, Hothbrod!

[He strikes at him with his utmost force, but the sword reboundeth from the helm of BALDER.

BALDER. Odin!

[He strikes HOTHER’S sword from his hand, so that it flies into pieces, seizes him by the arm, and sets his sword against his breast. HOTHER sinks upon his knee beneath the powerful grasp, but raises himself immediately, without BALDER’S attempting to hinder him but he retains him so in his power that he cannot move himself. NANNA rushes in and casts herself down upon her knee before BALDER.

NANNA. Generous, noble Balder!

BALDER. Take up thy bride and live!

HOTHER. My life detest I,
I would not give the smallest hair of Nanna,
For yet a thousand years thy whole godship!

BALDER. Die, then!

[He lifts his sword like one who will strike.

HOTHER. Why dost delay?

NANNA. Ha! here thou savage!
Here, strike into this breast and spare my bridegroom.

[BALDER lets his sword sink.

HOTHER. Still, still, thou lovest me? Oh, Nanna! Nanna!
There see’st thou, fiend, she loveth me!

BALDER. Ah, torment!
Ha! I can end thee! [He lifts his sword again.

NANNA. Let my tears prevent thee!

HOTHER. By heavens! she’s mocking thee! If thou delayest,
She’ll laugh full at thee in the arms of Hother.

NANNA. Believe him not, but virtue—thine own bosom!

BALDER (sheathing his sword). Live, Hother! live!