"Thok, not for gibes we come, we come for tears. Balder is dead, and Hela holds her prey, But will restore, if all things give him tears. Begrudge not thine! to all was Balder dear." Then, with a louder laugh, the hag replied:- "Is Balder dead? and do ye come for tears? Thok with dry eyes will weep o'er Balder's pyre, Weep him all other things, if weep they will I weep him not! let Hela keep her prey." She spake, and to the cavern's depth she fled, Mocking; and Hermod knew their toil was vain. And as seafaring men, who long have wrought In the great deep for gain, at last come home, And towards evening see the headlands rise Of their dear country, and can plain descry A fire of wither'd furze which boys have lit Upon the cliffs, or smoke of burning weeds Out of a till'd field inland;-then the wind Catches them, and drives out again to sea; And they go long days tossing up and down Over the gray sea-ridges, and the glimpse Of port they had makes bitterer far their toil So the Gods' cross was bitterer for their joy. Then, sad at heart, to Niord Hermod spake : "It is the accuser Lok, who flouts us all! Ride back, and tell in Heaven this heavy news: I must again below, to Hela's realm." He spoke; and Niord set forth back to Heaven. But northward Hermod rode, the way below, The way he knew; and traversed Giall's stream, And down to Ocean groped, and cross'd the ice, And came beneath the wall, and found the grate didst slay." He spoke; but Hoder answer'd him, and said: "Hermod the nimble, dost thou still pursue The unhappy with reproach, even in the grave? For this I died, and fled beneath the gloom, Not daily to endure abhorring Gods, And canst thou not, even here, pass pitying by? No less than Balder have I lost the light Of Heaven, and communion with my kin; I too had once a wife, and once a child, And substance, and a golden house in Heaven But all I left of my own act, and fled Below, and dost thou hate me even here? Balder upbraids me not, nor hates at all, Though he has cause, have any cause; but he. When that with downcast looks I hither came, Stretch'd forth his hand, and with benignant voice, Welcome, he said, if there be welcome here, Brother and fellow-sport of Lok with me! And not to offend thee, Hermod, nor to force My hated converse on thee, came up From the deep gloom, where I will now return; But earnestly I long'd to hover near, For the last time-for here thou com'st no more." He spake, and turn'd to go to the inner gloom. But Hermod stay'd him with mild words, and said : "Thou doest well to chide me, Hoder blind! Truly thou say'st, the planning guilty mind Was Lok's; the unwitting hand alone was thine. But Gods are like the sons of men in this When they have woe, they blame the nearest cause. Howbeit stay, and be appeased! and tell: Sits Balder still in pomp by Hela's side. Or is he mingled with the unnumber'd dead? And the blind Hoder answer'd him and spake : "His place of state remains by Hela's side, But empty; for his wife, for Nanna came Lately below, and join'd him; and the pair Frequent the still recesses of the realm Of Hela, and hold converse undisturb’d. But they too, doubtless, will have breathed the balm, Which floats before a visitant from Heaven, And have drawn upward to this verge of Hell." He spake; and, as he ceased, a puff of wind Roll'd heavily the leaden mist aside Round where they stood, and they beheld two forms Make toward them o'er the stretching cloudy plain. And Hermod straight perceived them, who they were Balder and Nanna; and to Balder said :"Balder, too truly thou foresaw'st a snare! Lok triumphs still, and Hela keeps her prey. No more to Asgard shalt thou come, nor lodge In thy own house. Breidablik, nor enjoy The love all bear toward thee, nor train up Forset, thy son, to be beloved like thee. Here must thou lie, and wait an endless age. Therefore for the last time, O Balder, hail!" He spake; and Balder answer'd him, and said : Hail and farewell! for here thou com'st no more. Yet mourn not for me, Hermod, when thou sitt'st In Heaven, nor let the other Gods lament, As wholly to be pitied, quite forlorn. For Nanna hath rejoin'd me, who, of old, In Heaven, was seldom parted from my side; And still the acceptance follows me, which crown'd My former life, and cheers me even here. Love me. and gladly bring for my award And the fleet-footed Hermod made reply:- "Thou hast then all the solace death allows, Esteem and function; and so far is well. Yet here thou liest, Balder, underground. Rusting for ever; and the years roll on, The generations pass, the ages grow, And bring us nearer to the final day When from the south shall marchi the fiery band And cross the bridge of Heaven, with Lok for guide, And Fenris at his heel with broken chain; While from the east the giant Rymer steers His ship, and the great serpent makes to land; And all are marshall'd in one flaming square Against the Gods, upon the plains of Heaven. I mourn thee, that thou canst not help us then." THROUGH Alpine meadows soft-suffused The autumnal evening darkens round, Doth the Dead Guier's stream complain, Where that wet smoke, among the woods. Over his boiling cauldron broods. Swift rush the spectral vapors white Past limestone scars with ragged pines, Showing-then blotting from sight! our Halt-through the cloud-drift something shines! High in the valley, wet and drear, Strike leftward! cries our guide; and higher Mounts up the stony forest-way. The chapel, where no organ's peal Each takes, and then his visage wan The library, where tract and tome The garden, overgrown-yet mild, Those halls, too, destined to contain The House, the Brotherhood austere ! For rigorous teachers seized my youth, And purged its faith, and trimm'd its fire, Show'd me the high, white star of Truth, There bade me gaze, and there aspire. Even now their whispers pierce the gloom; What dost thou in this living tomb ? Forgive me, masters of the mind! So much unlearnt, so much resign'd- Not as their friend, or child, I speak! Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born, Oh, hide me in your gloom profound, Take me, cowl'd forms, and fence me round Till I possess my soul again; Till free my thoughts before me roll, For the world cries your faith is now Ah, if it be pass'd, take away, But--if you cannot give us ease- Achilles ponders in his tent, The kings of modern thought are dumb; Silent they are, though not content, Or are we easier, to have read, From the fierce tempest of thine age Ye slumber in your silent grave !— Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age, Sons of the world, oh, speed those years; Allow them! We admire with awe |