The Death of Balder | Page 5

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