Like a babe in its cradle curled,
He was chained with his chain of desires,
Though they needed his arm in the world,
For the battle-strife raged, and its fires
And the flags of the gods were unfurled.
Then Odin, the father of Heaven,
Called a council of gods on high,
To each was a white cloud given
At the foot of his throne in the sky,
And the steps of his throne were seven.
“Children,” the father cried,
“Lost is the great god Thor,
Lost is the sword at his side,
Lost is his arm in the war,
And the fury which all things defied.
“In the heart of a dreamland bower,
Sleepeth he under a spell,
For he yielded his strength for an hour,
And under the meshes of Hell
He is chained by invincible power.
“None may the meshes unbind;
Strength must return to his will,
And himself must unshackle his mind
From the dreams he is dreaming still,
In the moon-lady’s tresses entwined.
“Over the mountains the road,
Dismal and drear to return,
Face it he must with his load,
Though the underbrakes crackle and burn,
Though the serpent-bites blister and goad.
“Not a mere shadow is sin,
Clinging like wine to the lip,
To be wiped from the mouth and the chin
After man taketh a sip;
But a poison that lurketh within.
“The forces that hold back the sea,
That grapple the earth from beneath,
Are not older than those which decree
The marriage of sin unto death
In the sinner, whoever he be.
“Who of our numbers will go
Up to the death-tainted land,
Braving the dangers, and so
Reaching the heart and the hand
And the form of the god lying low?”
“Sire,” answered Balder the fair,
“Rugged the journey and long,
Manifold dangers are there,
But my heart and my arms are strong,
And my soul is as pure as the air.