THOR. Curst tears! the blood of Asa
For ye must pay!
BALDER. And friend, had he the power,
Think’st thou that Hother, that the Skiolding basely
Would murder him to whom his life he oweth?
THOR. Not so would he. But if he must, what can he
’Gainst destiny, if she the death-spear hands him,
And guides herself his arm?
BALDER. Oh, banish, banish
Thy timid care, and hear and share my transport;
Just now, as Hother’s life I spar’d there glitter’d,
Through Nanna’s tears the first, first glimpse of pity;
Sweetly she smil’d, and granting me her friendship,
She press’d my hand with loving warmth.
THOR. Ha! vex not
Mine ear, I pray thee, with thy follies—little
Is Asa Thor with dastard love acquainted;
Yet can I see into her heart. She thanks thee
For Hother’s life: that gives thee joy? Thou dreamest.
BALDER. My life’s the dream thou dost aspire to scatter.
THOR. It is thy death!
BALDER. What death? See fate accomplished!
Behold this spear which late the Leir-King brandish’d!
My knee grew weak: I stagger’d when it struck me;
Yet still I live, and it to earth fell blunted.
THOR (Whilst he surveys the spear). Do not deceive thyself, this spear was harden’d
In flames celestial, not in Nastroud’s blazes.
But death has greeted Odin’s son, and Rota,
She who invites the hero-kings to Valhall,
Is here, where never din of arms resounded.
With terror view’d I battle’s haughty daughter:
Dark stood she on a rock, enveiled in vapour;
And on her shoulder, on her steel-cas’d shoulder,
The bird of death, the mournful owl, sat croaking.
Whom seeks she, far from every bloody Champain?
And Surtur’s branch, how soon is that discover’d,
If fate but wish! And think’st thou Loke slumbers?
Ah, Balder fly! forget a foolish passion!
Fly, ere thy fate, which hasteneth, is accomplish’d.
Follow me straight!
BALDER. What—fly! and give up Nanna!
The hope in which I live is far too noble
For me to fly from it.