LOKE. Courage of fury—I, by Hæl, care little,
My youthful hero, which thine eyeball gleams with,
If thou seek vengence, and thine enemy falleth.
HOTHER. Who art thou—who? But speak; proceed; explain thee!
LOKE. Strong was thine arm, and strong ’gainst Jotun’s armour
Was Rota’s lance, but all too weak ’gainst Balder;
And yet he kneel’d; I saw the proud one palen.
But ha! he rear’d himself; my heart then fail’d me,
For I could best appreciate thy full danger;
Raised was his arm; bright appear’d the massive falchion;
He called on Odin’s name, and then none living
Could save thee but himself—the fool! his lofty
Courage shall prove his overthrow.
HOTHER. Ha, Vanfred!
LOKE. Well?
HOTHER. I do admire more and more thy wisdom.
But whilst we fought, where were the maids of battle?
LOKE. They were my dread; I quak’d at every shadow
And every leaf that mov’d, lest I should see them.
When I saw that no one of the sisters
Heard the high call, and din of shield and falchion,
My courage rose—I knew thou wast in safety:
They hear no fight where no one’s doomed to perish.
HOTHER. And now the spear thou spak’st about?
LOKE. She has it,
Valfather’s favour’d maid—his trusty servant,
At length discover’d by unwearied searching
The spear by which his much-lov’d son shall perish.
Shortly ere thou didst call, as in my cavern
I sat, its vaulted roof begun to tremble.
Three times my stilly dwelling shook, and o’er me
A sound assailed my ear; ’twas like the tempest’s
When it uptears the mountain oak; then heard I
The voice of Rota; black huge drops did trickle
Of Jotun blood, of them whom Odin slaughtered,
Through the rock’s rifts. I knew by all these signals
That she had found the right, the fatal weapon.
HOTHER (impatiently). Where is it—where?