LOKE. One who is bold as Odin,
And strong as Thor, and beautiful as Balder.
BALDER. Ha! kill me not, but answer: name him.
LOKE (with a loud voice). Hother!
BALDER (with agitation). What! Who? The Leire King?
The Skioldung Hother?
LOKE. Who here is foster’d up by Nanna’s father.
BALDER. Thou killest me! Thou see’st how I tremble!
Yet, that I never saw him here! Where is he?
LOKE. At Gevar’s.
BALDER. By the gods, it overcomes me!
What, under Nanna’s roof?
LOKE. At night-time only,
As I believe; for ere the east hills redden,
Upstarts he, lovely as a young spring morning,
And griping firm his lusty spear, he wanders
Among the rocks. Ah, master! thou hast seen him—
Withouten doubt thou hast. ’Tis true he hideth
For some time past his god-like form in wadmal, [{1}]
And rolls beneath a rugged cap his tresses—
I wonder, wherefore.
BALDER. Ha! thou flash of lightning,
Which clear’st all up at once! I, wretched madman!
How senseless was I, and by pride how blinded
To sons of earth my eyes I never lower’d.
Ah! is my proud solicitude thus baffled?
But she can only love the gods, I’m certain!