Poetry · Balder Dead 33 (4/4) (2/2)

But Hermod rode with Niord, whom he took

To show him spits and beaches of the sea

Far off, where some unwarn’d might fail to weep⁠—

Niord, the God of storms, whom fishers know:

Not born in Heaven; he was in Vanheim rear’d,

With men, but lives a hostage with the Gods:

He knows each frith, and every rocky creek

Fring’d with dark pines, and sands where seafowl scream:⁠—

They two scour’d every coast, and all things wept.

And they rode home together, through the wood

Of Jarnvid, which to east of Midgard lies

Bordering the Giants, where the trees are iron;

There in the wood before a cave they came

Where sate, in the cave’s mouth, a skinny Hag,

Toothless and old; she gibes the passers by:

Thok is she call’d, but now Lok wore her shape:

She greeted them the first, and laugh’d, and said:⁠—

“Ye Gods, good lack, is it so dull in Heaven,

That ye come pleasuring to Thok’s Iron Wood?

Lovers of change ye are, fastidious sprites.

Look, as in some boor’s yard a sweet-breath’d cow

Whose manger is stuff’d full of good fresh hay

Snuffs at it daintily, and stoops her head

To chew the straw, her litter, at her feet⁠—

So ye grow squeamish, Gods, and sniff at Heaven.”

She spake; but Hermod answer’d her and said:⁠—

“Thok, not for gibes we come, we come for tears.

Balder is dead, and Hela holds her prey,

But will restore, if all things give him tears.

Begrudge not thine; to all was Balder dear.”

But, with a louder laugh, the Hag replied:⁠—

“Is Balder dead? and do ye come for tears?

Thok with dry eyes will weep o’er Balder’s pyre.

Weep him all other things, if weep they will⁠—

I weep him not: let Hela keep her prey.”

She spake, and to the cavern’s depth she fled,

Mocking: and Hermod knew their toil was vain.

And as seafaring men, who long have wrought

In the great deep for gain, at last come home,

And towards evening see the headlands rise

Of their own country, and can clear descry

A fire of wither’d furze which boys have lit

Upon the cliffs, or smoke of burning weeds

Out of a till’d field inland;⁠—then the wind

Catches them, and drives out again to sea:

And they go long days tossing up and down

Over the grey sea-ridges; and the glimpse

Of port they had makes bitterer far their toil⁠—

So the Gods’ cross was bitterer for their joy.

Then, sad at heart, to Niord Hermod spake:⁠—

“It is the Accuser Lok, who flouts us all.

Ride back, and tell in Heaven this heavy news.

I must again below, to Hela’s realm.”

He spoke; and Niord set forth back to Heaven.

But northward Hermod rode, the way below;

The way he knew: and travers’d Giall’s stream,

And down to Ocean grop’d, and cross’d the ice,

And came beneath the wall, and found the grate

Still lifted; well was his return foreknown.

And once more Hermod saw around him spread

The joyless plains, and heard the streams of Hell.

But as he enter’d, on the extremest bound

Of Niflheim, he saw one Ghost come near,

Hovering, and stopping oft, as if afraid;

Hoder, the unhappy, whom his own hand slew:

And Hermod look’d, and knew his brother’s ghost,

And call’d him by his name, and sternly said:⁠—

“Hoder, ill-fated, blind in heart and eyes!

Why tarriest thou to plunge thee in the gulf

Of the deep inner gloom, but flittest here,

In twilight, on the lonely verge of Hell,

Far from the other ghosts, and Hela’s throne?

Doubtless thou fearest to meet Balder’s voice,

Thy brother, whom through folly thou didst slay.”

He spoke; but Hoder answer’d him, and said:⁠—

“Hermod the nimble, dost thou still pursue

The unhappy with reproach, even in the grave?

For this I died, and fled beneath the gloom,

Not daily to endure abhorring Gods,

Nor with a hateful presence cumber Heaven⁠—

And canst thou not, even here, pass pitying by?

No less than Balder have I lost the light

Of Heaven, and communion with my kin:

I too had once a wife, and once a child,

And substance, and a golden house in Heaven:

But all I left of my own act, and fled

Below, and dost thou hate me even here?

Balder upbraids me not, nor hates at all,

Though he has cause, have any cause; but he,

When that with downcast looks I hither came,

Stretch’d forth his hand, and with benignant voice,

Welcome, he said, if there be welcome here,

Brother and fellow-sport of Lok with me.

And not to offend thee, Hermod, nor to force

My hated converse on thee, came I up

From the deep gloom, where I will now return;

But earnestly I long’d to hover near,

Not too far off, when that thou camest by;

To feel the presence of a brother God,

And hear the passage of a horse of Heaven,

For the last time: for here thou com’st no more.”

He spake, and turn’d to go to the inner gloom.

But Hermod stay’d him with mild words, and said:⁠—

“Thou doest well to chide me, Hoder blind.

Truly thou say’st, the planning guilty mind

Was Lok’s; the unwitting hand alone was thine.

But Gods are like the sons of men in this⁠—

When they have woe, they blame the nearest cause.

Howbeit stay, and be appeas’d; and tell⁠—

Sits Balder still in pomp by Hela’s side,

Or is he mingled with the unnumber’d dead?”

And the blind Hoder answer’d him and spake:⁠—

“His place of state remains by Hela’s side,

But empty: for his wife, for Nanna came

Lately below, and join’d him; and the Pair

Frequent the still recesses of the realm

Of Hela, and hold converse undisturb’d.

But they too doubtless, will have breath’d the balm

Which floats before a visitant from Heaven,

And have drawn upwards to this verge of Hell.”

He spake; and, as he ceas’d, a puff of wind

Roll’d heavily the leaden mist aside

Round where they stood, and they beheld Two Forms

Make toward them o’er the stretching cloudy plain.

And Hermod straight perceiv’d them, who they were,

Balder and Nanna; and to Balder said:⁠—

“Balder, too truly thou foresaw’st a snare.

Lok triumphs still, and Hela keeps her prey.

No more to Asgard shalt thou come, nor lodge

In thy own house, Breidablik, nor enjoy

The love all bear towards thee, nor train up

Forset, thy son, to be belov’d like thee.

Here must thou lie, and wait an endless age.

Therefore for the last time, O Balder, hail!”

He spake; and Balder answer’d him and said:⁠—

“Hail and farewell, for here thou com’st no more.

Yet mourn not for me, Hermod, when thou sitt’st

In Heaven, nor let the other Gods lament,

As wholly to be pitied, quite forlorn:

For Nanna hath rejoin’d me, who, of old,

In Heaven, was seldom parted from my side;

And still the acceptance follows me, which crown’d

My former life, and cheers me even here.

The iron frown of Hela is relax’d

When I draw nigh, and the wan tribes of dead

Love me, and gladly bring for my award

Their ineffectual feuds and feeble hates⁠—

Shadows of hates, but they distress them still.”

And the fleet-footed Hermod made reply:⁠—

“Thou hast then all the solace death allows,

Esteem and function: and so far is well.

Yet here thou liest, Balder, underground,

Rusting for ever: and the years roll on,

The generations pass, the ages grow,

And bring us nearer to the final day

When from the south shall march the Fiery Band

And cross the bridge of Heaven, with Lok for guide,

And Fenris at his heel with broken chain:

While from the east the Giant Rymer steers

His ship, and the great Serpent makes to land;

And all are marshall’d in one flaming square

Against the Gods, upon the plains of Heaven.

I mourn thee, that thou canst not help us then.”

He spake; but Balder answer’d him and said:⁠—

“Mourn not for me: Mourn, Hermod, for the Gods:

Mourn for the men on Earth, the Gods in Heaven,

Who live, and with their eyes shall see that day.

The day will come, when Asgard’s towers shall fall,

And Odin, and his Sons, the seed of Heaven:

But what were I, to save them in that hour?

If strength could save them, could not Odin save,

My Father, and his pride, the Warrior Thor,

Vidar the Silent, the Impetuous Tyr?

I, what were I, when these can naught avail?

Yet, doubtless, when the day of battle comes,

And the two Hosts are marshall’d, and in Heaven

The golden-crested Cock shall sound alarm,

And his black Brother-Bird from hence reply,

And bucklers clash, and spears begin to pour⁠—

Longing will stir within my breast, though vain.

But not to me so grievous, as, I know,

To other Gods it were, is my enforc’d

Absence from fields where I could nothing aid:

For I am long since weary of your storm

Of carnage, and find, Hermod, in your life

Something too much of war and broils, which make

Life one perpetual fight, a bath of blood.

Mine eyes are dizzy with the arrowy hail;

Mine ears are stunn’d with blows, and sick for calm.

Inactive therefore let me lie, in gloom,

Unarm’d, inglorious: I attend the course

Of ages, and my late return to light,

In times less alien to a spirit mild,

In new-recover’d seats, the happier day.”

He spake; and the fleet Hermod thus replied:⁠—

“Brother, what seats are these, what happier day?

Tell me, that I may ponder it when gone.”

And the ray-crowned Balder answer’d him:⁠—

“Far to the south, beyond The Blue, there spreads

Another Heaven, The Boundless: no one yet

Hath reach’d it: there hereafter shall arise

The second Asgard, with another name.

Thither, when o’er this present Earth and Heavens

The tempest of the latter days hath swept,

And they from sight have disappear’d, and sunk,

Shall a small remnant of the Gods repair:

Hoder and I shall join them from the grave.

There re-assembling we shall see emerge

From the bright Ocean at our feet an Earth

More fresh, more verdant than the last, with fruits

Self-springing, and a seed of man preserv’d,

Who then shall live in peace, as now in war.

But we in Heaven shall find again with joy

The ruin’d palaces of Odin, seats

Familiar, halls where we have supp’d of old;

Re-enter them with wonder, never fill

Our eyes with gazing, and rebuild with tears.

And we shall tread once more the well-known plain

Of Ida, and among the grass shall find

The golden dice wherewith we play’d of yore;

And that will bring to mind the former life

And pastime of the Gods, the wise discourse

Of Odin, the delights of other days,

O Hermod, pray that thou may’st join us then!

Such for the future is my hope: meanwhile,

I rest the thrall of Hela, and endure

Death, and the gloom which round me even now

Thickens, and to its inner gulf recalls.

Farewell, for longer speech is not allow’d.”

He spoke, and wav’d farewell, and gave his hand

To Nanna; and she gave their brother blind

Her hand, in turn, for guidance; and The Three

Departed o’er the cloudy plain, and soon

Faded from sight into the interior gloom.

But Hermod stood beside his drooping horse,

Mute, gazing after them in tears: and fain,

Fain had he follow’d their receding steps,

Though they to Death were bound, and he to Heaven,

Then; but a Power he could not break withheld.

And as a stork which idle boys have trapp’d,

And tied him in a yard, at autumn sees

Flocks of his kind pass flying o’er his head

To warmer lands, and coasts that keep the sun;

He strains to join their flight, and from his shed,

Follows them with a long complaining cry⁠—

So Hermod gazed, and yearn’d to join his kin.

At last he sigh’d, and set forth back to Heaven.