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!

LOKE. Excuse me, sir, I do not understand thee.
She loves not Odin half so much as Hother.

BALDER. Fly, slave--begone! for Udgaard, Loke's poison,
Is on thy tongue! That foe of gods has sent thee:
Thou art his messenger, thou art--thou art, thou traitor!
Dost dare to linger? But thou art in safety,
For, worm, thy weakness and my oath protect thee.
Ha! I myself will fly before my fury. [He goes.

LOKE (he looks contemptuously after BALDER, then raises himself to his
full height, discards at once his assumed figure, and appears as LOKE).
My weakness, mighty Balder? Do not scorn it!
To dust and ashes, boaster, it shall crush thee.
Not Loke's messenger, but Loke, stung thee.
Already bellows the young god with torment:
Hear, Odin! hear thy lov'd one, hear him howling!
Delay thee not! enjoy his voice and feel it!
Harmonious is it to the ears of Loke.
Quick, quick! thou ne'er again, perchance, will hear it.
Survey him near: how swells each vein with poison,
Which I have poured into his breast with cunning!
Soon Odin, soon will thy beloved be silent;
Soon from thy sight will Balder flit for ever;
Then will it be thy turn to mourn, O tyrant!
It comes--the long-protracted day of vengeance!
It comes--the sigh'd-for hour of retribution!
How long hast thou not tortur'd Loke's bowels,
And fearless trampled 'neath thy feet his offspring?
Hear Hael and Fenris' Wolf, and Midgaard's Serpent--
Loud howl they!--hear them night and day proclaiming
Thy unmatched cruelty with frightful voices!
Each of them was a god, and fair as Balder,
But now to earth and heaven, and to myself, a horror:
Each is a monster, bow'd with chains of darkness.
The hour's at hand, the tardy hour of vengeance:
Already blow I in war's horn: to combat,
Up, up ye mighty gods, and rescue Balder!
There see I him, the hero youth, who only,
Arm'd with the tree of death by Odin's maidens,
Can be--so Fate decrees--this Balder's slayer.
And he shall be it: quickly shall he brandish
T