ce of battle holds it brandish'd;
He strikes! he strikes! and all the Aser sorrow.

BALDER. Dark is thy speech, O Thor! dark as thy visage.

THOR. Before my eyes are murky shadows flitting.
A mortal youth, with blood of Asa crimson'd!
The fight and death of gods, the fall of Asgara!
Hear, son of Odin, wretched slave of passion,
Think not that dreams, that magic's foul deception,
That spectres of the night my brain bewilder;
And oh! think not that merely chance has led me
To Balder's presence, and to these high forests!
I sought thee, came with speed to give thee warning:
Fear, then! It is thy friend, 'tis Thor, who's speaking!
And on my lips I bear the words of Odin.
Thou know'st there grows in night's mysterious valley
A tree, as yet by men or gods seen never;
It bears a bough, which bough, when once 'tis harden'd
In Nastroud's flames, can slay thee.

BALDER. Yes, I know it.

THOR. That knowest thou, friend! And is it a mere slumber,
A fleeting trance, a pleasant dream of battle,
With which the spear's impregnated in Nastroud?
Ha! whom it slays wakes never up in Valhall;
In mist and darkness must he lie for ever.
From gods and men alike for ever parted,
Must Balder be detested--Haela's booty,
Not Odin's quest?

BALDER. Aye; when the tree's discover'd.

THOR. Well, now, attend and heed a father's warning!
When Odin high from Lidskialf saw thee raving,
In toils of love, 'mong Norway's snowy mountains,
The speech of Mimmer on his heart fell heavy.
Hear it and tremble! Not for death, O Balder!
Nor e'en for Haela, but thy father's anguish;
"The year"--such was his word (thou knowest Mimmer,
And scarce canst think he'd breathe the words of falsehood)--
"The year when Norway's desert hills shall echo
The half-god's wasted love-caus'd lamentations,
When he's rejected by a prophet's daughter,
That year shall see the spear which holds his ruin,
Shall see the gods in grief, and Odin weeping."
Hear that and quake! And fly, and spare thy father!
If not, dote on and die, for that's thy fortune!

[He disappears among the trees.

BALDER (alone). And must I die? Ah well, I merely forfeit
A worthless breath, which is by Nanna hated.
Ha! hated. How that thought that Nanna hates me
Torments my breast! Death, only death, can drown it.
It burns, it scorches me, like Nastroud's blazes.
Come, tenfold death, come quickly, and extinguish
The thought: destroy it, crush it, with this bosom.
Thanks be to Thor, f