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Page 53
"Thy burden take away, I cannot bear it,
The dark wood's music in my soul doth cry.
A moment's fault! cannot a life repair it,--
An upright life? Then hear my contrite sigh!
If Thor's fierce bolt should strike, I still would dare it:
Nor shrink to meet the look of Hel's pale eye.
Thou pious god, who moonlight glances bendest,
'Tis thee I fear, and vengeance which thou sendest.
"My father's grave is here. The hero sleepeth;--
Alas! whence he has gone none ever roam;
A starry tent his home, no more he weepeth,
Where shields rejoice and brimming mead-horns foam;
Thou asa-guest, from heaven look down where keepeth
His weary watch thy child. O father, come!
I bring not runes nor charms, but bending lowly
Would learn to appease pale Balder holy.
"Still silent is the grave? Ah yes, and cruel.
A sword roused Angantyr within his grave;
A sword is naught,--Tirfing a trifling jewel
Compared with what I ask. A sword the brave
Can gain on battle field or in a duel,
Forgiveness from the asas' home I crave;
Bear thou my plea, my sorrowing look to heaven,
No rest have noble minds if unforgiven.
"Thou'rt silent, father! Hear the waves resounding,
And send thy loving word by their sweet cry;
Now flies the storm, on its swift pinions bounding.
O, whisper to me as it flieth by;
See golden rings the western sky surrounding,
Let them the message give which words deny.
No sign or answer for thy son forsaken?
How poor indeed are those whom death has taken!"
The sun is quenched. The evening breeze is stealing
Upon earth's children with its lullaby,
And sunset tints in myriad circles wheeling
Around the brim of heaven's rosy sky,
O'er hill and dale their azure hues revealing,
A vision now of Valhal passeth by;
Then unexpected comes with rustling motion,
An image, gold and flames from western ocean.
A wondrous Hagring now the heavens covers.
(The name that Valhal gives hath lovelier sound),
And over Balder's grove it gently hovers.
A golden chaplet set in emerald ground;
Resplendence everywhere the eye discovers,
Such lustre mortals ne'er before had found.
It stops and sinks to earth, not disappearing,
But where the temple stood, a temple rearing.
An imaged Breidablik its wall upreareth,
(So burnished silver on the cliff had shone),
Each pillar cut of deep blue steel appealeth,
The altar is a single precious stone,
A power unseen the vaulted roof upbeareth,
A winter sky with sparkling stars o'erstrewn;
And there with golden crowns and robes befitting,
Of azure splendor. Valhal's gods are sitting.
With rune-writ shields, the maids of fateful power,
The noble norns, within the portal stand,--
Three rosebuds springing in a single flower,
A grave and yet a fascinating band;
While Urd is pointing to the ruined tower,--
The new one Skuld doth greet with welcome hand;
But scarce restored is Fridthjof, filled with blended
Delight and wonder, ere the scene is ended.
"From you, Time's maidens, comes illumination,--
Thine, hero-father, is the token good:
The wasted shrine I'll build on sure foundation,
In beauty shall it stand where erst it stood;
How excellent to thus make expiation,
By peaceful deeds to atone for actions rude!
The outcast still may hope who sues in meekness,--
The White God softens, and forgives his weakness.
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