Part 2 (1/2)

LOKE. Of Gevar's daughter?

BALDER (astonished). Thou know'st her?

LOKE. No; but oftentimes her bridegroom Has come fatigued with hunting, to my hovel.

BALDER. Ah who--

LOKE (turns away as if to depart). She dwells there, does she?

BALDER (seizes him by the arm). Stay! who is the bride-groom?

Speak, reptile, speak! Who? When? Reply, thou traitor, Or here thou diest!

LOKE. Spare me, sir, in mercy!

I faint with terror!

BALDER. Speak! by all the powers, Thy smallest hair is sacred! I have promised.

Now, speak!

LOKE. I am an old and harmless creature.

BALDER. But Nanna's bridegroom?

LOKE. Truly, sir, I wonder, That one like thee, a dweller 'mongst these mountains, Should know him not, the n.o.blest and the bravest Of all the sons of earth.

BALDER. Ye G.o.ds of heaven!

And who? His name?

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 G.o.ds, 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 l.u.s.ty 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 G.o.d-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 G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds 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.