The third (who hitherto has stood in deep thought).  Sharp is my sight in
war; but here is darkness. 
But do not think that chance and magic
Here assembled battle’s angry daughters. 
Allfather for the fight prepares; Allfather
Assembles us with murky wink:  I saw him,
The mighty Thor; wroth was he, and his hammer
Was in his hand.  He stood by Gevar’s dwelling: 
He spoke to me, and soon as e’er I answer’d
He vanished, thundering in the eastern heavens. 
It is not sport, nor any childish quarrel,
Be ye assured, makes Thor descend from Asgaard.

The first. He spake to thee?

The third.  As when the warriors slumber,
And suddenly are wak’d to thousand dangers
By din of shields and mingled squadrons’ tumult,
So tower’d he up and shouted when he saw me,
And dread and hollow as the ocean’s bellow,
As moan of forests in the nightly tempest,
Sounded his voice unto my ear! 
“What, Rota!” he shouted; Rota here!  “Ye gods of heaven! 
Whom seekest thou, where unclomb rocks engirdle
Peace, smiling peace?  O say! whom, sent by Skulda,
Wilt thou devote upon the stilly mountains? 
But ah! what light had I the power to kindle? 
Dark is my spirit.  The terrific Norna,
She who allots to time, ere it approaches,
It’s luck, and binds it with determined fingers
Unto Fate’s will, is silent, and drives Rota
Far from each plain belov’d where battle rages. 
Yet shook the fatal spear with which conflicting
Monarchs I greet, at sunrise thrice it trembled;
And death lies heavy in my arm—­that know I,
But for the victim.

The first. Threatens Fate our Hother?

The second.  Thor’s fear and even thine betoken danger.

The third.  So seems it.  Ah! if it concern’d our Hother! 
Ye mind full well how high the Danish hero
I ever lov’d—­I saw him by a fountain,
Dejected, weaponless, and half in slumber;
But deep into the forest fled the savage,
From whom he took his sword, the sharp-edged Mimer,
And Hother’s spear in his rude hands he carried. 
“Retain my falchion, thou ferocious warrior! 
Little in conflict shall it e’er avail thee!”
So shouted he, and all the rocks resounded. 
Then straight I brought my choicest spear from Valhall—­
Long since I cut it from a lonely wild beech,
Which, hid from day, grew up in Lapland’s deserts;
A circle of grey stones stood round about it,
On each was clotted blood, and bones, and ashes;
Blood as I cut the spear the stem emitted—­
It crushes stone, and steel, and giants’ armour.

Hother, the others.

Hother (he is armed, but without a spear).  Where is this prince of beauty, Nanna’s half-god?

[He starts slightly upon perceiving the Valkyrier.  They advance towards him, hand in hand.