Nanna.  I have debas’d myself to excusation
(Virtue from that, O Hother, ever shrinketh);
Yet trust’st thou not?—­one’s wont to trust the lov’d one! 
Thou know’st (I told it thee before) that Gevar,
Thy wise instructor, has declar’d that Heaven
Threatens a bloody, horrible misfortune,
In case our love be nois’d about in Asgaard,
Ere certain stars shall stand in other orbits;
And canst thou wonder when so great an Asa
As Odin’s Balder cometh unexpected,
That I all trembling will conceal—­

Hother.  Ha, trembling! 
My curse upon the slave who first invented
A word which ne’er my Nanna’s lips should sully;
Thy excusations kill me!  I imagined
It was a chaste, a maidenish reflection,
That made my Nanna blush at our affection: 
Unmurmuring I obeyed, and kept in secret. 
Why hast thou ta’en from me that sweet delusion? 
Why spak’st thou not, and say for whom thou tremblest? 
For Balder’s death?  Thou lovest then thy half-god. 
But no, ye gods!  No, I believe thee, Nanna! 
It is for mine, for Hother’s death, thou fearest. 
Then think’st thou me so weak, so wholly powerless,
And lov’st me still?  When e’er lov’d maids the dastard?

Nanna.  ’Tis no disgrace to quake before a half-god!

Hother.  ’Fore Odin’s self mere cowards quake.  Now hear me! 
I—­I, or Balder, die to-day!

Nanna.  O Hother! 
I came to quarrel, came prepar’d with anger;
But ah, in burning tears it soon has melted. 
Thou die, or Balder! he—­a half-god!

Hother.  Nanna! 
Thy tears insult me sore, and yet—­I know not—­
They gladden me—­they torture—­they enchant me. 
I love them—­I excuse them—­I—­I know not—­
O tear—­sweet, bitter tear, desist from flowing! 
Thou showest tenderness—­but ah! betrayest
Mistrust and slight respect!—­ah, love thy Hother,
But oh! believe, he will deserve thee, Nanna: 
Thy heart is far too noble for the coward
Who beareth shield and sword and yet can tremble.

Hother.  The slave only feareth.

Nanna.  The hero can fall!

Hother.  Ah then his fame cheereth
His bride in her thrall.

Nanna.  Ah then his bride weeps!

Hother.  She’s honour’d.

Nanna.  She weepeth!

Hother.  She’s honour’d.

Nanna.  And weepeth.

Hother.  Ah, then his fame cheereth
His bride in her thrall.

Both.  Ah then his fame cheereth
His bride in her thrall.

Nanna.  Ah, if thou now fallest?

Hother.  And if I now fall?

Nanna.  Then I shall be wasted
By ne’er-ceasing smart.

Hother.  But were my fame blasted
Then break would thy heart.

Nanna.  Oh! what is remaining?