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 gods, 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 lusty 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 god-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 gods, 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 gods 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. 
Ha!  I myself will fly before my fury. [He goes.

Loke (he looks contemptuously after Balder, then raises himself to his
full height, discards at once his assumed figure, and appears as Loke). 
My weakness, mighty Balder?  Do not scorn it! 
To dust and ashes, boaster, it shall crush thee. 
Not Loke’s messenger, but Loke, stung thee. 
Already bellows the young god with torment: 
Hear, Odin! hear thy lov’d one, hear him howling! 
Delay thee not! enjoy his voice and feel it! 
Harmonious is it to the ears of Loke. 
Quick, quick! thou ne’er again, perchance, will hear it. 
Survey him near:  how swells each vein with poison,
Which I have poured into his breast with cunning! 
Soon Odin, soon will thy beloved be silent;
Soon from thy sight will Balder flit for ever;
Then will it be thy turn to mourn, O tyrant! 
It comes—­the long-protracted day of vengeance! 
It comes—­the sigh’d-for hour of retribution! 
How long hast thou not tortur’d Loke’s bowels,
And fearless trampled ’neath thy feet his offspring? 
Hear Hael and Fenris’ Wolf, and Midgaard’s Serpent—­
Loud howl they!—­hear them night and day