Then Hermod rode slowly across the bridge that spans the abyss between life and death, and found his way at last to the barred gates of Hel’s dreadful home.  There he sprang to the ground, tightened the girths, remounted, drove the spurs deep into the horse, and Sleipner, with a mighty leap, cleared the wall.  Hermod rode straight to the gloomy palace, dismounted, entered, and in a moment was face to face with the terrible queen of the kingdom of the dead.  Beside her, on a beautiful throne, sat Balder, pale and wan, crowned with a withered wreath of flowers, and close at hand was Nanna, pallid as her husband, for whom she had died.  And all night long, while ghostly forms wandered restless and sleepless through Helheim, Hermod talked with Balder and Nanna.  There is no record of what they said, but the talk was sad enough, doubtless, and ran like a still stream among the happy days in Asgard when Balder’s smile was morning over the earth and the sight of his face the summer of the world.

When the morning came, faint and dim, through the dusky palace, Hermod sought Hel, who received him as cold and stern as fate.

“Your kingdom is full, O Hel!” he said, “and without Balder, Asgard is empty.  Send him back to us once more, for there is sadness in every heart and tears are in every eye.  Through heaven and earth all things weep for him.”

“If that is true,” was the slow, icy answer, “if every created thing weeps for Balder, he shall return to Asgard; but if one eye is dry he remains henceforth in Helheim.”

Then Hermod rode swiftly away, and the decree of Hel was soon told in Asgard.  Through all the worlds the gods sent messengers to say that all who loved Balder should weep for his return, and everywhere tears fell like rain.  There was weeping in Asgard, and in all the earth there was nothing that did not weep.  Men and women and little children, missing the light that had once fallen into their hearts and homes, sobbed with bitter grief; the birds of the air, who had sung carols of joy at the gates of the morning since time began, were full of sorrow; the beasts of the fields crouched and moaned in their desolation; the great trees, that had put on their robes of green at Balder’s command, sighed as the wind wailed through them; and the sweet flowers, that waited for Balder’s footstep and sprang up in all the fields to greet him, hung their frail blossoms and wept bitterly for the love and the warmth and the light that had gone out.  Throughout the whole earth there was nothing but weeping, and the sound of it was like the wailing of those storms in autumn that weep for the dead summer as its withered leaves drop one by one from the trees.

The messengers of the gods went gladly back to Asgard, for everything had wept for Balder; but as they journeyed they came upon a giantess, called Thok, and her eyes were dry.

“Weep for Balder,” they said.

“With dry eyes only will I weep for Balder,” she answered.  “Dead or alive, he never gave me gladness.  Let him stay in Helheim.”