Where Norseland saw its Valhal in an earthly mold. 
It stood there in its grandeur on the mountain cliff,
And mirrored in the ocean wave its lofty brow,
While round about it, like a zone of beauteous flowers,
Far stretched the dale of Balder with its sighing groves. 
Its song of birds, a home where peace might reign supreme. 
High rose the copper-bolted portal, and within
Two colonnades supported on strong omoplates
The vaulted canopy, and beautiful it hung
Above the temple, like a concave shield of gold. 
At farthest end stood Balder’s altar.  It was hewn
From one huge block of northern granite:  round it coiled
A graven serpent, covered o’er with written runes, —
Profoundest thoughts from Vala and from Ha’vama’l;
But in the wall above was left an open space,—­
A dark blue ground all filled with golden stars; and there
A silver image sat—­the pious god—­as calm
And mild as sits the silver moon in heaven’s blue. 
Thus seemed the finished shrine.  In couples entered now
Twelve temple virgins, clad in robes of silver gauze,
With roses glowing on their cheeks, and roses in
Their guileless hearts.  Before the image of the god,
Around the altar newly consecrate they danced,
As light spring winds above the flowing fountains flit,
As dance the forest elves amid the waving grass. 
While yet the morning dew. like pearls, lies glittering there. 
And while they danced they joyful sang a sacred song
Of pious Balder, and how dearly he was loved
By every being; how he fell ’neath Hoder’s dart,
And earth and sea and heaven wept.  Yet sounded not
The song as though ’twere uttered by a human voice,
But as a tone from Breidablik, from Balder’s home;
Or like the thought of lover to a lonely maid
When pipes the quail his deep notes in the hush of night,
And over northern birches falls the moonlight soft. 
Enraptured Fridthjof stood; he leaned upon his sword,
And gazed upon the dance.  Sweet childhood’s memories thronged
His vision by,—­an innocent and pleasant folk,
With smiling eyes reflecting heaven’s blue, with heads
Surrounded hy a halo of bright locks, they waved
A kindly salutation to their childhood’s friend. 
Then sank the bloody shadow of his viking life,
With all its conflicts, all its perilous exploits,
Down into night, and in his fancy stood he forth
A flower-crowned monument above their grave. 
And ever, as the song increased, his spirit soared
From earthly dales below to Valaskjalf above;
Then melted human hate and human vengeance, too,
As melts the icy coat of mail from off the cliff,
When shines the sun in spring.  A sea of quiet peace. 
Of silent ecstasy, possessed his hero-soul;
It was as if he felt the heart of nature beat
Against his own; as if, deep moved, he fain would fold
Creation in his brotherly embrace, and be at peace
With every living creature seen of God.