TEGNER'S DRAPA

I heard a voice, that cried,

“Balder the Beautiful

Is dead, is dead!”

And through the misty air

Passed like the mournful cry

Of sunward sailing cranes.

I saw the pallid corpse

Of the dead sun

Borne through the Northern sky.

Blasts from Niffelheim

Lifted the sheeted mists

Around him as he passed.

And the voice forever cried,

“Balder the Beautiful

Is dead, is dead!”

And died away

Through the dreary night,

In accents of despair.

Balder the Beautiful,

God of the summer sun,

Fairest of all the Gods!

Light from his forehead beamed,

Runes were upon his tongue,

As on the warrior's sword.

All things in earth and air

Bound were by magic spell

Never to do him harm;

Even the plants and stones;

All save the mistletoe,

The sacred mistletoe!

Hoeder, the blind old God,

Whose feet are shod with silence,

Pierced through that gentle breast

With his sharp spear, by fraud

Made of the mistletoe,

The accursed mistletoe!

They laid him in his ship,

With horse and harness,

As on a funeral pyre.

Odin placed

A ring upon his finger,

And whispered in his ear.

They launched the burning ship!

It floated far away

Over the misty sea,

Till like the sun it seemed,

Sinking beneath the waves.

Balder returned no more!

So perish the old Gods!

But out of the sea of Time

Rises a new land of song,

Fairer than the old.

Over its meadows green

Walk the young bards and sing.

Build it again,

O ye bards,

Fairer than before!

Ye fathers of the new race,

Feed upon morning dew,

Sing the new Song of Love!

The law of force is dead!

The law of love prevails!

Thor, the thunderer,

Shall rule the earth no more,

No more, with threats,

Challenge the meek Christ.

Sing no more,

O ye bards of the North,

Of Vikings and of Jarls!

Of the days of Eld

Preserve the freedom only,

Not the deeds of blood!