The wind, as I observe too late, has shifted,
And not a star is gleaming in the heavens:
Ah! far must be the way unto my hovel!
My feet are wearied out, for I have wandered
The long and chilly night among the mountains.

BALDER. What wishest thou?

LOKE. I die of frost and hunger.
Whoe'er thou art, and if thou feelest pity--
Excuse my doubt--yet wouldst thou save the remnant
Of life which trembles on my lips, conduct me
Straight to the cheering hearth where bask thy servants.

BALDER. The way would prove for thee too far; but see'st thou
The lofty roof behind the forest yonder,
There, there resides of earth the fairest daughter:
Thither repair, thou fortunate old stranger!
There she resides.--Ah! thou wilt be to Nanna
A dear, a welcome guest! She loves the wretched;
Her noble heart swells always with compassion
For every sufferer. Only not--Thou stayest!
Why go'st thou not?

LOKE. I go; but thou wast speaking,
Methinks, of Nanna?

BALDER. Yes.

LOKE. Of Gevar's daughter?