[He again casts his eyes upon the ground, like one who meditates deeply.

BALDER. Behind yon pine wood he built an altar unto thee and Odin,
There thou mayst see the roof of his still dwelling.
There lives the earthly Freia--cruel maiden--
There slumbers she, perhaps--the proud one rests in
Joy's downy arms, undreaming aught of Balder!
As if I did not love, were not a half-god;
As if by Skalds my name were never chanted
As if I were a demon, bad as Loke!
Ha! if upon my tongue lurked bane and magic,
When fear enchains it and the pale lip trembles;
When broken words and a disordered wailing
Are all with which I can express my bosom's
Desire intense, and dread unwonted torments.
Ha! were my voice like Find's when he, distracted,
Goes over Horthedal; as when he bellows,
And wild at last, and blind with fury, splinters
The oaks, the glory of the sacred forest.
Ha! if the blood of maids and unarm'd wretches
Of harmless travellers, stained the hands of Balder--
If ruddy lightnings burnt between these fingers--
Then might'st thou well be pale;
And thou wert right to fly from me, O Nanna!

THOR. Now, Balder, hear my word, and fly from Nanna!

BALDER. From Nanna! Yes, I ought--that see I plainly.
Ha! some accursed fiend my foot has fasten'd