What holds thee here, where thou canst hope for nothing?

BALDER. And can I? Ah, my friend, that is my duty!
But fly! And never, never see thee, Nanna!
And ne'er again behold the roof where under
Thou sleepest! Honour the mere thought destroyeth!
Ere that, I'll perish here, unfamed, forgotten!

THOR. Well, perish, then! I see too plain 'tis useless
Against a harsh, eternal fate to struggle!

The hill fiend dreads my hammer's might
Before it turns the Jotun white,
And rocks, whereon I strike, give way.
But nothing cruel fate can move;
And what Allfather there above
Resolves upon, stands firm for aye.

Know, son of Odin, thou whom reason, friendship,
Whom scorn--e'en scorn--to move are all unable,
Know that prophetic were thy words! Fate hastens!
The Valkyrie prepares the spear already,
Its deadly point already does she sharpen.
Ah, see! the prince of battle holds it brandish'd;
He strikes! he strikes! and all the Aser sorrow.

BALDER. Dark is thy speech, O Thor! dark as thy visage.

THOR. Before my eyes are murky shadows flitting.
A mortal youth, with blood of Asa crimson'd!