 | The Descent of Frea |  |
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ACT II.
SCENE. Valhalla.The Gods assembled in Odin's Hall.
ODIN.
Welcome, fair Queen of Love, to Odin's hall.
Say, hast thou mov'd the stubborn soul of Hela,
By soft persuasion and resistless sighs,
To yield the much-lov'd Balder back to light?
FREA.
Great king of gods and men, the only boon
That Hela granted to my sorrowing soul
Was this; when all the gods of nature weep
The briny tear of grief on Balder's grave,
Then from the horrid caves of night he comes
To grace Valhalla's halls; but golden hope
Has not yet fled the woe-worn Frea's bosom;
Still may my soothing words entice the tear
From pitying gods, and snatch from Hela's arms
Her splendid prey.—
(Continues addressing Odin.)
That Hela granted to my sorrowing soul
Was this; when all the gods of nature weep
The briny tear of grief on Balder's grave,
Then from the horrid caves of night he comes
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Has not yet fled the woe-worn Frea's bosom;
Still may my soothing words entice the tear
From pitying gods, and snatch from Hela's arms
Her splendid prey.—
Lord of the hosts of war
,
In beaming armour bright,
Thou driv'st the scythed car
Amid the fearful fight—
Lord of the starry sky,
In dreadful majesty,
Thou wield'st the golden spear,
And call'st with awful sound,
Cœlestials hear,
And throng around
Their warrior king.—
The pitchy raven floats
On glossy wing,
Then to Odin hastens nigh,
Checks the hoarseness of his notes,
And whispers sounds of dread futurity;
He comes from Schulda's black abodes
To seek thy piercing look—
And Odin reads to listening gods
Then Fates' immortal book.—
Say, shall no sorrowing parent's tear
Bedew thy Balder's sable bier?
Wilt thou not weep thy child forlorn,
Thy blooming child by Hela torn
From halls of bliss
To caves of dark despair?
Yes, Odin, yes,
I mark the gushing drops which stain
A father's cheek,
Those gushing drops thy anguish speak,
Balder shall live again
And cleave the realms of air.
In beaming armour bright,
Thou driv'st the scythed car
Amid the fearful fight—
Lord of the starry sky,
In dreadful majesty,
Thou wield'st the golden spear,
And call'st with awful sound,
Cœlestials hear,
And throng around
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The pitchy raven floats
On glossy wing,
Then to Odin hastens nigh,
Checks the hoarseness of his notes,
And whispers sounds of dread futurity;
He comes from Schulda's black abodes
To seek thy piercing look—
And Odin reads to listening gods
Then Fates' immortal book.—
Say, shall no sorrowing parent's tear
Bedew thy Balder's sable bier?
Wilt thou not weep thy child forlorn,
Thy blooming child by Hela torn
From halls of bliss
To caves of dark despair?
Yes, Odin, yes,
I mark the gushing drops which stain
A father's cheek,
Those gushing drops thy anguish speak,
Balder shall live again
And cleave the realms of air.
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Odin drops the tear,
And wets thy Balder's bier.
FREA.
(Addressing Hertha.)
Queen of the fertile earth ,
Whose all-creative hand
First gave the sons of man their birth;
Whose sweetly sounding voice
With soft command,
First bade the desert land rejoice;
Bade her fruitful bosom pour
The shady tree, the painted flower;
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And fill with life the teeming main;
Whene'er thy stately form appears
On mortal shore,
No war nor battle's sound
Is heard the world around;
No more the armed soldier rears
The tined lance,
And nature groans no more.—
Before thy silver car
The rosy pleasures dance,
Balmy perfume scents the air,
Nature smiles in rich array,
And double glory gilds the day.
Say, Hertha, wilt thou drop the tear
On youthful Balder's sable bier?
HERTHA.
Hertha drops the tear,
And wets thy Balder's bier.
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(Addressing Thor.)
God of the floating air ,
Whose gleamy lightnings tear
The pine high-waving on the lofty rock,
Whose thunders shake with dreadful shock
The trembling rills;
Whose sable storm-clouds pour
The salutary shower,
And swell the parched hills;
God of the howling blast,
Whose rushing tempests haste
With sullen roar;
The forest bows its waving pride,
The ocean heaves its swelling tide
Loud dashing on the shore—
God of the iron-mace,
Which names the giant-race,
Say, wilt thou drop the pitying tear
On youthful Balder's sable bier?
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Thor shall drop the pitying tear,
And wet thy Balder's sable bier.
FREA.
(Addressing Niord.)
Lord of the boundless deep,
Whose glittering waters gently swell
And kiss the rocky steep;
When thunders howl around
And tempests yell,
Thy moving plain repeats the direful sound;
Thy foamy waves arise,
And lash the darken'd skies
In dread commotion;—
Then by the lightning's livid glare
Thou stalk'st serene thro' murky air
Which veils the raging ocean.—
But soon the winged tempests go,
Soon the rattling thunders cease,
Sun-beams gild the mountain-brow,
And Thor in zephyrs whispers peace;
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Gently sink to rest again—
Smooth its peaceful bosom rose
In calm repose,
And stillness hover'd on the gales of spring,
When Braga touch'd the quivering string
On Niord's shore;
On its glassy surface stood
The father of the flood,
He bade the bard cœlestial pour
His softest notes—
The melting music floats
Upon the peaceful wave—
Come from thy dewy cave,
My father cries,
Arise, arise,
Let the azure waters lave
Thy snowy limbs and golden hair;
Haste in dazzling beauty bright
To charm the tuneful Braga's sight.—
He spake, and Frea rose to realms of air.—
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And all the parent's pride confest.
Now, will my father's heart disdain
To ease his daughter's piercing pain?
Or wilt thou drop the pitying tear,
On youthful Balder's sable bier?
NIORD.
Niord drops the tear,
And wets thy Balder's bier.
FREA.
(Addressing Surtur.)
King of resistless fire ,
Whose desolating flames
From Hecla's cliffs aspire,
Whose scorching breath,
The torch of death,
The proudest hero tames;
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Nature bows her wither'd head—
Thy fatal car outstrips the wind,
Thy flaming coursers' nostrils pour
The wide consuming shower—
Destruction flies behind;
She rears her red right hand
And with her fiery besom sweeps the blasted land.—
Say, Surtur, wilt thou drop the tear
On youthful Balder's sable bier?
SURTUR.
Surtur drops the tear,
And wets thy Balder's bier.
FREA.
(Addressing Lok.)
God of the nether world,
Whose deadly arrow hurl'd
The blooming Balder to the caves of night,
O, let not Schulda write
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O, let not Balder's tomb
For ever stand,
But snatch with pitying hand
From Hela's curs'd abode
The fallen god;
Revive, revive his wither'd charms,
And give him back to Frea's arms.
Drop, O Lok, the pitying tear
On youthful Balder's sable bier.
LOK.
Away, away,
Lok ne'er will weep—
Let Hela keep
Her splendid prey.
FREA.
By the ghosts' eternal moan,
By the murderer's dying groan,
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By the night-mare's baneful breath,
By the famish'd eagle's scream,
By the meteor's awful gleam,
By the slaughter'd infant's blood,
By the roar of Giall's flood,
By the mandrake's fatal yell ,
By all the horrors of thy hell,
I charge thee weep the briny tear
On youthful Balder's sable bier.
LOK.
No—tho' Valhalla's towering wall
Around these sinewy limbs should fall,
Tho' Skinfax plunge his flaming head
Amid the caverns of the dead,
Tho' Surtur aim his fiery dart
And heap his flames around my heart,
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And dash me lifeless on the shore;
Tho' Thor should hurl his iron mace
And stain with gore this hated face;
Tho' Odin's self in wrath should rear
His golden spear
And shining shield,
This stubborn heart shall never yield—
Hela shall hold her splendid prey
While countless ages roll away.
THE END.
Odin was the chief of the Gothic deities, and the god of war; he administered justice in heaven, and was acquainted with futurity by means of a raven which was sent to him by Schulda, one of the Fates. The commands of Odin were usually executed by the seven Valkyries who attended upon his table, and selected those in battle who were doomed to die.
Hertha was the wife of Odin, and the goddess of fertility. The following account of her festival is given us by Tacitus in his admirable treatise, de Moribus Germaniæ:—“Herthum, id est Terram Matrem colunt, camque intervenire rebus hominum, invehi populis arbitrantur: est in insula oceani castum nemus, dicatumque in co vehiculum veste contectum: attingere uni sacerdoti concessum: is adesse penetrali deam intelligit, vectamque bubus feminis multa cum veneratione prosequitur: læti tunc dies; festa loca, quæcumque adventu hospitioque dignatur: non bella incunt; non arma sumunt; clausum omne ferrum: pax et quies tunc tantum nota, tunc tantum amata; donec idem sacerdos satiatam conversatione mortalium deam templo reddat; mox vehiculum et vestes, et si credere velis, numen ipsum secreto lacu abluitur. Servi ministrant; quos statim idem lacus haurit; arcanus hinc terror sanctaque ignorantia, quid sit illud quod tantum perituri vident.”—It is not improbable that the feast known by the name of Easter, was originally this feast of Hertha.
| The Descent of Frea | |