 | The Descent of Frea |  |
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ACT I.
SCENE. The Infernal Regions.BALDER.
Thou land of horror! where eternal Frost
Has built his icy throne, and dims the air
With ever-hissing sleet; where sullen Night
Has spread her dingy veil, and biting blasts
Sweep o'er the solid seas and chill my frame;
Must Balder ever pour the fruitless moan?
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Shrill-shrieking from their caves? Must Balder's soul
For ever shudder at the death-owl's song,
And shrink aghast from speckled snakes that rear
Their venom'd jaws, and horrid hiss around?
Bright scenes of bliss! farewell!—ye splendid domes ,
For ever echoing with the joyful noise
Of revelry and song harmonious; happy seats
Of happy gods, where from the gold-tipt horn
They quaff the honied nectar of the bee,
With rapture list'ning to the thrilling strains
That rush on sounding wings from Braga's harp ,
No more shall Balder in your shining halls
Catch with transported soul the social joy,
And mix exulting with celestial bands.
No, Balder, no;—amid the giant-brood ,
Amid the yelling ghosts of murderers
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Shall meet these sorrowing eyes; for here no beam
Of morning bursts with softest lustre round,
Nor here ambrosial eve with fragrant hand
Scatters her sweets;—no silver-sounding voice
Melodious warbles to my sorrowing soul.—
The sooty raven sails around my head,
And harshly chaunts his hoarsest descant here.
Thou flaming steed of day! whose golden mane
Waves in the air, and pours a flood of light,
Oft' have I sprung upon thy shining back
To trace the radiant path, then mounted high
The blue expanse of heaven, and girt with beams
Of dazzling glory wing'd my course rejoicing.
Alas! how chang'd! in midnight gloom enwrapt,
The Lord of Splendor groans in Hela's halls,
For ever banish'd from the realms of light.—
Groves of Valhalla ! from whose waving boughs
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For ever floated on the fragrant air;
Oft have I wander'd in thy flowery paths,
Holding cœlestial converse; oft I've sought
Thy stillest shades, and caught with eager ear
The melting strains that burst from Braga's shell
Attun'd to love; and there the beauteous form
Of Frea blooming as the orient day
Would blushing meet her Balder's steps retir'd,
Enamour'd gaze upon my godlike limbs,
And drink the honied accents of my lips;
Then from her beaming eyes the glance of love
Quick shot.—Dear scenes of fleeting joy, farewell!
What now avails the form that Frea lov'd?
What now avails the eloquence that charm'd
The listnening gods?—A brother's bloody hand
Blasted my bliss, and dash'd me from the height
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When first ye 'gan to weave the woof of fate,
Ye scatter'd wide around the flowers of spring;
At length the raven croak'd—with joy ye snatch'd
The cords of woe, and dipp'd the cursed web
Deep in the pitchy waters of despair.—
O thou! who sitt'st upon thy shining throne
Array'd in splendor! Odin, Odin! hear
The sorrows of a son, and turn thine eye,
Moist with paternal grief, from scenes of glory;
Pierce thro' the thickest horrors which surround me,
Extend thy daring arm, and drag thy child
From caves of darkness to thy beamy hall.—
Father, I ask in vain—it is not thine
To break the firm decrees of Fate unchanging;
But Balder wretched Balder here must mourn
For endless years.—And thou, all-beauteous goddess,
Cast from thy aching heart all fond record
Of Balder's love—What beam of living light
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The dusky air? Some pitying god descends
To visit these sad scenes.—'Tis she! 'tis she!—
FREA.
(Entering.)
Where is the lovely god that Hoder tore
From Frea's fond embrace?—Again I clasp him,
Again my tear-worn eyes behold my Balder,
Yes, son of Odin, from the starry realms
Of bliss I come to seek thy black abode;
Without thee heaven itself is misery,
And all its boasted pleasures deadly woe.
On Odin's winged steed I sped my course,
Nine days his rapid feet unceasing skimm'd
A measureless extent of vallies dark;
At length the foaming tide of Giall stopp'd him;
High o'er its waves a lofty bridge arose
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For ever guards its entrance.—Who art thou,
He cried aloud, thus hastening to the halls
Of gloomy death? No livid paleness stains
The roses of thy cheeks, no deadly dimness
Damps the keen lustre of those eyes that beam
With living fire; thou art no child of Hela.—
Away, I answer'd, 'tis a goddess hastes
To Hela's halls.—I lash'd my snorting steed—
He shook with thund'ring tread the rattling pile,
Nor stopp'd till Hela's iron gates oppos'd
His winged steps; then, like a flaming star,
He shot aloft in air and bore me swift
Above the towering walls.—I tremble still,
Tho' Balder's arms embrace me.—
BALDER.
Fear not, Frea.
FREA.
Alas! my Balder, had this arm the power
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Then would eternal joy reward my toil.—
But Hela's iron chains no hand can break
Against her pleasure; and her gloomy soul
Joys in the anguish of the tortur'd ghost.
BALDER.
And can that winning form intreat in vain?
Can Hela hear unmov'd thy suppliant voice?
No, Frea, no—upon thy rosy lips
Persuasion sits resistless, charming all
To kind compliance.—Haste, accost the goddess.—
FREA.
Come from thy murky cells,
Where midnight darkness dwells,
Thou dreadful maid;
Come from thy chilly halls.—
The weeping Frea calls,
And seeks thy saving aid.
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(From within.)
Hence, hence, away;
No soothing charms
From Hela's arms
Shall snatch her prey.
FREA.
By Allfather's sacred head ,
Which bowing shakes the lofty sky,
And regions of the dead;
By the holy ash which rears
Its waving honors high;
I charge thee, awful pow'r,
To quit thy gloomy bow'r,
And yield to Frea's tears.
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(Entering.)
I come with iron heart,
To hear the fruitless prayer;
Speak, and swift depart
To realms of brighter air.
FREA.
Deep in thy misty caves my Balder lies;
Alas! how wither'd by the touch of woe!
Dim is the lustre of his fading eyes,
And sullen sadness marks his manly brow.
Alas! how wither'd by the touch of woe!
Dim is the lustre of his fading eyes,
And sullen sadness marks his manly brow.
Quick thro' his frame divine chill langours shoot;
The boasted roses of his cheeks are pale;
The winning tongue of eloquence is mute,
And rending sighs his heaving breast assail.
The boasted roses of his cheeks are pale;
The winning tongue of eloquence is mute,
And rending sighs his heaving breast assail.
Come gentle Pity clad in snowy vest
And speed thy hasty flight to Hela's cave;
Then smiling hover o'er her melting breast,
And sweetly teach her yielding heart to save.
And speed thy hasty flight to Hela's cave;
Then smiling hover o'er her melting breast,
And sweetly teach her yielding heart to save.
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And can'st thou, Hela, cast a ruthless look
On this sad scene of desolated charms?—
Tear the black leaf from Fate's eternal book,
And give the grief-worn Balder to my arms.
On this sad scene of desolated charms?—
Tear the black leaf from Fate's eternal book,
And give the grief-worn Balder to my arms.
Together let us climb the burning arch
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Which darts its many-colour'd beams on high;
Together let us speed the rapid march,
And seek the radiant palace of the sky.
Which darts its many-colour'd beams on high;
Together let us speed the rapid march,
And seek the radiant palace of the sky.
Yield, Hela, yield; Valhalla's mournful towers
No longer echo with the jocund sound,
No longer gladness gilds the passing hours,
But pale-ey'd Sorrow casts her shadows round.
No longer echo with the jocund sound,
No longer gladness gilds the passing hours,
But pale-ey'd Sorrow casts her shadows round.
Since Balder sunk untimely to the tomb,
Dim are the lingering beams of rising day,
The pale moon shrouds her silver orb in gloom
And sickly nature doffs her bright array—
Dim are the lingering beams of rising day,
The pale moon shrouds her silver orb in gloom
And sickly nature doffs her bright array—
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Frea, no more,
When all the gods of nature lave
With briny tears thy Balder's grave,
Then Balder I restore;
Yes, by Allfather's sacred head,
When all the gods of nature lave
With briny tears thy Balder's grave,
He quits the regions of the dead.
Hence, away.—
FREA.
Enough, enough, I mount with speed,
And lash my winged steed
To realms of day.
END OF ACT I.
The kingdom of Hela, or Death, is described as being in a state of continual darkness, and oppressed with a severe and perpetual winter. Noxious animals inhabited it, together with the ghosts of perjurers, assassins, and adulterers, and of all those who died not in battle, or of a violent death.
The hall of Odin. It was built of armour. In this place the gods assembled, and amused themselves with feasting, drinking mead, and listening to music. Edda Sœmundar. Grimnismal ix.
Balder wore a belt in his course round the earth which communicated light and heat to every part of it.
The stream of Mimer ran through Valhalla; its waters inspired the drinker with wisdom, eloquence, and a poetical spirit.
The Fatal Sisters, or Nornies; they were three in number. Urd, who presided over the past; Verandi, over the present; and Schulda, over the future. They were supposed to weave for every human being a woof on which his fate depended.
The name of Odin's horse was Sleipner. He was supposed to have had eight feet, and was celebrated for his wonderful swiftness.
The Goths acknowledged a Supreme Being, whom they called Allsader, or Father of all. They did not suppose him to dwell with the rest of the gods in Valhalla, but believed him to be a deity of a superior nature, and of an eternal existence.
| The Descent of Frea | |