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XXIII
BALDER’S BALE-FIRE
Midnight sun on the mountains lay
Blood-red to the sight;
The air was filled with vapor gray
Neither of day nor of night.
And Balder’s pile, of the glowing sun
A symbol true, blazed forth;
But soon its splendor sinketh down
When Hoder rules the earth.
And round about the priests stood there,
All busied with the brands,
Pale-faced seers, with hoary hair,
And flint-stone knives in horny hands.
Serving by the altar, crown’d,
King Helge standeth near.
At midnight, hark! thro’ the grove around
The clash of arms they hear.
" Bjorn, the portals guard, and so
We ’11 captive take them all;
In or out let no man go,
Sooner cleave his skull."
Pale the King grew; all too well
He knew the voice for doubting:
In stalked Frithiof, furious, fell,
Like autumn tempest shouting:
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