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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA 125
The mighty Balder, in whose shrine I dwell,
I have offended: for no mortal’s love
Is pure enough for such a god’s beholding;
And earthly joys should never dare to come
Wherever they, the holy and sublime
Rulers of heaven, have their dwelling made.
And yet, what crime is mine? The gentle god
Could ne’er be angry at a maiden’s love.
Is it not pure, as Urda’s silver wave,
And innocent, as Gefion’s morning dream ?
The lofty Sun hath never turned away
Its eye of brightness from a loving pair;
And starry Night, the widow of the Day,
Amidst her mourning hears their vows with joy.
Can what is holy ’neath the vaulted sky
Become a crime beneath a temple’s dome?
I love my Frithiof, and have ever loved;
Far as my furthest recollections go,
Growth of my growth, that love hath ever been:
When it began I never knew; can tell
No hour of life that hath not been of love.
And as the fruit is formed around the core,
And, clinging there, in Nature’s time becomes,
Beneath the sunbeams, like a ball of gold,
So have I too grown up, and ripening glad
Around this kernel, all my being is
Only the outward shell that holds my love.
Forgive me, Balder! See, a faithful heart
Into thy halls I brought ; with such alone
Will I depart, and speed, with such alone,
Over bright Bifrost’s bridge; with such alone
Stand, faithful still, before Valhalla’s gods.
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