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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA 183
All the dear beauty of my native vale,
Marred by the sword, disfigured by the brand,
Of rage of men and wrath of gods, sad tale
To wanderers tells the devastated land.
Ah! pious wanderer, hither shun to rove,
Where beasts have made their dens in Balder’s grove.
"Ay, a betrayer stalks through life untiring,
The gloomy Nidhogg from the gloomy waste,
He shuns the Asa-light, the proud aspiring,
Written on flashing sword and dauntless crest.
He maketh us to yield to his desiring,
Dark fiend, he revels in rage unrepressed,
And when a temple flames, delightingly
Clappeth his coal-black hands in furious glee.
"Hath no atonement place in Valhall’s hall?
Can naught, bright Balder, soothe thine angry mood ?
Men can be pacified whose comrades fall:
The lofty gods we reconcile with blood;
And thou art called the mildest of them all,
Speak, and I offer gladly all my good.
Thy temple’s burning Frithiof never willed,
Take this disgrace from his once stainless shield.
"Remove the weighty burden of my woes,
Drive from my soul the ghosts of gloomy thought;
Let life-long grief and sorrow interpose,
To wipe away the guilt a moment wrought.
I should not quail, though Thor were of my foes,
And ghastly Hela fearless should be sought;
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