Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/137

Down to the margin of the roaring sea
He came, and sadly went along the sand,
Between the waves and black o'erhanging cliffs
Where in and out the screaming seafowl fly;
Until he came to where a gully breaks
Through the cliff-wall, and a fresh stream runs down
From the high moors behind, and meets the sea.
There, in the glen, Fensaler stands, the house
Of Frea, honored mother of the gods,
And shows its lighted windows to the main.
There he went up, and passed the open doors;
And in the hall he found those women old,
The prophetesses, who by rite eterne
On Frea's hearth feed high the sacred fire
Both night and day; and by the inner wall
Upon her golden chair the mother sate,
With folded hands, revolving things to come.
To her drew Hoder near, and spake, and said,—
⁠"Mother, a child of bale thou bar'st in me!
For, first, thou barest me with blinded eyes,
Sightless and helpless, wandering weak in heaven;
And, after that, of ignorant witless mind
Thou barest me, and unforeseeing soul;
That I alone must take the branch from Lok,
The foe, the accuser, whom, though gods, we hate,
And cast it at the dear-loved Balder's breast,
At whom the gods in sport their weapons threw.
'Gainst that alone had Balder's life no charm.
Now therefore what to attempt, or whither fly,
For who will bear my hateful sight in heaven?
Can I, O mother, bring them Balder back?
Or—for thou know'st the fates, and things allowed—
Can I with Hela's power a compact strike,

And make exchange, and give my life for his?"