Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/151

Do the gods send to me to make them blest?
Small bliss my race hath of the gods obtained.
Three mighty children to my father Lok
Did Angerbode, the giantess, bring forth,—
Fenris the wolf, the serpent huge, and me.
Of these the serpent in the sea ye cast,
Who since in your despite hath waxed amain,
And now with gleaming ring infolds the world;
Me on this cheerless nether world ye threw,
And gave me nine unlighted realms to rule;
While on his island in the lake afar,
Made fast to the bored crag, by wile not strength
Subdued, with limber chains lives Fenris bound.
Lok still subsists in heaven, our father wise,
Your mate, though loathed, and feasts in Odin's hall;
But him too foes await, and netted snares,
And in a cave a bed of needle-rocks,
And o'er his visage serpents dropping gall.
Yet he shall one day rise, and burst his bonds,
And with himself set us his offspring free,
When he guides Muspel's children to their bourne.
Till then in peril or in pain we live,
Wrought by the gods—and ask the gods our aid?
Howbeit, we abide our day: till then,
We do not as some feebler haters do,—
Seek to afflict our foes with petty pangs,
Helpless to better us, or ruin them.
Come, then! if Balder was so dear beloved,
And this is true, and such a loss is heaven's,—
Hear how to heaven may Balder be restored.
Show me through all the world the signs of grief!
Fails but one thing to grieve, here Balder stops!
Let all that lives and moves upon the earth

Weep him, and all that is without life weep;