CANTO XIV.

THE DELIVERANCE OF IDUNA.

As vanish ’fore the wind the vapours light, Thus sinks each action of the human race Into th’ abyss of sempiternal night; One billow sinks; another mounts apace: Alternate peace coquetting plays with war; Now in the sheath the glaive inglorious lies, And now with glitt’ring menace flouts the air: ’Tis all a juggle--a butterfly, that hies Careless from flower to flower--pairs with its kind--and dies.

Why boast in fight thy prowess, warrior wild? What was it? scum--mere froth upon the sea Of time--self-love impell’d thee--fortune smiled-- Thy docile troop must needs their Chief obey. But come, lay bare thy heart! and at the shrine Of truth confess! (concealment now were shame) Where is the merit of that act of thine, That made thee rival of thy father’s fame? That thou didst death defy? Doth not a beast the same?

Where Timour pulverized in days of yore Whole hecatombs of foes at Samarcand, The loose sand whirls in eddies as before. Nor of that triumph doth one record stand: The meadows still display their emerald sheen, Forgetful of the day, when frantic war With streams of blood incarnadined the green; No longer now the traveller’s vision scare Huge piles of human sculls, long since dispersed in air.

And who art thou whose quenchless thirst of fame Thus furiously lays waste th’ affrighted earth? Not near so puissant as the nightly flame, Which the volcano’s entrails vomit forth. The harden’d lava-streams _its_ force attest, And though a thousand long long years have fled, Give to the swelling grape its poignant zest: Thy deed, like ashes, moulders with the dead; The ravens on thy fame, as on thy limbs, have fed.

Yet do not thou crow neither, little gnome Who sittest in thy workshop snug, and filest; Who safe intrench’d within thy rocky dome, Lookst down securely on the fight, and smilest, As looks the lamb upon the wolf below: Who thinkst the awl a better instrument Than Aukthor’s hammer: thou requirest too Iduna’s apple, if thou beest intent To reach thy labour’s goal, and shine pre-eminent.

Whoever, dwarf or giant, seeks to rise[51] From his low cave to genius’ source divine, Let him towards thee, Iduna! lift his eyes, And view, where burning incense at thy shrine Bragur with Mimer, Balder, chaunt all hail, And in thy praise their lofty strains unite: No real hero will thy blessing fail, And future Scalds his actions shall recite, And o’er his tomb describe an endless halo bright.

How flat unprofitable life would flow. Unquicken’d, Idun, by thy apple’s zest! Deprived of Mimer’s fount, how mean and low Were man’s existence, by vile cares opprest! Dark Surtur chaunts the song of triumph loud, To see the lov’d Iduna captive borne: While Lok, of his successful mischief proud, Joys in his heart to see the Asar mourn, And Valhall’s glories fled, and Valaskialf forlorn.

Now when the sun arose, by vapours foul Obscured, it fill’d no bosom with delight: When the dull moon slow climb’d from pole to pole, It heard no amorous plaint disturb the night. No longer travels with his car and goats The once aspiring Thor; now deaf to praise He throws aside his club; he raves; he dotes; While Hlidskialf, Odin’s dome, shorn of its rays, No longer warms the earth with heart-consoling blaze.

And Freya’s bosom, once so proud to view, Now sinks like snow before the solar beam: Her golden hair assumes a silver hue; Her once blue eyes two gelid rain-drops seem. Heimdal, who on his rainbow stood betimes Shining amidst his seven colours bright, Discover’d frightful witches mutt’ring rhimes Of direst import, with black caps bedight, And wings, like those of bat, loud flapping in the night.

With a lethargic mist they veil the sky, And summon Skada from her grot profound: While Niord, before whose lance all vapours fly, Rests in his cell, in magic slumbers bound. Now Skada, mounted on her glander’d horse, Whose nostrils, frightful snorting, taint the gale, Each night uncheck’d pursues her baneful course: Athwart the clouds her murky sisters sail, And with loud shrieks of woe th’ affrighted earth assail.

Each star now veils its front, which once in guise Of lamp illumed the heavens: the seaman bold, Who, sailing in the Kattegat,[52] defies The foaming billow and the tempest cold, Hath lost his rudder; and when in despair He to his anchor needs recourse must have, Behold! the cable stiff with frozen air Cannot be bent: death rides upon the wave, And stares with beamless eye, and shakes his icy glaive!

When summer came, no sunbeam cheer’d the vale; Like slave, the wretched swain must groan and sweat: His house, his tools, his clothing he must sell; His only thoughts were rye, and oats, and wheat: He had forgotten quite to bend the knee In humble duty fore Alfader’s throne: His horse was far more dignified than he; He felt with inward pang, and needs must own His watch-dog’s heart more warm, more faithful than his own.

No longer now the warriors, as before, Sit at the board of their crown’d chieftain high, Gentle yet awful, worthy sons of Thor, Soft temper’d by the radiance mild of Frey: In scurrilous abuse and words of shame To jealousy and hate they now give vent; To slur and vilify his comrade’s fame, More than to raise his own, each chief is bent; Ignoble quarrels mark their envious discontent.

When the Scald sung, ’twas raving coarse and wild, No longer Gimle’s inspiration sure; No longer from thy breast, O nature mild! He drew the milk so bountiful, so pure; His only nurses now were prejudice And discord, each a foul-mouth’d envious quean: His aim is now, deep grovelling in vice, To please the multitude with jest obscene, To flatter or to mock, calumniate and feign.

Once Saga sat, and on her shield engraved Each act of virtue generous, good, and great: Of graver and of buckler now bereaved, She pines, unconscious of the world’s debate: The fond devotion to the public weal, The scenes of Nidaros and Leir in vain Crowd fore her eyes, and to her sense appeal: The heron of oblivion clouds her brain; Self-interest views the oak and laurel with disdain.

Sage Mimer griev’d the world’s mischance to know, And Balder mark’d it in his bright abode: With bitter tears see Mimer’s fountain flow! The sap no longer gives the kernel food. And Balder, gentle-hearted as a maid, Visited Mimer in his cavern cold: At once the rueful change they both survey’d: ’Twas night, and Balder sat with locks of gold, His once unruffled brow in gloomy wrinkles roll’d.

’Twas easy to perceive all joy was fled; Each goddess had her youth and beauty lost. What wonder Mimer bow’d his laurell’d head, At such discovery sad, dishearten’d, crost? What wonder Balder, once serene and meek, To omens dire should yield himself a prey? Hear him with quiv’ring lip and hectic cheek, Grief in his heart, and madness in his eye, Rave incoherent strains, wild gazing at the sky!

Now at the ash Yggdrassil[53] they alight, Whose branches o’er the earth their shade extend; The holy tree, to which the Asar bright Down from the bridge of Bifrost all descend. There, as a shepherd watches o’er his flock, Odin, enthroned as judge supreme, appears; Examines every cause with piercing look; Enacts new laws; pronounces doom; and hears What from the nether world his courier Hermod bears.

In this immortal ash an eagle lives; All things it sees, and straight imparts the same To Odin’s ravens:[54] but no longer thrives, Vigilant as before, its look of flame. Thick murky vapours an unwholesome veil Spread o’er the tree, and glide with motion fleet O’er rock, and marsh, o’er forest, hill, and dale: The squirrel crouching at the eagle’s feet Hath naught but rotten fruit and hollow nuts to eat.

Balder and Mimer now direct their course, Passing that tree, to Urda’s mystic stream: The forest path conducts them to the source, Which from the rock bursts forth with silv’ry gleam: Fragments of stone with ivy overspread Choke up the passage to the silent dell, To all impervious, but the Asar dread: Berries and flowers the sacred fount conceal; Pine forests thick around each eye profane repel.

But every growth was blighted! and behold On the stream’s brink the Norna Skulda sat, With finger on her lips, and aspect cold, The awful guardian of the book of fate: Omniscient queen, whose mind can fathom all That to Alfader’s self remains unknown. Enormous wings adown her shoulders fall: A fillet broad upon her forehead shone, With many a mystic rune and strange device thereon.

Green was her garment; towards the fountain now, Now towards the days to come she turns her eye. Wrapp’d in a sable shroud with tranquil brow, But with averted face, sits Urda nigh. Here with her sisters twain Verdandis too, Mistress of time, resides: her garment bright Was interwov’n with scales of various hue. These females all are of gigantic height; None dare dispute their will; resistless is their might.

Sleep never ventures here: the Nornor’s eyes Do never close, whether the mid-day sun Or radiant stars illuminate the skies: Awake they sit, though motionless like stone. Urda the actions of the past unveils; Skulda the future cons with prudence meet: Meanwhile Verdandis weighs in golden scales The present gifts, the gods to send think fit, A sceptre or a grave; a triumph or defeat.

Immovable they sit, mute as the grave, Like sphinx of marble on the Theban plain; While shine reflected in the limpid wave The figures of the awful virgin train. Impatient the decrees of fate to learn Oft to this grove the proud Valkyrior come; With questions sharp assail the Nornor stern, Then soar aloft, through the wide world to roam, And fill the troubled air with strange prophetic doom.

Thus Mimer to the lofty Skulda spoke: “O thou! who feelest neither joy nor woe, Hostile to none, friendly to none; whose look, Like that of falcon ardent, can pierce through The blackest night, whether the dove doth coo, Or the sword clash, alike unmoved; my prayer Do not reject! and O resolve me true The great enigma! shall Iduna fair Again, freed from her chains, respire her natal air?”

The virgin breast of Skulda swell’d awhile: What marble seem’d, now moved with high pulsation; She gazed on Mimer; and he thought, a smile Play’d on her mouth; it gave him consolation. Urda’s fount ceased to rustle through the dell; From Skulda’s lips resounds this solemn strain: “When bravery shall fickle time compel To constancy, and fast the recreant chain, Upon the wings of love health shall fly home again.”

She spoke. In sable clouds Night veils her brow; And sooth’d with hope, Earth’s bosom gently heaves: The fount calls to its water: “Swell and flow!” The blast loud whistles through the arid leaves. Homeward with joy now hie the Asar twain, For well the Nornor’s speech they comprehend: They oft repeat the heart-consoling strain, While floating in the air they swift ascend, And eager still their course towards bright Valhalla bend.

“When bravery shall fickle time compel To constancy, shall health fly home again Upon the wings of love.” Thus through the dell Re-echoed wide the solemn Nornor’s strain. “What other god but Thor can solve this spell? Juggler of time is Lok, we all agree; And Thor alone can Lok subdue--tis well-- The Queen of Love preserves the prison key, ’Tis said, that Queen alone can set Iduna free.

These words were ponder’d oft the gods among; Thor seized their import; red as blood his cheek With anger, from his bench he quickly sprung, And grasp’d the pallid Loptur by the neck: And lo! as round the spindle turns the wheel, When busy housewife spins her flax with glee, Thus Thor twirl’d Lok around from head to heel; And now he touch’d the moon, and now the sea, While at the caitiff’s screams the gods laugh’d heartily.

“Thy being is a composition strange Of Asagard and Helheim (thus said Thor): Force must compel thee to repent and change; Thou must be shook like oil and vinegar, When in a vessel mix’d: but, traitor! say! Ere from thy worthless trunk thy head be torn, Wilt thou amend? wilt thou my voice obey? Wilt thou, on the light wings of Freya borne, Bring back Iduna straight to Valaskialf forlorn?

A coward and a traitor both is Lok, And want of firmness all his acts reveal: Fearful to be whirl’d round again and shook, Lowly at Aukthor’s feet behold him kneel! “If the bright Queen, the fairest of the fair, The lily, which adorns Folkvangur’s plain, Freya, will lend her wings, I solemn swear, Spite of all spells, to loose Iduna’s chain, And bring the goddess back to Asagard again.

“My soul’s resolv’d; naught shall my purpose bend, The beauteous captive’s suff’rings deep I feel: Foul Thiasse was to blame; by him constrain’d Was I the goddess and her vase to steal. But o’er the forest’s pines and ocean’s wave, Cloth’d like a bird with gentle Freya’s wing. I’ll hie me swiftly to the giant’s cave. And back in triumph fair Iduna bring: Health, youth, and strength again in Valaskialf shall spring.”

To fetch her pinions Freya was not slow; Her hands to fix them on Lok’s shoulders deign. Aye, and much more would she have giv’n, I trow, Her own lost youth and beauty to regain. Now Lok for his past conduct feeling shame, And mindful too of Thiasse’s bitter mock, O’er hill and dale, and marsh, and forest, came To where, deep in the bowels of the rock, The fair Iduna sigh’d, conceal’d in gloom and smoke.

But in the dark Lok finds his way most sure: Naught was he daunted by the giant’s spell; On Freya’s wings relies the god secure, Which time defy, and brave the power of steel. His course he steers, thorns, brakes, and briars among; Now like an owl he has recourse to flight; Now like a cat he needs must creep along. At length the secret cave appears in sight, Where rocks piled upon rocks conceal the treasure bright.

Immers’d in grief the fair Iduna sat Like marble statue on a monument; Upon the sea of time so desolate, Which never ebbs, her look despairing bent. But spite of every hindrance, Asa-Lok Into the gloomy cavern forced his way, Where pined the Disa fetter’d to the rock: Some words of comfort scarce he stopp’d to say, But caught her in his arms, and bore her far away.

While they together flew o’er land and sea, Behold! a bale fire vast illumes the north! ’Twas Asa-gard whence Odin, Vil, and Ve Sent messages to Lok o’er all the earth. But now blest tidings all Valhalla cheer: Iduna, borne by Lok, arrives in view! Scarce did the nymph in Odin’s dome appear, Away all care and pain and sorrow flew; Each flow’ret oped again its chalice to the dew.

The lark now sang; each goddess felt the charm; Again their bosom with youth’s fullness swell’d: Odin again felt vigour in his arm, And Thor once more aloft his hammer held. Again the sun lent to the moon its gold, And lit anew the radiant rings on high. Mimer no more his brow in wrinkles roll’d: Balder no longer, madness in his eye, Raved incoherent strains, wild gazing at the sky.

And lo! obscures the sky a vision vast, Awful, but not unpleasing to behold! ’Tis Thiasse! who his prey pursuing fast Hath become dazzled by the bale-fire’s gold. He flutters round it long with sable wings; E’en as the moth, attracted by the fire, Into the flame abrupt its body flings; Th’ enormous Jotun-fly doth thus expire, By his own impulse hurl’d against the blazing pyre.

E’en so doth every frightful vision dire, Which terrifies mankind i’ th’ hour of night, Dissolve, when blazes forth the gorgeous pyre, Which from the east dispenses warmth and light. And thus the genial dew, which falls in spring, Sheds tears of gladness on each plant around: And every lively bird doth tuneful sing, Inspired with joy, like Bragur, when he found His darling wife once more in his embraces bound.