The Descent of Frea

8——Miscet preces & supplice cantu Novas vires poscit. CLAUDIAN.

Odin, God of War, and King of the other Deities. Thor, God of the Air. Surtur, God of Fire. Niord, God of the Sea. Lok, God of the Infernal Regions. Balder, God of the Sun.

Hertha, Goddess of Fertility, and wife of Odin. Frea, Goddess of Beauty. Hela, Goddess of Death.

ACT I.

SCENE. The Infernal Regions.

BALDER. hou land of horror! where unyielding frost Piles high the mountain-ice, and dims the air With ever-hissing fleet, where piercing blasts Sweep on storm-laden wing o'er solid seas, Must Balder here for ever moan unheard? Or pour his sighs the scoff of shivering ghosts Shrill-shrieking from their caves? Must Balder's soul For ever shudder at the howl of wolves, And shrink from scaly snakes that round him twine Their clammy folds and point their quivering stings? Bright scenes of bliss! farewell!—ye glittering domes, For ever echoing with the gladsome noise Of revelry and song harmonious, feats Of happy gods, where from the gold-tipt horn They quaff the scented nectar of the bee, And thrill with rapture, while the strains of mirth Rush on sonorous wings their halls among— No more shall Balder in your spacious courts Catch with transported soul the social joy, And mix exulting with celestial bands— Groves of Valhalla! haunts of kindred gods! Oft have I wander'd in your flowery paths, Cool'd by the stream of Mimer, oft I've sought Your thickest shade, and catch'd with eager ear The notes which softly stole from Braga's harp Attun'd to love; and there the beauteous form Of Frea blooming as the orient day Would blushing meet her Balder's steps retir'd, Enamour'd gaze upon my graceful limbs, And drink the honied accents of my lips— Then from her melting eyes the glance of love Quick shot—dear scenes of fleeting joy, farewell! What now avails the form that Frea lov'd? What now avail the winning words that charm'd Encircling gods?—amid the giant-brood, Amid the yelling ghosts of murderers Forlorn I dwell—no silver-sounding voice Melodious warbles to my sorrowing soul, The sooty raven sails around my head, And harshly chants her hoarsest descant here; Ah wretch! no more the chearful light of heaven Shall meet thy wandering eyes, for here no ray Of morning plays with softest lustre round, Nor here ambrosial eve with fragrant hand Scatters her sweets— Thou flaming seed of day! whose golden mane Waves in the air and pours the flood of light; Oft have I sprung upon thy glossy back To trace the radiant path, then mounted high The blue expanse of heaven, and girt with beams Of dazzling glory wing'd my course rejoicing— Alas! how chang'd! in midnight gloom enwrapt The lord of splendour groans in Hela's halls, Hurl'd, hurl'd for ever from the blazing sky— And hurl'd by whom?—a much-lov'd brother's hand Blasted my bliss, and dash'd me from the height Of joy to misery—amid my pangs A sigh shall rise for him—what poison'd darts Of anguish rankle in his guiltless soul, While slowly wandering from the thronged courts He seeks the lonely vale, and loudly weeps His hateful bloody deed.—Ye cruel maids, When first ye 'gan to weave my woof of fate, Ye dy'd it with the roseate hues of spring— At length the raven croak'd—with joy ye snatch'd The cords of woe, and dipp'd th' unfinish'd web Deep in the pitchy water of despair.— O thou! who fitt'st upon thy shining throne Array'd in splendour! Odin, Odin! hear The sorrows of a son, and turn thine eye, Moist with paternal grief, from scenes of glory, Pierce through the thickest horrors which surround me, Extend thy daring arm, and drag thy child From caves of darkness to thy beamy hall— Father, I ask in vain—it is not thine To break the harsh decrees of Fate unchanging, But Balder, wretched Balder here must mourn For endless years—What flickering ray of light Shoots from on high? What wafted perfume scents The dusky air? Some pitying god descends To visit these sad scenes—'Tis she! 'tis she!—

FREA. (Entering.) Where is the lovely god that Hoder tore From Frea's fond embrace?—Again I'm near him, Again my tear-worn eyes behold my Balder, Yes, son of Odin, from the starry realm Above, I come to seek thy black abode, The mourning gods stalk silent in their groves— Without thee heaven itself is misery— The fiery horse of Odin bore me hither, Nine days his rapid feet unceasing scour'd A measureless extent of vallies dark; At length the foaming tide of Giall stopp'd him, High o'er its waves a lofty bridge arose On golden pedestals, a steel-clad warrior For ever guards its entrance.—Who art thou, He cried aloud, thus hastening to the halls Of gloomy death? No livid paleness stains The roses of thy cheeks, no deadly dimness Damps the keen lustre of those eyes that flash With living fire, thou art no child of Hela— Away, I answer'd, 'tis a goddess hastes To Hela's halls—I lash'd my snorting steed— With thundering hoof he spurn'd the rocking pile, Nor stopp'd till Hela's iron gates forbade His eager steps; then, like a flaming star, He shot aloft in air and bore me swift Above the towering walls.—I tremble still.

BALDER. Ah! fear not Frea—

FREA. Had this arm the power To force thee upward from the cave of death, Then would eternal joy reward my toil— But Hela's iron chains no hand can break Against her pleasure, and her haughty soul Joys in the anguish of the tortur'd ghost.

BALDER. And can that winning form entreat in vain? Can Hela hear unmov'd thy suppliant voice? No, Frea, no, upon thy rosy lips Persuasion sits resistless—haste, accost her.

FREA. Come from thy murky cells, Where midnight darkness dwells, Thou dreadful maid; Come from thy chilly halls.— The weeping Frea calls, And seeks thy saving aid.

HELA. (From within.) Hence, hence, away; No soothing charms From Hela's arms Shall snatch her prey.

FREA. By Allfather's sacred head, Which bowing shakes the lofty sky, And regions of the dead, 2By the holy Ash which rears Its waving honours high, 2I charge thee, awful pow'r, 2To quit thy gloomy bow'r And yield to Frea's tears.

HELA. (Entering.) 2Hence to the fields of air— Hence, goddess, quick depart, 2Nor think the lover's prayer Will bend my iron heart.

FREA. Deep in thy misty caves my Balder lies; Alas! how wither'd by the touch of woe! Dim is the lustre of his fading eyes, And sullen sadness marks his manly brow.

Quick through his frame divine chill langours shoot, The boasted roses of his cheeks are pale, The soothing tongue of eloquence is mute, O let his tears, his frequent sighs avail.

Come, gentle Pity, come unwonted guest, And speed thy hasty flight to Hela's cave, Then smiling hover o'er her melting breast, And teach her yielding heart to feel and save.

And can't thou, Hela, see with ruthless look The fairest form that wails along thy shore?— Tear the black leaf from Fate's unerring book, The grief-worn Balder to my arms restore.

Together let us climb the burning arch, Which darts aloft its many-colour'd light, Together let us speed the rapid march, And quit, for ever quit the land of night.

Yield, Hela, yield; Valhalla's mournful courts No longer echo with the jocund sound, The joyless gods disdain their wonted sports And sorrow casts her darkest shadows round.

Since Balder sunk untimely to the tomb, Dim are the lingering beams of rising day, The pale moon steeps her silver orb in gloom, And sickly nature doffs her bright array—

HELA. Frea, no more, When all the gods of nature lave With briny tears thy Balder's grave, Then Balder I restore; Yes, by Allfather's sacred head, If all the gods of nature lave With briny tears thy Balder's grave, Again the courts of heaven shall echo to his tread. Hence, away.

FREA. Enough, enough, I mount with speed, And lash my winged steed To realms of day.

END OF ACT I.

ACT II.

SCENE. Valhalla.

The Gods assembled in Odin's hall.

ODIN. elcome, fair Queen of Love, to Odin's hall. Say, hast thou mov'd the stubborn soul of Hela, By soft persuasion and resistless sighs, To yield the much-lov'd Balder back to light?

FREA. Great king of gods and men, the only boon That Hela granted to my sorrowing soul Was this; when all the gods of nature-weep The briny tear on hapless Balder's grave, Then from the dreary clime of ghosts he comes To grace Valhalla's halls; but golden hope Has not yet fled the woe-worn Frea's bosom; Still may the words of grief entice the tear From pitying gods, and snatch from Hela's arms Her splendid prey.—

(Continues addressing Odin.) God of carnage, king of might, 2Clinging to thy sable steed, And dashing thro' the sight, 2Thou smil'st when thousands bleed: Coucher of the ponderous spear, 2Thou shout'st amid the battle's stound— The armed Sisters hear, 2Viewless hurrying o'er the ground They strike the destin'd chiefs and call them to the skies. Lo! from Schulda's misty towers On jetty wing the raven flies And bears the deeds of future hours; 2To thee he hastes—in solemn state Thou read'st the dread commands of fate 2To listening deities; Say, is it doom'd no parents tear Shall wet thy Balder's sable bier? Wilt thou not weep thy child forlorn, Thy blooming child by Hela torn 3From halls of bliss 2To caves of dark despair? 3Yes, Odin, yes, I mark the gushing drops which stain 2A father's cheek, Those gushing drops thy anguish speak, 2Balder shall live again 3And cleave the realms of air.

ODIN. 2Odin drops the tear, 2To wet thy Balder's bier.

FREA. (Addressing Hertha.) 2Queen of the fertile earth, Whose all-creative hand 2First gave the sons of man their birth; And scatter'd o'er the desert land The painted flower, the budding tree, 2The billowy crops of yellow grain 2Peopled every teeming plain, And fill'd with life the restless sea; Whene'er thy stately form appears 2On mortal shore, No war nor battle's din, Is heard thy realms within; No more the armed soldier rears The tined lance, 2And spurs the steed no more.— Before thy veiled car the rosy Pleasures dance, Balmy odours round thee play Richer verdure dyes thy way, Double glory gilds the day. Say, Hertha, wilt thou drop the tear On youthful Balder's sable bier?

HERTHA. Hertha drops the tear, To wet thy Balder's bier.

FREA. (Addressing Thor.) God of the wandering air, Whose forked flashes tear The pine high-towering on the mountain-side; Who joy'st o'er shaking rocks to guide The thunder's fiery course; Who bidst thy dark clouds pour The vast and whelming shower And swell the torrent's force. God of storms, when levelling hail, When hollow-roaring whirlwinds sail, Sweeping o'er the valley's pride, Rolling high the weltering tide, Thou speak'st—thy potent voice disarms The tempest's rage:—thy genial calms, Thy sultry gales, and fostering dew Cloath the wasted earth anew. God of the iron-mace, Which tames the giant-race, Say, wilt thou drop the pitying tear On youthful Balder's sable bier?

THOR. Thor shall drop the pitying tear, And wet thy Balder's sable bier.

FREA. (Addressing Surtur.) 2King of resistless fire, Who bidst the nightly meteors ride Along the snow-wrapt Hecla's side— Who wieldst aloft with mighty hand The burning, starry-pointed brand, 2And dazzled hosts retire; Where'er thy furious course is sped, Nature bows her wither'd head: 2Thy fatal car outstrips the wind, Thy coursers scorching nostrils breathe A wide consuming steam beneath— 2Destruction flies behind; She rears her red right hand And with her flaming besom sweeps the blasted land.— 2Say, Surtur, wilt thou drop the tear 2On youthful Balder's fable bier?

SURTUR. 2Surtur drops the tear, 2To wet thy Balder's bier?

FREA. (Addressing Niord.) 2Lord of the boundless deep, Whose murmuring waters gently swell 2And kiss the craggy steep; When thunders burst around, 2And tempests yell, Thy heaving plain repeats th' appaling sound, Thy frothy surges rise And lash the darken'd skies, Thy rapid eddies wheel with fleeter motion; Then by the lightning's livid glare, Thou stalk'st serene thro' murky air, 2Which shrouds the raging ocean; But soon the smouldering thunders cease, Soon the winged Tempests flee, Thor in breezes whispers peace, Sun-beams gild the sinking sea.— O'er its white brim on calming wing The heitre play'd— And stillness hover'd on the gales of spring— When Braga touch'd the quivering string, And slowly stray'd 3To Niord's shore; 2On its shining surface stood 2The father of the flood, 2He bade the bard celestial pour 2His softest notes— 2The melting music floats 2Upon the charmed wave— 2Come from thy dewy cave, 3My father cries, 3Arise, arise, 2Let the azure waters lave Thy snowy limbs and golden hair— He spake, and Frea rose to realms of air.— Then Niord clasp'd me to his breast And all the parent's pride confest; Now will my father's heart disdain To ease his daughter's piercing pain? Or wilt thou drop the pitying tear, On youthful Balder's sable bier?

NIORD. Niord drops the tear, To wet thy Balder's bier.

FREA. (Addressing Lok.) God of the nether world, Whose deadly arrow hurl'd The youthful Balder to the caves of night, O, let not Shulda write His everlasting doom; O, let not Balder's tomb For ever stand, But snatch with pitying hand From Hela's curs'd abode The fallen god; Revive, revive his wither'd charms, And give him back to Frea's arms. Drop, O Lok, the pitying the tear On youthful Balder's sable bier.

LOK. Away, away, Lok ne'er will weep— Let Hela keep Her splendid prey.

FREA. By the raven's song of death, By the night-mair's baneful breath, By the glutted vulture's scream, By the tomb-fire's lurid gleam, By the mighty serpent's blood, By the roar of Giall's flood, By the war-hounds' fatal yell, By all the horrors of thy hell, I charge thee weep the briny tear On youthful Balder's sable bier.

LOK. No—tho' Valhalla's towering wall Around these sinewy limbs should fall, Tho' Skinfax plunge his flaming head Amid the caverns of the dead, Tho' Surtur aim his fiery dart And heap his flames around my heart, Tho' Niord's foaming main should roar, And dash me lifeless on the shore; Tho' Thor should hurl his iron mace And stain with gore this hated face; Tho Odin's self in wrath should rear His golden spear And shining shield, This stubborn heart shall never yield, Hela shall hold her splendid prey While countless ages roll away.