Classic Poem

I.

" Balder ! Balder!"

And Palder said,
Turning round his gentle head,
" I hear!"

" And thou, my servant Death,
Kneeling low with hushid breath,
While my hand is on thy hair!"

Death made answer, kneeling there,
" I hear!"

" At last the cold snows cease,
The white world is hush'd in peace,
The sky is clear, the storm has gone,
Stars are rising to light us on —
In the north the moon grows gray, —
Take my hand and come away!"

" Whither, O Whither?"

" To the City strange wherein
Dwell the mighty gods thy kin; —
O Balder, lead me thither!"

" Across the darkness and the day,
Long and dreary is the way —
O'er chill wastes of misery,
Past the silent Frozen Sea,
Where the white bears lean and old
Run and shiver in the cold —
Where the vast ice-mountains rise
Violet-blue against the skies,
Then across the wondrous Bow
Only gods and ghosts may tread, —
Beyond the sea, above the snow,
Where the sunfire fadeth red;
There the night lies and no day —
Long and weary is the way —
O Brother, fare not thither!"

" Broken is the wintry night,
Rising yonder is the light;
Half our task is yet to do —
Come! and thou, Death, follow too —
O Balder, lead me thither!"

Far away across the gloom,
Rose-red like a rose in bloom,
Flashing, changing, ray by ray,
Glorious as the ghost of day,
Gleam'd in one vast aureole
Shifting splendours of the pole.
All across the vault of blue
Shooting lights and colours flew,
And the milky way shone there
Like a bosom white and bare,
Throbbing, trembling, softly moved
By some heart that lived and loved.
Night was broken, and grew bright,
All the countless lamps of light
Swinging, flashing, near and far,
Cast their glittering rays below, —
While the silvern polar star
Throbb'd close down upon the snow. . . .

" Take my hand, and let us go!"

II.

And so those twain have passed across the night,
O'er frozen wilds of white,
With eyes still fixed upon the polar star
That burneth bright afar;
And Death behind them, creeping like a hound,
Still follows with no sound.

O wonders of the cold untravell'd Waste
Whereon their swift feet haste!
The night is troubled; on the black pole's pyres
Flash fierce electric fires,
And shadows come and go, phantoms move forth
Gigantic in the north.
Upon the snow a green light glimmereth,
With phosphorescent breath
Flashing and fading; and from unseen lairs
Creep hoary ghost-like bears,
Crawling across their path without a cry.

At last against the sky
They see the lonely arctic mountains loom,
Touch'd with a violet bloom
From peak to base and wearing on their heights
Strange ever-shifting lights,
Yellow and azure and dark amethyst;
But westward they are kissed
By the bright beams of great moon of gold.

Dead-white and calm and cold
Sleeps the great waste, while ever as they go,
With shadows on the snow.
Their shapes grow luminous and silvern fair,
And in the hush'd chill air
The stars of heaven cluster with quick breath
To gaze on them and Death.
Now thro' the trembling sheen of the still sky
Blue fires and emerald fly
With wan reflections on the sheeted white
Outspread beneath the night,
And passing thro' them, Christ and Balder seem
As spectres in a dream,
Until at last their feet come silently
To the great arctic sea.

Moveless and boundless, stretching blindly forth
Into the purple north,
Rise mountainous waves and billows frozen all
As if i' the act to fall,
And tho' they stir not, yet they seem to roll
In silence to the pole.
So, lit by countless stars, that Ocean old
Wrapt in the vapours cold
Of its own breath, beneath the lamps of night
Gleams blue and shadowy white!
Then Balder crieth, — and around his brow
New glory glimmereth now, —
" Ay me, remote from men are the abodes
Of the immortal gods;
Beyond the ocean of the ice; afar
Under the sleepless star;
And o'er the flood of the wild waters spanned.
From lonely land to land,
By the great bridge of the eternal Bow."

The white Christ answereth low,
" Tho' it were further than the furthest light
That glimmereth this night,
Thither our souls are bound, our feet must go!"

III.

The B RIDGE OF G HOSTS .

Their feet have passed the frozen Deep
Whose waves in silence roll,
And now they reach that ocean black
Which beats the inmost pole.

Before them, on the northern sky
Rose-red and far withdrawn,
Mingled with meteors of the night,
Gleam golden dews of dawn;

And cast across that liquid sea
Which surges black below,
They see the pathway of the gods,
A many-colour'd Bow.

[There comes from off its heights a wind
That blows for endless time,
As swift as light, as keen as frost,
It strikes down souls that climb.]

" O brother, place thy hand in mine,"
The gentle Balder said;
The rayless waters roar'd beneath,
The Bridge flash'd overhead.

Then hand in hand against the wind
They falter'd upward slow,
On stairs of crimson and of gold
Climbing the wondrous Bow.

Like a great rainbow of the earth
It rose with faint hues seven,
And thro' the purple of the arch
Glimmer'd the lights of heaven.

When they had reach'd the midmosTheight,
In air they stood so high,
To one beneath they would have seem'd
As stars upon the sky.

The white Christ cried, " What lonely light
Burns yonder ruby red?"
" The mansion of the sun-god Fryer
Stands yonder," Balder said.

" There ranged in rows with cold hands crost
The slain in silence lie,
The face of each ablaze like brass
Against the burning sky."

Far under, as they linger'd there,
The dark deep waters roll'd;
Beyond, the polar mountains flash'd
With gleams of fiery gold.

Upon the shores rose hills of ice
Hewn as in marble white,
Inlaid with opal and with pearl
And crown'd with chrysolite.

From stair to stair the brethren trod,
And Death crawl'd close behind,
And ever as they walk'd, the Bridge
Shook wavering in the wind.

And lo! they seem'd as meteor shapes,
White-robed and shod with flame;
And to them out of the cold north
A threatening murmur came.

Down in the sullen sea below
Now ghostly faces clomb,
Uplooking with wild eyes to theirs
And waving hands of foam!

So o'er the mighty Bow they moved
Snow-vestured and star-crown'd,
And Death behind them like a shade
Follow'd without a sound.

But as they reach'd the shores and stood, —
The bright Bridge at their back, —
The gods gazed out from the cold north
And shriek'd, and all grew black!

Deep thunders shook the darken'd heaven,
Wild lightning flash'd and fled,
The frozen shores of ice and snow
Trembled beneath their tread.

Round the ice-mountains of the pole
Dense smokes of tempest rose,
And from their lairs swift whirlwinds leapt
Wrapt round with drifting snows.

" O Brother, hold me by the hand,
For lo! the hour is nigh; —
I see the shadows of the gods,
Yonder upon the sky!"

IV.

" B EHOLD , I AM RISEN ."

They stood in the snow and they clung together, —
The air was blacken'd, the snow was driven;
There came a tempest of wintry weather
Out of the open gates of heaven.
The darkness drifted, the dark snows shifted,
The winnowing fans of the winds were lifted,
And the realms of the ice were riven;
The white flakes whirl'd like a wingid cloud
Round and over and under;
The Earth shriek'd loud from her rending shroud,
And the black clouds echoed in thunder!

" O Balder! Balder!"
And Balder replied,
Feeling not seeing his face who cried,
" I hear!"

" And thou other who crouchest there,
Gazing up thro' thy hoary hair,
Stir not yet till I bid thee go!"

And Death moan'd answer out of the snow,
" I hear!"

" At last the hour hath come,
The sky is troubled, the world is shaken,
The sleeping gods on their thrones awaken,
Altho' their lips are dumb.
I feel a breath from the frozen north,
For the souls of the slain are faring forth,
And their tramp is heard on the frozen ocean,
And their tread is swift in the vales of snow.
They come, and the great deep throbs below
To the sound of their thund'rous motion.
O Balder, Balder!"

" I hearken, I hearken!"

" Thro' the flakes that fall and the ways that darken,
Over the earth or over the sea,
North is the way that our feet must flee,
Till we find them sitting beyond the pole,
Gods without pity, gods without soul,
Fresh from the slaying of thee.
North is the way that our feet must go,
Breasting the blasts from the gates of woe,
Till we find them there in their sacred places,
Gods with their terrible bloodless faces,
Writing red-handed for mortal races
Black runes on the stainless snow!

... Deeper and darker the night is growing,
Faster and faster the clouds are snowing —
Fleeter and fleeter the Brethren fly
With faces silver'd against the sky,
Till close before them, beyond the pole,
The aurora flashes its fiery scroll,
While the winds of the frozen waste are blowing,
And the ice is riven asunder!
Lo! ghastly blue with a dreary gleam
The bergs of the pole, like ghosts in a dream,
Standing pallid against the heaven,
Flash with the forks of the fiery levin,
And to and fro in the frozen snow,
Pass manifold shapes of wonder.
Faster, faster, out of the north,
The ghosts of Asgard are hurrying forth,
And their shields of ice and their spears of hail.
Clash in the heart of the gathering gale,
As they come upon feet of thunder.

" O Balder! Balder! cling unto me!"

" Lift up thy lamp, for I cannot see —
I shiver deep to the bitter bone, —
While the chilly seeds of the sleet are sown
In my flesh, and I feel not thee!"

The lamp is lifted: a dreary light
It sheddeth out on the northern night;
It comes and goes like the lighthouse ray
Lost on the soot-black ocean way.
Nought they see and nought they feel,
Only the frost with fingers of steel
Gripping their throats, so fierce, so fast,
Only the breath of the bitter blast
Bending their bodies as trees are bent,
Rending their garments as clouds are rent,
While overhead, with a thund'rous tread,
The black heavens frown to trample them down,
And the vials of storm are spent.

" O Balder! Balder! what shadows white
Stand in the tempest's shrieking flight?
There in the darkness I discern
Faces that fade and eyes that burn;
They loom in the flash of the thunder-cloud,
And the tramp of their feet is as surges that roar,
Rolling around,
On some desolate rocky shore.

Then Balder answer'd with eager cry —
" Cover thy face lest thou droop and d'e:
'Tis the gods my brethren! I see them plain,
Each sitteth there in a spectral pain;
They search the waste all round for us,
And the light in their eyes is tremulous
With the wrath that burns the brain!"

...Blacker, blacker, the night is growing,
Thicker, faster, the snow is snowing.
Silent amid those frozen peaks
Sit gods with terrible bloodless cheeks, —
Each like a statue of marble stone,
Each alone on a lonely throne,
With the red aurora upon their hair,
They loom in desolate circles there,
Silent, with folded wings;
They do not stir though the storm drifts by,
They do not speak though the wild winds cry,
Silent they reign in a starry dream,
While the north star flashes its fiery beam,
And the serpent lightning springs.
Silent they sit, — but who is He
Who broods in the centre awfully?
Like a pale blue berg in the frosty light,
Solemn, speechless, hoary white,
Coldly wrapt from head to feet
In a robe of snow like a winding-sheet,
With a crown of starlight on his hair,
He sitteth dreaming with fatal stare,
Tho' his throne is strangely shaken.
Black is his home, and he sits thereon
Still as a mortal whose breath is gone,
And the waves are frozen around his feet,
And faint, far under, the earthquakes beat,
YeThe broods, and doth not waken.

" O Balder! Balder! who is he
Who sitteth there so silently?
Who sitteth there so hoary and old,
A god in the midst of gods so cold,
And hears not at all, though the storm winds call,
And the ghosts of Asgard gather?"

Then Balder answer'd, " The gods creep here,
Weary with seasons of strife and fear —
They come, they go — but for ever and aye
He stirreth not, be it night or day;
Still as a stone, he reigneth alone!"

And Balder raising his hands, made moan,
" B EHOLD I AM RISEN, MY F ATHER !"

V.

A LFADUR .

The rune is woven, the spell is spoken,
And lo! the dream of the gods is broken,
And each pale throne is shaken.
They rise, they tremble against the sky,
They shriek an answer to Balder's cry
And white as death they waken!
Gods they glimmer in frozen mail,
Their faces are flashing marble pale,
They rise erect, and they wave their hands,
They scatter the shifting snows as sands,
And gaze in the face of the Father!.

... Blacker, blacker, the night is growing,
Faster, faster, the snow is snowing —
Silently looking thro the storm,
Towers the one gigantic Form,
And all around with a trumpet sound
The wintry winds are blowing.
The light of doom is in his eyes, his arms spread wide for slaughter,
He sits 'mid gleams of burning skies and wails of wind-blown water,
Behind the outline of his cheeks the pale aurora flashes,
He broods 'mid moveless mountain peaks and looks thro' fiery lashes:
On heaven and earth that round him float in whirls of snowy wonder,
He looks, and from his awful throat there comes the cry of thunder!

" Balder ! Balder !"

... " He cries on me —
He standeth yonder, and beckoneth!"
" He looketh around, buThe cannot see!"
Answer him back with a gentle breath,
Now the air is still!"...

" I am here, I am here!"
...The cry went up to the godhead drear,
Like the cry of a lamb in the midst of the snow,
When the voices of tempest have sobbed their fill,
And the clouds are still
For a little space, and the winds lie low.
Then rose in answer a wail so loud
It roll'd as thunder from cloud to cloud,
And the gods arose in a wingid crowd,
As oft 'mid desolate mountain-peaks,
With clangour of wings and hungry shrieks,
Great flocks of eagles gather.
Tearing asunder their frozen mail,
Smiting their breasts with a woful wail,
Looming with faces spectral pale,
They gazed in the eyes of the Father!
Then even as mighty eagles spread
Their wings and soar, they arose and fled
Crossing the gleam of the fiery north,
Facing the dark drift hurrying forth,
They flew on flashing pinions;
As wild clouds scatter'd across the sky,
They wing'd their way with a thunder-cry. ...
But moveless there, when the rest had flown,
The Father sat on his silent throne,
Dreary, desolate, all alone,
In the midst of the white dominions.

" Balder ! Balder !"

" He looks on me!
He stirreth now, with a sound like the sea,
And he calleth aloud!"

" Then move no limb,
But crouch in thy place and answer him; —
Cry once more full loud and clear,
Now he pauseth again!" ...

" I am here, I am here!"

Again the thunder rolling near,
Again the tumult of wind and ocean;
Around the throne with a serpent motion
The meteor snakes appear.
White in the midsThe stands, the Spirit of God the Master,
Waving his wild white hands, urging his snows on faster;
But ever darker yet the troubled air grows o'er him,
And still with fierce face seThe searcheth night before him,
And then again, all blind, with black robes blown asunder,
He gropeth down the wind, and calls aloud in thunder,

" Balder ! Balder

... " I see him now,
The wrath of heaven is on his brow —
He stands in the circle of meteors white,
His white feet glimmer like cold moonlight —
I can feel his breath!"

" Now hold my hand —
Rise erect on thy feet and stand —
Make answer!"

" My Father, I am here!"
As an infant's cry, so faint, so clear,
As a young lamb's cry, so soft, so low,
Cometh the voice from the waste of snow, —
And silence deep as the sleep of ocean,
Stillness with no stir, no motion,
Follows the sound of the cry. ...
Terrible, desolate, the Form
Stands and broods in the midst of the storm,
Beneath him wolves of the fierce frost swarm,
But quiet and hush'd they lie.
With his robe wind-rent and his form wind-blown
He gazeth round and round.
He seeth a snow amid the snow
And heareth a human sound.

" Balder ! Balder !"

" O Father dear,
Turn thine eyes and behold me here —
Ev'n Balder thy Son!"

" I see thee not —
Only a gleam on a darken'd spot,
And the ray of the light in thy hand!"

" Ay me,
No light I carry that thou mayst see.
What wouldst thou, Father?"

" Why hast thou risen?
We deem'd thee dead, and we slept in peace —
We deem'd thee dead with the snow for prison,
That the old sad fear might cease.
We deem'd thee dead, and our hearis were light,
For never more would thy beauty blight
The spirit of Me thy Father!"

Then answer'd Balder, " O Father dear,
Turn thine eyes, and behold me here —
Why hatest thou me?"

" We hate thee all
For thy summer face, for thy soft footfall,
For thy beauty blended of star and flower,
For thine earthly love, for thine heavenly dower;
For the rune that was written, the rune that was read,
We cursed thee all, but our curse was said
Deepest and best when we read that rune
By thy love for me!"
As the rising moon
Creeping up from a cloudy place,
A glory grew upon Balder's face —
Again he murmur'd, " O Father dear,
Turn thine eyes and behold me here —
Why hatest thou me?"

" We hate thee most
By the rune that was written, the rune that was lost,
By the doom that above thee hung sharp as a sword,
When thy feet stood there and thy voice implored
For pity of men; and we loved thee least
For loosing the yoke of man and beast,
For making the hearts of mortals tame,
For calming wild hawk-like men who came
To thy beck as doves; then we loathed to see
The light of thy name upon flower and tree,
The peace of thy name upon hill and vale,
The love of thy name on the faces pale
Of maidens and men; yea, for all these things,
For all thy life and the light it brings,
We have hated and hate thee unto death."

But Balder answereth back and saith,
" Why hatest thou me?"

" For this the most!
Because thy coming is as the ghost
Of the coming doom that shall strike us dead.
For the rune was written, the rune was read,
And we knew no rest till we bought our breath
With the gentle boon of thy willing death.
Why hast thou risen? how hast thou risen?
We gave thee the frost and the snow for prison,
We heard thy sigh and we let thee die,
Yet thou criest again with a human cry
From the gates of life! ... But I stoop at last
To sweep thee hence with my bitterest blast
Out to the heavens of pililess air,
Where nevermore with a human care
That face of thine
May trouble the eyes of the gods divine!
Out 'mong the wingid stars, deep down the dark abysses,
Beyond the black tomb's bars, far from the green Earth's kisses.
As dust thou shalt be cast, as snow thou shalt be drifted,
Seized by my fiercest blast thou shalt be now uplifted.
Call on all living things that stir in sun or shadow —
White flowers, sweet forms with wings, wild deer, or lambs o' the meadow;
Call on the moonlight now that mingled in thy making;
To heaven uplift thy brow, where the pale spheres are waking;
On water, air, and fire, on snow and on wind and on forest,
Call with a wild desire, now when thy need is sorest!
Call now on flower or bird to fill the plight they gave thee!
Call, let thy voice be heard, and see if Earth can save thee!"

Behind the back of the Shadow hoar,
There grew a trouble, a sullen roar,
Roar as of beasts that prepare to come,
Trouble like surges that flash to foam;
Faster and faster the drift whirl'd round,
Deeper and direr grew the sound,
And the four fierce winds are blowing!
Yet brighter, calmer grew Balder's face,
Till a light and a glory fill'd the place,
And he rose his height, like a lily white,
Like a lily white in the heart of the night,
With the flakes around him snowing!

VI

The B RETHREN .

" Father, Father, why hatest thou me,
Whom the green Earth loves, and the circling sea,
And the pure blue air, and the light of the sun,
And the birds of the air, and the flowers each one?
Hatest thou me thro' my love for these?
For the swift deep rivers, the fronded trees,
The golden meres and the mountains white,
The cataracts leaping from height to height,
And the deer that feed on the snowy steeps
Where the rainbow hangs and the white mist creeps?
Hatest thou me the most of all
For my care of mortals whom thou hast made,
My blessing on lovers whose soft footfall
Soundeth still in the flowery shade?
Father, Father, hatest thou me,
Because of my light on humanity?
Because with a holy anointing balm
I have heal'd their hearts and kept them calm;
Because I have sown in forest and grove
The roses of beauty, the lilies of love,
That men might gather, and sweeten away
The taint of the perishable clay?
Father, Father, listen to me —
I will not call upon bird or tree,
I will not call upon lamb or dove,
On the flowers below or the stars above;
I will call aloud, and thine ears shall know,
I will call aloud in the midst of the snow,
On a mortal thing of mortal breath
Who has gazed and smiled in the eyes of Death,
Who has loosen'd his shroud and his feet made free
To follow and find me over the sea.
. . . . My brother Jesus, hearest thou me!"

Sweet as a star that opens its lids of silver and amber,
Soft as a lily that rises out of a water still,
Pure as a lamp that burns in a virgin's vestal chamber
When winds with folded wings sleep on the scented sill,
Pale as the moving snow, yet calmer, clearer, and whiter,
Holding the light in his hand, and flashing a ray blood-red,
Robed in a silvern robe that ever grew stranger and brighter,
Robed in a robe of the snow, with a glory around his head,
Christ now arose! and upstanding held the cold hand of his Brother,
Turning his face to the storm like the wrath of some beautiful star, —
And the sound of the storm was hush'd, and pale grew the face of that Other,
He, Alfadur supreme, most direful of all gods that are!

" Balder ! Balder !"

" O Father, I listen!"
" What shape is this whose sad eyes glisten
Bright as the lamp he is uplifting?
Round and o'er him snows are drifting,
Yet as a still star shineth he,
Pale and beautiful like thee.
Who is this that standeth there
Even as a mortal man,
Thin and weary and wan,
A lanthorn in his hold,
His feet bloody and bare,
And a ring of brightest gold
Round his hair?"

" O Father, 'tis he and none other
Who woke me from my tomb;
The Christ it is, my Brother,
Tho' born of a woman's womb.
He has conquer'd the grave, for lo!
He died and he rose again!
He comes to the silence of snow,
From the beautiful regions of rain;
And his hair is bright with a peaceful light
As the yellow moon's on a summer night,
And the flesh on his heart is heapen white
To cool an immortal pain!"

Blacker, blacker the night is growing,
Deeper, deeper the snow is snowing. . . .
As the rigid wave of the ocean-storm
Towereth the gigantic Form,
And he lifts his hand with a cold command,
And the shrill winds answer blowing!

A ghastly gleam is on his cheeks, his white robes roll asunder,
He raises up his arms and shrieks in his old voice of thunder,
" The rune was writ, the rune is read — Son, thou hast slain thy Father,
The frames are quick that late were dead, and from the grave they gather,
The pale One cometh heavenly eyed, as in thy dreams, O Mother!
He wakes, he stands by Balder's side as brother smiles by brother.
O gods, these live, and must we die? these bloom, and must we wither?
Cry with a loud exceeding cry on Death and send him hither!
Come, come, O Death! I call on thee — come hither, fleeter, faster!
Thou hunter of humanity, thou hound of me thy Master!
Slay thou these twain, that we may live, who feed thy throat with slaughter,
And blood to quench thee gods will give, shed free as torrent water!
Come thou this night, O Death divine, come quickly or come never,
And the great Earth shall all be thine for ever and for ever!"

The snows are blowing, the Earth is crying,
The eagles of storm are shrieking and flying;
Thunder-cloud upon thunder-cloud
Piled, and flashing and roaring aloud,
Roll from the north, and the winds rush forth,
And the billows of heaven are breaking.
Hand in hand the Brethren stand,
Fair and bright in the midst of the night,
Fair and bright and marble white,
Quiet as babes awaking. . . .
But who is he that stirring slow,
Wrapt in winding-sheet of snow,
Riseth up from the Christ's feet?
His golden hair all white with sleet,
His eyes all dim, his face snow-pale,
He stands erect in the drifting gale!
Tall and terrible loometh he,
Facing the blast like a frozen tree!

" Death, Death! " the god shrieks now —
Death, Death, is it surely thou?
Death, Death! " and the god laughs loud,
Answer'd by every thunder-cloud,
While the snows are falling faster, —
" Death, Death, there is thy prey! —
Take them and tear them and rend them away,
As flakes of snow, as drops of spray,
In the name of Me thy Master!" ...

Like two lilies crown'd with gold,
Very beauteous to behold,
Blown in summer weather,
Like two lambs with silvern feet,
Very beauteous and sweet,
Held together with a chain
In some sacrificial fane,
The Brethren cling together.
Ever fairer still they grow
While the noise of storm sinks low,
And the Father's snow-white hand
Pointeth at them as they stand,
And the silent shape of Death
Creepeth close and shuddereth!
See, O see, the light they wear,
On their heads and o'er their hair,
Falleth on the Phantom now,
Lying softly on his brow. . . .
Death, O Death, can this be thou?

VII.

F ATHER AND S ON .

Now hark, one crieth!

" My servant Death,
Kneeling there with hushid breath,
Listen, ere I bid thee go!"
Death makes answer out of the snow,
" I hear!"

The Christ hath risen his height,
Large and strange in a lonely light,
And he lifts his hand and makes the sign
Of the blessed cross on his breast divine,
And the thrones of the white gods flash like fire,
And sink in earthquake around the Sire,
Shaken and rent asunder!
Then he lifts his hand and he makes the sign
Once again on his breast divine,
And the mountains of ice around the throne
Are troubled like breakers rolling on
To the sound of their own thunder!

" Father! Father!" Balder cries,
With arms outstretch'd and weeping eyes,
" Father!" — but lo! the white Christ stands,
Raising yet his holy hands,
And cries, " O Death, speed on! speed on!
Conquer now and take thy throne —
Now all the gods have taken flight,
Reign thou there one starless night
In the room of him, the Father!"

Slowly over the icy ground,
Slow and low like a lean sleuth-hound,
Without a breath, without a sound,
The phantom form is crawling.
He makes no shadow, he leaves no trace,
Snow on snow he creepeth apace,
Nearer, nearer, the fixid Face
Veil'd with the flakes still falling.
" Father! Father!" Balder cries ...
Silent, terrible, under the skies,
Sits the God on his throne, with eyes on his Son
Whose gentle voice is calling!
As the cuckoo calls in the heart of the May
Singing the flowers together,
As the fountain calls thro' its flashing spray,
As a lamb calls low 'mid a mountain-cloud,
As a spirit calls to a corpse in its shroud,
The Son cries on the Father!

VIII.

T WILIGHT .

The wind is blowing, the skies are snowing,
The ice is rent and the rocks are riven,
But morning light in the north is growing,
Crimson light of the altars of heaven.
Silent, still, amidst the storm,
Sitteth there the formless Form,
Hearkening out of his hoary hair,
Waiting on in a dark despair,
While the burning heavens flame o'er him! ...
Suddenly, wild and wing'd and bright,
Towering to heaven in shroud of white,
A phantom upriseth against the light
And standeth vast before him. . . .
Is it a Shadow, or only the snow?
The skies are troubled, the light burns low,
But stars still gather and gather.
Is it a Shadow. or only the snow,
Uprising there in the blood-red glow,
Ever towering higher and higher,
In a robe of whiteness fringed with fire,
Outstretching wings without a cry
From verge to verge of the burning sky,
With eyes on the eyes of the Father?

Now Balder crieth, " What shape comes there,
Terrible, troubling the heavens and air?
Is it Norna the arctic swan,
The bright and bodiless Skeleton,
Bird-shaped, with a woman's breasts and eyes,
Whose wings are wide as the world and skies?
Is it Norna, or only the snow,
Moving yonder against the glow,
Ever towering higher and higher,
Ever outspreading pinions dire
And looking down in a dumb desire,
With eyes on the eyes of the Father!"

It is not Norna, it is not the snow.
The skies are troubled; the light burns low;
Yet stars still gather and gather.
" Father! Father! awaken, awaken!
One bends above thee with bright hair shaken
Over thy throne like a falling flame;
One toucheth thy cheek and nameth thy name,
In a voice I hear, in a tone I know;
It is not Norna, it is not the snow,
By the face and the voice and the tone.
Vaster than these and vaster than thou,
Touching the stars with a shining brow,
Flickering up to the twinkling shades
Where the wild aurora flashes and fades,
Spreading its wings from east to west,
As an eagle that looks on a hawk in its nest
It hungereth over thy throne!
Father! my Father!"

" He cannoThear —
Hide thy face, for the hour is near —
Hush!". . . .

... Who shrieks in the heart of the night? ...
Terrible, desolate, dumb and blind,
Like a cloud snow-white
Struggling and rent in the claws o' the wind,
The Father hath risen with no sound
'Mid the wild winds wavering around,
And his stirring deepens the storm.
The ice is shaken beneath his tread,
The meteors burn around his head,
But faster, thicker, out of the skies,
Blotting his shape from Balder's eyes,
The wild flakes waver and swarm.
Now face to face in the blood-red gleam,
Like clouds in the sunset, like shapes in a dream,
Face to face, with outstretch'd hands
Like lightning forks that illume the lands,
Face to face, and sight to sight,
Like vulture and eagle fierce for fight,
They rise and they rise against the skies, —
Alfadur with his fiery eyes,
And the other vaster Form!

It is not Norna, but stranger and brighter,
It is not the snow, but wilder and whiter;
Ever greater yet it grows
Wrapt about with whirling snows,
Ever it dilateth on,
Till, a crimson Skeleton,
With his head against the sky
Where the pale lights flicker and die,
Strange, he stands, with orbs of fire
Looking down upon the Sire,
See, O see upon his brow
Strangest lustre liveth now,
On his neck and round his frame
Twines a snake of emerald flame. . . .
Death, O Death, can it be thou?

" Father, father! I cannot see —
The heavens are bright, but the world is white,
The wings of the wan Form cover thee —
Around and around, with no sigh, with no sound,
Like the mists of a cloud, like the folds of a shroud,
They enwrap thee, — and hide thee from me!"

IX.

" A C ROSS AND A L ILY ."

" It is over! O Balder, look up and behold!"
" Not yet, for I sicken — my sense shrinketh cold,
And I fear the strange silence that cometh at last!
All is hush'd — all is dead — the dew now is shed
Warm as tears on my hand, but the tempest hath pass'd,
And the sounds of the tempest are fled!"

" Arise!"
" I am risen!

" Behold!

" All is white,
But the darkness hath gone, and the stars of the night,
And down from the north streams the dawn flowing free;
But I see not my Father!"

" Again!

" Woe is me!
His throne standeth there white and cold, and thereon
Sits another I know, as a King on a throne,
Yea, sceptred and crownid ... and vaster tenfold
He seems than the Spirit who sat there of old,
For his form 'gainst the heavens looms fiery and fair,
And the dew of the dawn burneth bright on his hair;
And we twain unto him are as birds in the night
That sit gazing up at a great snowy height
Where the starlight is coming and going like breath."

" So strange and so changed, yet 'tis he, even Death, —
Best and least, last and first. He hath conquer'd his own.
All gods are as sand round his feet tempest-blown,
And lesser yet greater, more weak yet more wise,
Are we who stand here looking up in his eyes.
All hail now to Death, since the great gods are dead!"

" Woe is me — it was written, and lo! it is read!"
" Come together, and bless him!"

" My Father?"

The same.
On his throne I will mark with a finger of flame
A cross and a lily for thee and for me!"

They pass o'er the ice, and a sound like the sea
Grows under their footprints; and softly they come
Where Death, with his eyes fix'd on heaven, sitteth dumb;
And they pause at his feet, while far o'er them he looms
With his brow 'mong the stars and the amethyst glooms,
Yea, they pause far beneath, and with finger divine
The white Christ hath made on the snow for a sign
The cross and the lily ... then rising he stands,
And looketh at Death with uplifting of hands.

Still as a star he shineth, brightly his eyes are burning,
White as a dove he seems in the morning's dewy breath,
Lifting again his face with a smile of loving and yearning,
He looketh gently up at the godlike shape of Death;
And the hair of Death is golden, the face of Death is glowing,
While softly around his form he folds his mighty wings,
And vast as the vast blue heavens the fair faint form is growing,
But the face that all men fear is bright with beautiful things.
Ev'n so the Brethren wait where the darkest snows are drifted,
Small as two doves that light in a wilderness alone,
While bright on the blood-red skies, with luminous head uplifted,
In a dream divine upgazing, Death sitteth upon his throne.