“I know thee, stream, whose waters erst were freighted
 With swimmer bold, who with thy billows fought! 
I know thee, too, thou vale where oft we plighted
 Eternal faith!  Alas! earth holds it not! 
Ye birchen trees, whose bark I carved delighted
 With many runes, still wedded to the spot
Your white stems stand, crown-capped with sunshine golden,
All save myself unchanged since days now olden.

“Is all unchanged?  Where, then, is Framness’ dwelling,
 And Balder’s temple on the sacred shore? 
At thought of childhood’s dales my heart is swelling. 
 But fire and sword devoured them, they’re no more. 
Of human vengeance, of God’s wrath their telling
 To wanderers over blackened field and floor;
Thou pious pilgrim, come not here to ponder,
For forest beasts in Balder’s grove now wander.

“With Nidhug’s curse each human life is teeming,—­
 The cruel tempter from the land of shade,
He hates the asa-light with glory beaming
 On hero’s brow and on his shining blade;
Each coward deed, each act of wrathful scenting,
 Is his, a tribute unto darkness paid;
He wins when temples burn and gods are slighted,
He claps his coal-black hands and laughs delighted.

“Is there no expiation, radiant heaven? 
 Thou blue-eyed god, dost thou no penance take? 
Man pardons man who has for pardon striven. 
 When men atone the gods their wrath forsake;
By thee, the mildest one, I’m unforgiven ;—­
 Command, and any sacrifice I’ll make;
No will had Fridthjof in the temple’s burning;
Oh! stainless make his shield, thine anger turning.

“Thy burden take away, I cannot bear it,
 The dark wood’s music in my soul doth cry. 
A moment’s fault! cannot a life repair it,—­
 An upright life?  Then hear my contrite sigh! 
If Thor’s fierce bolt should strike, I still would dare it: 
 Nor shrink to meet the look of Hel’s pale eye. 
Thou pious god, who moonlight glances bendest,
’Tis thee I fear, and vengeance which thou sendest.

“My father’s grave is here.  The hero sleepeth;—­
 Alas! whence he has gone none ever roam;
A starry tent his home, no more he weepeth,
 Where shields rejoice and brimming mead-horns foam;
Thou asa-guest, from heaven look down where keepeth
 His weary watch thy child.  O father, come! 
I bring not runes nor charms, but bending lowly
Would learn to appease pale Balder holy.

“Still silent is the grave?  Ah yes, and cruel. 
 A sword roused Angantyr within his grave;
A sword is naught,—­Tirfing a trifling jewel
 Compared with what I ask.  A sword the brave
Can gain on battle field or in a duel,
 Forgiveness from the asas’ home I crave;
Bear thou my plea, my sorrowing look to heaven,
No rest have noble minds if unforgiven.

“Thou’rt silent, father!  Hear the waves resounding,
 And send thy loving word by their sweet cry;
Now flies the storm, on its swift pinions bounding. 
 O, whisper to me as it flieth by;
See golden rings the western sky surrounding,
 Let them the message give which words deny. 
No sign or answer for thy son forsaken? 
How poor indeed are those whom death has taken!”