Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/143

Rh When air is chilliest, and the stars sunk low;

Then Balder's spirit through the gloom drew near,

In garb, in form, in feature, as he was,

Alive; and still the rays were round his head

Which were his glorious mark in heaven; he stood

Over against the curtain of the bed,

And gazed on Nanna as she slept, and spake,—

"Poor lamb, thou sleepest, and forgett'st thy woe!

Tears stand upon the lashes of thine eyes,

Tears wet the pillow by thy cheek; but thou,

Like a young child, hast cried thyself to sleep.

Sleep on; I watch thee, and am here to aid.

Alive I kept not far from thee, dear soul!

Neither do I neglect thee now, though dead.

For with to-morrow's dawn the gods prepare

To gather wood, and build a funeral-pile

Upon my ship, and burn my corpse with fire,

That sad, sole honor of the dead; and thee

They think to burn, and all my choicest wealth,

With me, for thus ordains the common rite.

But it shall not be so; but mild, but swift,

But painless, shall a stroke from Frea come,

To cut thy thread of life, and free thy soul,

And they shall burn thy corpse with mine, not thee.

And well I know that by no stroke of death,

Tardy or swift, wouldst thou be loath to die,

So it restored thee, Nanna, to my side,

Whom thou so well hast loved; but I can smooth

Thy way, and this, at least, my prayers avail.

Yes, and I fain would altogether ward

Death from thy head, and with the gods in heaven

Prolong thy life, though not by thee desired;

But right bars this, not only thy desire.

Yet dreary, Nanna, is the life they lead