Baldur's Dreams

1 The gods hurried to their Hall of Council, Gathered together, goddesses with them, All-powerful, eager to unriddle Baldur's dream that such dread portended.

2 Up rose Odin, unaging magician, Harnessed Sleipnir, the eight-legged, Sped down fron Heaven to Hel's Deep. The blood-dabbled Hound of Hel faced him, Howling in frenzy at the Father of Runes. The High One halted at the eastern gate, Where loomed a tumulus, tomb of a witch. Runes he chanted, charms of power: Her spectre rose whom his spell commanded To enlighten the god with the lore of the dead.

3 'Who is he that on Hel intrudes? Who calls me up, increasing my grief? Drenched by hail, driven by storm, Dew-frozen, I am dead long.'

4 'I am Struggler's Son, Strider, Way-Tamer, Your secrets I ask: all earth's I know. Why are Hel's halls hung with jewels, Her chambers rivers of red gold?'

5 'For Baldur our mead is brewed strong In a shining cauldron, a shield over it. Odin on high in heart despairs. Unwilling my words:I would no more.'

6 'Far-seeing witch, your words unriddle. More will I ask: all will I know. Who shall slay Baldur, best of the gods, Who suck the life from the Son of Odin?'

7 'Hödur the Blind the branch shall throw, From his brother's body the blood to drain, Sucking the life from the Son of Odin. Unwilling my words: I would no more.'

8 'Far-seeing witch, your words unriddle. More will I ask: all will I know. By whose hand shall Hödur fall And Baldur's Bane be burned with fire?'

9 'Bindur the Blessed shall bring forth Vali. Though but a night old, he shall be the avenger, His hands he shall wash not nor his hair comb Till Baldur's Bane is borne to the pyre: Unwilling my words: I would no more.'

10 'Far-seeing witch, your words unriddle. More will I ask: all will I know. Who are the maidens who shall mourn then, Toss up to heaven their trailing scarves?'

11 'Way-Tamer you are not, nor are you Strider: You are Odin the Wily, unaging magician.'

12 'Witch you are not, nor woman either: Womb of monsters, you have mothered three.'

13 'Go home, Odin: air your triumph. No guest shall again my grave visit, Till wild Loki tear loose from his bonds And the World-Wasters on the warpath come.'