Thou knowest that the morning sun illumines Ten thousand spears on Scotland's heathy mountains; High beats with joy each warrior's heart. In silence, They forward press, and only wait my on-cry. Thither would I--but hear the strange adventure Which stopp'd my flight upon these rocks. Envelop'd In a black, tempest, I a Finman follow'd, Who boldly climb'd the mountain summits, And sprang o'er every yawning rift undaunted: Then saw I Hothbrod's valiant son. I saw him As in the brook he cleans from dust his armour, And sharp'd laboriously his rusty dagger, And prov'd upon the pine's thick stem his falchion; Then brandish'd he his hunting-spear: far backward He drew his nervous arm; I heard the weapon Hiss, but my eye beheld it scarce a moment, For like the lightning which the black clouds swallow It vanished, and the heir vainly sought it. Then look'd I round about, and saw my Finman, Who held the spear and laugh'd; I storm'd with fury. Then down he plung'd within a midnight chasm; And from the deep uprose a voice like thunder Which slowly booms among the Finnish deserts. "Unarm'd," it bellow'd, "shall the warrior perish? Wither shall he of age, and deep in Haelheim Be hidden, far from Odin, far from Valhall." Angry, I rooted up the oaks in search of A spear for battle's friend--and this I fix'd on; I gave it tempest's speed and strength to humble Each warrior whom it smiteth, when with wonder Of thy fast sounding voice I heard an echo.

The First Monologue from The Death of Balder

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