Regner Lodbrok thus ends his famous song, the Krákumál:
And in the death-song of Hakon (Hákonarmál) we find the valkyries Gondul and Skogul in the heat of battle:
The battle being described, the skald continues:
An interpretation of the valkyries is not necessary. The god of war sends his thoughts and his will to the carnage of the battle-field in the form of mighty armed women, in the same manner as he sends his ravens over all the earth.
Ethically considered, then, Odin symbolizes the matchless hope of victory that inspired the Norsemen, and from which their daring exploits sprang; and we know that this hope of victory did not leave the hero when he fell bleeding on the field of battle, but followed him borne in valkyrian arms to Valhal, and thence he soared on eagle pinions to Gimle on the everlasting hights.
Odin’s sons are emanations of his own being. As the god of war, warlike valor is one of his servants, and honor another. He invents the art of poetry, but the execution of it he leaves to his son Brage. He does not meddle with thunder, having left this work of a lower order to his son Thor. He is the father of light and darkness, and he leaves the beneficent light to diffuse itself and struggle with darkness independently (Balder and Hoder). Nor does he himself watch the rainbow, but let the watchful Heimdal take care of it.
Hermod (the valiant in combat) was the son of Odin and messenger of the gods. Odin himself gave him helmet and corselet, the means by which to display his warlike character, and he is sent on all dangerous missions. Of his many exploits the most important one is when he was sent on Sleipner to Hel to bring Balder back. It was Hermod and Brage who were sent to bid Hakon, the king, welcome, when he arrived at Valhal.
Tyr’s name is preserved in Tuesday. He is the god of martial honor (compare the German Zier). Tyr is the most daring and intrepid of all the gods. It is he who dispenses valor in war; hence warriors do well to invoke him. It has become proverbial to say of a man who surpasses all others in valor, that he is Tyr-strong, or valiant as Tyr. A man noted for his wisdom is also said to be wise as Tyr. He gives a splendid proof of his intrepidity when the gods try to persuade the wolf Fenrer, as we shall see hereafter, to let himself be bound up with the chain Gleipner. The wolf fearing that the gods would never afterwards unloose him, consented to be bound only on the condition that while they were chaining him he should keep Tyr’s hand between this jaws. Tyr did not hesitate to put his hand in the monster’s mouth, but when the Fenriswolf perceived that the gods had no intention to unchain him, he bit the hand off at that point which has ever since been called the wolf’s joint (úlfliðr), the wrist. From that time Tyr has but one hand.
Tyr is the son of Odin, and it is through him the latter, as the god of war, awakens wild courage. Thus he is the god of honor, and when the noble gods desire to tame the raging flames he naturally has to arouse all his courage and even sacrifice a part of himself, just as we frequently have to sacrifice some of our comforts to keep clear of rogues and scoundrels.
Heimdal is the son of Odin, and is called the white god (hvíti áss, the pure, innocent god). He is the son of nine virgins, who were sisters, and is a very sacred and powerful deity. Thus he says in the Elder Edda:
He also bears the appellation of the gold-toothed, for his teeth were of pure gold, and the appellation Hallinskide (hallinskiði, the owner of the vaulted arch). His horse is called Gulltop (goldtop), and he dwells in Himminbjorg, the mountains of heaven, at the end of Bifrost, the rainbow. He is the warder of the gods, and is therefore placed on the borders of heaven to prevent the giants from forcing their way over the bridge. He requires less sleep than a bird and sees by night as well as by day a hundred miles around him. So acute is his ear that no sound escapes him, for he can even hear the grass growing on the earth and the wool on a sheep’s back. He has a horn called Gjallar-horn, which is heard throughout the universe. Thus the Elder Edda, in the lay of Grimner:
Heimdal has a sword called Hofud (head); he figures at the death of Balder and appears in Ragnarok. Physically interpreted, Heimdal is the god of the rainbow, but the brilliant rainbow most beautifully symbolizes the favoring grace of the gods. The rainbow itself is called ásbrú (asabridge) or Bifrost (the trembling way), and he who has seen a perfect rainbow can appreciate how this resplendent arch among all races has served as a symbol of peace, the bridge between heaven and earth, the bridge connecting the races of the earth with the gods. Did not God in Genesis set his bow in the cloud that it should be for a token of a covenant between him and the earth? And when our poor laboring masses get their taste cultivated for poetry, art, and mythological lore,—when they have learned to appreciate our common inheritance,—they will find that our Gothic history, folk-lore and mythology together form
In Greece we find the goddess Iris as the impersonation of the rainbow; while in the Bible the rainbow is not personified, and in no mythological system does the graceful divinity of the rainbow enter so prominently into the affairs of men as does our Heimdal. In the first verse of Völuspá, all mankind is called the sons of Heimdal, and this thought is developed in a separate lay in the Elder Edda, called Rigsmál, the lay of Rig (Heimdal), to which the reader is referred.
Brage is the son of Odin, and Idun is Brage’s wife. Brage is celebrated for his wisdom, but more especially for his eloquence and correct forms of speech. He is not only eminently skilled in poetry, but the art itself is from his name called Brage, which epithet is also used to denote a distinguished poet or poetess. Runes are risted on his tongue. He wears a long flowing beard, and persons with heavy beard are called after him, beard-brage (skeggbragi). His wife Idun (Iðunn) keeps in a box the apples which the gods, when they feel old age approaching, have only to taste of to become young again. It is in this manner they will be kept in renovated youth until Ragnarok. This is a great treasure committed to the guardianship and good faith of Idun, and it shall be related how great a risk the gods once ran.
At the feast after the death of a king or jarl, it was customary among the Norsemen for the heir to occupy a lower bench in front of the chief seat, until Brage’s bowl was brought in. Then he arose, made a pledge, and drank the cup of Brage. After that he was conducted into the seat of his father.
At the sacrificial feasts of the Norsemen, the conductor of the sacrifice consecrated the drinking-horns as well as the sacrificed food. The guests first drank Odin’s horn, for the victory and rule of the king; next they drank Njord’s and Frey’s horns, for prosperous seasons and for peace; and then many were accustomed to drink a horn to Brage, the god of poetry. A characteristic ceremony in connection with this horn was, that when the bowl was raised, the promise of performing some great deed was made, which might furnish material for the songs of the skalds. This makes the character of Brage perfectly clear.
Idun’s name is derived from the root ið, and expresses a constant activity and renovation, which idea becomes more firmly established by the following myth.
Æger, the god of the sea, who was well skilled in magic, went to Asgard, where the gods gave him a very good reception. Supper-time having come, the twelve mighty gods, together with the goddesses Frigg, Freyja, Gefjun, Idun, Gerd, Sigun, Fulla, and Nanna, seated themselves on their lofty doom seats, in a hall around which were arranged swords of such surpassing brilliancy that no other light was necessary. While they were emptying their capacious drinking-horns, Æger, who sat next to Brage, requested him to relate something concerning the asas. Brage instantly complied with his request by informing him of what had happened to Idun.
Once, he said, when Odin, Loke and Hœner went on a journey, they came to a valley where a herd of oxen were grazing, and, being sadly in want of provisions, did not scruple to kill one for their supper. Vain, however, were their efforts to boil the flesh; they found it, every time they took the lid off the kettle, as raw as when first put in. While they were endeavoring to account for this singular circumstance a noise was heard above them, and on looking up they beheld an enormous eagle perched on the branch of an oak tree. If you are willing to let me have my share of the flesh, said the eagle, it shall soon be boiled. And on assenting to this proposal it flew down and snatched up a leg and two shoulders of the ox—a proceeding which so incensed Loke that he picked up a large pole and made it fall pretty heavily on the eagle’s back. It was, however, not an eagle that Loke struck, but the renowned giant Thjasse, clad in his eagle-plumage. Loke soon found this out to his sorrow, for while one end of the pole stuck fast to the eagle’s back, he was unable to let go his hold of the other end, and was consequently trailed by the eagle-clad giant over rocks and forests until he was almost torn to pieces, and he thought his arms would be pulled off at the shoulders. Loke in this predicament began to sue for peace, but Thjasse told him that he should never be released from his hold until he bound himself by a solemn oath to bring Idun and her apples out of Asgard. Loke very willingly gave his oath to bring about this, and went back in a piteous plight to his companions.
On his return to Asgard, Loke told Idun that in a forest not very far from the celestial residence he had found apples growing, which he thought were of a much better quality than her own, and that at all events it was worth while to make a comparison between them. Idun, deceived by his words, took her apples and went with him into the forest, but they had no sooner entered it than Thjasse, clad in his eagle-plumage, flew rapidly toward them, and, catching up Idun, carried her and her treasure off with him to Jotunheim. The gods being thus deprived of their renovating apples, soon became wrinkled and gray, old age was creeping fast upon them when they discovered that Loke had been, as usual, the contriver of all the mischief that had befallen them. Inquiry was made about Idun in the assembly which was called, and the last anybody knew about her was that she had been seen going out of Asgard in company with Loke. They therefore threatened him with torture and death if he did not instantly hit upon some expedient for bringing back Idun and her apples to Asgard. This threat terrified Loke, and he promised to bring her back from Jotunheim if Freyja would lend him her falcon-plumage. He got the falcon-plumage of Freyja, flew in it to Jotunheim, and finding that Thjasse was out at sea fishing, he lost no time in transforming Idun into a nut and flying off with her in his claws. But when Thjasse returned and became aware of what had happened, he put on his eagle-plumage and flew after them. When the gods saw Loke approach, holding Idun changed into a nut between his claws, and Thjasse with his outspread eagle-wings ready to overtake him, they placed on the walls of Asgard bundles of chips, which they set fire to the instant Loke had flown over them; and as Thjasse could not stop his flight, the fire caught his plumage, and he thus fell into the power of the gods, who slew him within the portals of the celestial residence.
When these tidings came to Thjasse’s daughter, Skade (Skaði, German Schade, harm), she put on her armor and went to Asgard, fully determined to avenge her father’s death; but the gods having declared their willingness to atone for the deed, an amicable arrangement was entered into. Skade was to choose a husband in Asgard, and the gods were to make her laugh, a feat which she flattered herself it would be impossible for any one to accomplish. Her choice of a husband was to be determined by a mere inspection of the feet of the gods, it being stipulated that the feet should be the only part of their persons visible until she had made known her determination. In inspecting the row of feet placed before her, Skade took a fancy to a pair which from their fine proportions she thought certainly must be those of Balder. I choose these, she said, for on Balder there is nothing unseemly. The feet were however Njord’s, and Njord was given her for a husband; and as Loke managed to make her laugh by playing some diverting antics with a goat, the atonement was fully effected. It is even said that Odin did more than had been stipulated, by taking out Thjasse’s eyes and placing them to shine as stars in the firmament.
This myth, interpreted by the visible workings of nature, means that Idun (the ever-renovating spring) being in the possession of Thjasse (the desolating winter), all the gods—that is, all nature—languishes until she is delivered from her captivity. On this being effected, her presence again diffuses joy and gladness, and all things revive; while her pursuer, winter, with his icy breath, dissolves in the solar rays indicated by the fires lighted on the walls of Asgard. The wintry blasts rage so fearfully in the flames, that the flesh cannot be boiled, and the wind even carries a burning (Loke) stick with it. The ethical interpretation will suggest itself to every reader, and Idun is to Brage, who sings among the trees and by the musical brooks of spring, what a poetical contemplation of the busy forces of nature in producing blossoms and ripening fruit must always be to every son of Brage.
Balder is the favorite of all nature, of all the gods and of men. He is son of Odin and Frigg, and it may be truly said of him that he is the best god, and that all mankind are loud in his praise. So fair and dazzling is he in form and features, that rays of light seem to issue from him; and we may form some idea of the beauty of his hair when we know that the whitest of all plants is called Balder’s brow.[56] Balder is the mildest, the wisest and the most eloquent of all the gods, yet such is his nature that the judgment he has pronounced can never be altered. He dwells in the heavenly mansion called Breidablik (the broad-shining splendor), into which nothing unclean can enter. Thus the Elder Edda, in the lay of Grimner:
This was an event which the asas deemed of great importance. Balder the Good having been tormented by terrible dreams, indicating that his life was in great peril, communicated them to the assembled gods, who, sorrow-stricken, resolved to conjure all things to avert from him the threatened danger. Then Frigg exacted an oath from fire and water, from iron and all other metals, as well as from stones, earths, diseases, beasts, birds, poisons, and creeping things, that none of them would do any harm to Balder. Still Odin feared that the prosperity of the gods had vanished. He saddled his Sleipner and rode down to Niflheim, where the dog from Hel met him; it was bloody on the breast and barked a long time at Odin. Odin advanced; the earth trembled beneath him, and he came to the high dwelling of Hel. East of the door he knew the grave of the vala was situated; thither he rode and sang magic songs (kvað galdra), until she unwillingly stood up and asked who disturbed her peace, after she had been lying so long covered with snow and wet with dew. Odin called himself Vegtam, a son of Valtam, and asked for whom the benches were strewn with rings and the couches were swimming in gold. She replied that the mead was brewed for Balder, but all the gods would despair. When Odin asked further who should be Balder’s bane, she answered that Hoder would hurl the famous branch and become the bane of Odin’s son; but Rind should give birth to a son who, only one night old, should wield a sword, and would neither wash his hands nor comb his hair before he had avenged his brother. But recognizing Odin by an enigmatical question, she said: You are not Vegtam, as I believed, but you are Odin, the old ruler. Odin replied: You are no vala, but the mother of three giants. Then the vala told Odin to ride home and boast of his journey, but assured him that no one should again visit her thus before Loke should be loosed from his chains and the ruin of the gods had come. Thus the lay of Vegtam in the Elder Edda:
When it had been made known that nothing in the world would harm Balder, it became a favorite pastime of the gods, at their meetings, to get Balder to stand up and serve them as a mark, some hurling darts at him, some stones, while others hewed at him with their swords and battle-axes; for whatever they did none of them could harm him, and this was regarded by all as a great honor shown to Balder. But when Loke Laufeyarson beheld the scene he was sorely vexed that Balder was not hurt. Assuming, therefore, the guise of a woman he went to Fensal, the mansion of Frigg. That goddess, seeing the pretended woman, inquired of her whether she knew what the gods were doing at their meetings. The woman (Loke) replied that they were throwing darts and stones at Balder, without being able to hurt him.
Ay, said Frigg, neither metal nor wood can hurt Balder, for I have exacted an oath from all of them.
What! exclaimed the woman, have all things sworn to spare Balder?
All things, replied Frigg, except one little shrub that grows on the eastern side of Valhal, and is called mistletoe, and which I thought too young and feeble to crave an oath from.
As soon as Loke heard this he went away, and, resuming his natural form, pulled up the mistletoe and repaired to the place where the gods were assembled. There he found Hoder standing far to one side without engaging in the sport, on account of his blindness. Loke going up to him said: Why do not you also throw something at Balder?
Because I am blind, answered Hoder, and cannot see where Balder is, and besides I have nothing to throw with.
Come then, said Loke, do like the rest, and show honor to Balder by throwing this twig at him, and I will direct your arm toward the place where he stands.
Hoder then took the mistletoe, and under the guidance of Loke darted it at Balder, who, pierced through and through, fell down lifeless. Surely never was there witnessed, either among gods or men, a more atrocious deed than this! When Balder fell the gods were struck speechless with horror, and then they looked at each other; and all were of one mind to lay hands on him who had done the deed, but they were obliged to delay their vengeance out of respect for the sacred place (place of peace) where they were assembled. They at length gave vent to their grief by such loud lamentations that they were not able to express their grief to one another. Odin, however, felt this misfortune most severely, because he knew best how great was the mischief and the loss which the gods had sustained by the death of Balder. When the gods were a little composed, Frigg asked who among them wished to gain all her love and favor by riding to the lower world to try and find Balder, and offer a ransom to Hel if she will permit Balder to return to Asgard; whereupon Hermod, surnamed the Nimble, offered to undertake the journey. Odin’s horse, Sleipner, was then led forth and prepared for the journey; Hermod mounted him and galloped hastily away.
The god then took the dead body of Balder and carried it to the sea, where lay Balder’s ship, Ringhorn, which was the largest of all ships. But when they wanted to launch this ship, in order to make Balder’s funeral pile on it, they were unable to move it from the place. In this predicament they sent a messenger to Jotunheim for a certain giantess named Hyrroken (the smoking fire), who came riding on a wolf and had twisted serpents for her reins. As soon as she alighted Odin ordered four berserks to hold her steed, but they were obliged to throw the animal down on the ground before they could manage it. Hyrroken then went to the prow of the ship, and with a single push set it afloat; but the motion was so violent that fire sparkled from the underlaid rollers and the whole earth shook. Thor, enraged at the sight, grasped his mallet and would have broken the woman’s skull, had not the gods interceded for her. Balder’s body was then carried to the funeral pile on board the ship, and this ceremony had such an effect upon Balder’s wife, Nanna, daughter of Nep, that her heart broke with grief, and her body was laid upon the same pile and burned with that of her husband. Thor stood beside the pile and consecrated it with his hammer Mjolner. Before his feet sprang up a dwarf called Lit. Thor kicked him with his foot into the fire, so that he also was burned. There was a vast concourse of various kinds of people at Balder’s funeral procession. First of all came Odin, accompanied by Frigg, the valkyries, and his ravens. Then came Frey in his chariot, drawn by the boar Gullinburste (gold-brush), or Slidrugtanne (the sharp-toothed). Heimdal rode his horse Goldtop, and Freyja drove in her chariot drawn by cats. There were also a great number of frost-giants and mountain-giants present. Odin cast upon the funeral pile the famous ring Draupner, which had been made for him by the dwarfs, and possessed the property of producing every ninth night eight rings of equal weight. Balder’s horse, fully caparisoned, was also laid upon the pile, and consumed in the same flames with the body of his master.
Meanwhile Hermod was proceeding on his mission. Of him it is to be related that he rode nine days and as many nights through dark and deep valleys, so dark that he could not discern anything, until he came to the river Gjol and passed over the Gjallar bridge (bridge over the river Gjol), which is covered with glittering gold. Modgud, the maiden who kept the bridge, asked him his name and parentage, and added that the day before five fylkes (kingdoms, bands) of dead men had ridden over the bridge; but, she said, it did not shake as much beneath all of them together as it does under you alone, and you have not the complexion of the dead; why then do you ride here on your way to Hel? I ride to Hel, answered Hermod, to seek for Balder; have you perchance seen him pass this way? She replied that Balder had ridden over the Gjallar bridge, and that the road to the abodes of death (to Hel) lay downward and toward the north.
Hermod then continued his journey until he came to the barred gates of Hel. Then he alighted from his horse, drew the girths tighter, remounted him and clapped both spurs into him. The horse cleared the gate with a tremendous leap without touching it. Hermod then rode forward to the palace, alighted and went in, where he found his brother Balder occupying the most distinguished seat in the hall, and spent the night in his company. The next morning he entreated Hel (death) to let Balder ride home with him, representing to her the sorrow which prevailed among the gods. Hel replied that it should now be tried whether Balder was so universally beloved as he was said to be; if therefore, she added, all things in the world, the living as well as the lifeless, will weep for him, then he shall return to the gods, but if anything speak against him or refuse to weep, then Hel will keep him.
After this Hermod rose up. Balder went with him out of the hall and gave him the ring Draupner, to present as a keepsake to Odin. Nanna sent Frigg a carpet together with several other gifts, and to Fulla she sent a gold finger-ring. Hermod then rode back to Asgard and related everything that he had heard and witnessed.
The gods upon this dispatched messengers throughout all the world to beseech everything to weep, in order that Balder might be delivered from the power of Hel. All things very willingly complied with the request,—men, animals, the earth, stones, trees, and all metals, just as we see things weep when they come out of the frost into the warm air. When the messengers were returning, with the conviction that their mission had been quite successful, they found on their way home a giantess (ogress, Icel. gýgr), who called herself Thok. They bade her also weep Balder out of the dominion of Hel. But she answered:
It is supposed that this giantess (gýgr) was no other than Loke Laufeyarson himself, who had caused the gods so many other troubles. Thus the Elder Edda refers to the death of Balder in Völuspá:
To conquer Vafthrudner, and to reveal himself, Odin asks him to solve this last problem:
This is the question that Vafthrudner was unable to answer, and hence he had to forfeit his head. N. M. Petersen thinks that Odin whispered into Balder’s ear the name of the supreme god.
This myth about the death of Balder finds an apt explanation in the seasons of the year, in the change from light to darkness, in Norseland. Balder represents the bright and clear summer, when twilight and daybreak kiss each other and go hand in hand in these northern latitudes. His death by Hoder is the victory of darkness over light, the darkness of winter over the light of summer, and the revenge by Vale is the breaking forth of new light after the wintry darkness.
In this connection it is also worthy of notice that there used to be a custom, which is now nearly forgotten, of celebrating the banishment of death or darkness, the strife between winter and summer, together with the arrival of the May-king and election of the May-queen. Forgotten! yes, well may we ask how it could come to pass that we through long centuries have worried and tortured ourselves with every scrap of Greek and Latin we could find, without caring the least for our own beautiful and profound memories of the past. Death was carried out in the image of a tree and thrown in the water or burned. In the spring two men represent summer and winter, the one clad in wintergreen or leaves, the other in straw. They have a large company of attendants with them, armed with staves, and they fight with each other until winter (or death) is subdued. They prick his eyes out or throw him into the water. These customs, which prevailed throughout the middle ages, had their root and origin in the ancient myth given above.
No myth can be clearer than this one of Balder. The Younger Edda says distinctly that he is so fair and dazzling in form and features that rays of light seem to issue from him. Balder, then, is the god of light, the light of the world. Light is the best thing we have in the world; it is white and pure; it cannot be wounded; no shock can disturb it; nothing in the world can kill it excepting its own negative, darkness (Hoder). Loke (fire) is jealous of it; the pure light of heaven and the blaze of fire are each other’s eternal enemies. Balder does not fight, the mythology gives no exploits by him; he only shines and dazzles, conferring blessings upon all, and this he continues to do steadfast and unchangeable, until darkness steals upon him, darkness that does not itself know what harm it is doing; and when Balder is dead, cries of lamentation are heard throughout all nature. All nature seeks light. Does not the eye of the child seek the light of the morning, and does not the child weep when light vanishes, when night sets in? Does not this myth of Balder repeat itself in the old man, who like Gœthe, when death darkened his eyes, cried out: mehr licht (more light)? Does not the eagle from the loftiest pinnacle of the mountain seek light? The lark soars on his lofty pinions and greets in warbling notes the king of day welcome back into his kingdom. The tree firmly rooted in the ground strains toward the light, spreading upward in search of it. The bird of passage on his free wing flies after and follows the light. Is it not the longing after light that draws the bird southward in the fall when the days shorten in the north, and draws the little wanderer back again as soon as the long northern days set in with all their luminous and long-drawn hours? As Runeberg epigrammatically has it:
Nay all living things, even the shells in the sea, every leaf of the oak and every blade of grass seeks light, and the blind poet sings:
And another bard:
Ay, it would be resting satisfied with the shell to interpret Balder as the mere impersonation of the natural light of heaven. He represents and symbolizes in the profoundest sense the heavenly light of the soul and of the mind, purity, innocence, piety. There can be no doubt that our ancestors combined the ethical with the physical in this myth. All light comes from heaven. The natural light shines into and illuminates the eye, the spiritual shines into and illuminates the heart. Innocence cannot be wounded. Arrogance and jealousy throw their pointed arrows of slander at it, but they fall harmless to the ground. But there is one inclination, one unguarded spot among our other strong guarded passions. The mischief-maker knows how to find this and innocence is pierced. When Balder dies, a dark veil enshrouds all nature, and thus history clothes herself in mourning, not because the hero dies, but because the innocent Lincoln is pierced by the bullet of the foul assassin, who turns to the night and flees. Every time light is slain by darkness it is the beautiful and good that is stricken down, but it is never stricken down except to return and shine with increased splendor. Balder dies in nature when the woods are stripped of their foliage, when the flowers fade and the storms of winter howl. Balder dies in the spiritual world when the good are led away from the paths of virtue, when the soul becomes dark and gloomy, forgetting its heavenly origin. Balder returns in nature when the gentle winds of spring stir the air, when the nightingale’s high note is heard in the heavens, and the flowers are unlocked to paint the laughing soil, when light takes the place of gloom and darkness; Balder returns in the spiritual world when the lost soul finds itself again, throws off the mantle of darkness, and like a shining spirit soars on wings of light to heaven, to God, who gave it.
The flower which is sacred to Balder, the Balder’s brow, is the anthemis cotula. It is a complete flower with a yellow disc and white rays, a symbol of the sun with its beaming light, a sunflower. What a poetical thought! The light pouring down upon the earth from beneath Balder’s eye-brows, and the hairs of his eye-lids are the beams. What a theme for a Correggio, who succeeded so well in painting the innocence of woman beaming from her half-closed eyes!
Balder’s wife is Nanna. She dies broken-hearted at his death. She is the floral goddess who always turns her smiling face toward the sun. Her father was Nep (nepr, a bud), son of Odin. Nanna’s and Balder’s sending the ring Draupner to Odin, a carpet to Frigg, and a ring to Fulla, has been explained heretofore, and how beautifully it symbolizes the return of earth’s flowery carpet, with fruitfulness and abundance, will be evident to every thoughtful reader.
The sorrow of all nature we easily understand when we know that Loke represents fire and Balder is gone to Hel. All things weep, become damp, when brought from the cold to the warm air, excepting fire, and we remember that Thok, that is, Loke in disguise, wept dry tears (sparks); but all genuine tears are caused by a change of the heart from coldness to warmth. It is a common expression in Iceland yet to say that the stones, when covered with dew, weep for Balder (gráta Baldr). Balder’s ship, Ringhorn, is rightly called the largest of all ships. Ringhorn is the whole world, and the whole earth is Balder’s funeral pile. The tops of the mountains are the masts of this ship, which is round (ring) as the whirling world.
It is time we ceased talking about our barbarous ancestors, for, if we rightly comprehend this myth of Balder, we know that they appreciated, nay, profoundly and poetically appreciated, the light that fills the eye and blesses the heart, and were sensitive to the pain that cuts through the bosom of man even into its finest and most delicate fibers. In this myth of Balder is interwoven the most delicate feelings with the sublimest sentiments. Read it and comprehend it. Let the ear and heart and soul be open to the voiceless music that breathes through it. And when you have thus read this myth, in connection with the other myths and in connection with the best Sagas, then do not say another word about the North not having any literature! Thanks be to the norns, that the monks and priests, whose most zealous work it was to root out the memories of the past and reduce the gods of our fathers to commonplace demons, did not succeed in their devastating mission in faithful Iceland! Thanks be to Shakespeare, that he did not forget the stern, majestic, impartial and beautiful norns, even though he did change them into the wrinkled witches that figure in Macbeth! Nay, that this our ancient mythology, in spite of the wintry blasts that have swept over it, in spite of the piercing cold to which it has been exposed at the hand of those who thought they came with healing for the nations, in spite of all the persecution it has suffered from monks and bishops, professors and kings; that it, in spite of all these, has been able to bud and blossom in our Teutonic folk-lore, our May-queens, and popular life, is proof of the strong vital force it contained, and proof, too, of the vigorous thought of our forefathers who preserved it. And nowhere is this more evident than in Norway. These stories which have their root in the Norse mythology have been handed down by word of month from generation to generation with remarkable fidelity. Look at those long and narrow and deep valleys of Norway! Those great clefts are deep furrows plowed in the mountain mass in order that it might yield a bountiful crop of folk-lore, the seed of which is the Edda mythology. Let us give our children a share in the harvest!
Forsete is the son of Balder and Nanna. He possesses the heavenly mansion called Glitner, and all disputants at law who bring their cases before him go away perfectly reconciled. His tribunal is the best that is to be found among gods and men. Thus the Elder Edda, in the lay of Grimner: