HARD by the eastern gate of hell In ancient time great Vala fell; And there she lies in massive tomb Shrouded by night's eternal gloom, Fairer than gods, and wiser, she Held the strange keys of destiny; And not one dark mysterious hour Was veil'd from her all-searching power. She knew what chanced, ere time began, Ere world there was, or gods, or man; And, had she list, she might have told Of things that would appal the bold. No mortal tongue has ever said What hand unknown laid Vala dead But yet, if rumour rightly tells, In her cold bones the spirit dwells; And, if intruder bold presume, Her voice unfolds his hidden doom: And oft the rugged ear of death Is soothed by her melodious breath, Slow-rising from the hollow stone In witching notes and solemn tone; Immortal strains, that tell of things, When the young down was on the wings Of hoary Time, and sometimes swell With such a wild enchanting spell, As heard above would fix the eye Of nature in sweet ecstasy, Steal every sense from mortal clay, And drag the willing soul away. Dark is the path, and wild the road, That leads unto that dread abode; By shelving steeps, through brier and wood, Through yawning cliff and cavern'd flood, Where thousand treacherous spirits dwell, Loose the huge stones, bid waters swell, And guard the dire approach of hell. And none, since that high Lord of heaven, To whom the sword of death is given, Stern Odin, for young Balder's sake, Has dared the slumbering Vala wake. But love can pass o'er brier and stone Unharm'd, through floods and forests lone; Love can defy the treacherous arm Of spirits leagued to work its harm, Pierce the dread silence of the tomb, And smooth the way, and light the gloom. Whence art thou? essence of delight! Pure as the heavens, or dark as night! Feeding the soul with fitful dreams, And ever blending the extremes Of joys so fearful, cares so sweet, That wo and bliss together meet! Thy touch can make the lion mild, And the sweet ringdove fierce and wild. Thy breath can rouse the gentlest maid That e'er on couch of down was laid, Brace her soft limbs to meet the cold, And make her in the danger bold; The breast, that heaves so lily-white, Defy the storms and brave the night, While the rude gales that toss her hair, Seem whispers of the tremulous air, And heaviest toils seem passing light, And every peril new delight. Oh, whose is that love-lighted eye! What form is that, slow gliding by? Sweet Helga, risen from the bed Where sleepless lay thy virgin head, Thou darest explore that dread abyss, To learn what tides thee, wo or bliss! Whether it stand by fate decreed That stern Angantyr's breast shall bleed, Or he to whom in secret turn'd Thy heart with gentle passion burn'd, He whom thy soul had learn'd to cherish, For thy dear sake untimely perish. The night was calm; a pallid glow Stream'd o'er the wide extended snow Which like a silvery mantle spread O'er copse, and dale, and mountain's head. Oh, who has witness'd near the pole The full-orb'd moon in glory roll! More splendid shines her lustrous robe, And larger seems the radiant globe; And that serene unnumber'd choir, That pave the heaven's blue arch with fire, Shoot through the night with brighter gleam, Like distant suns, their twinkling beam. While in the north its streamers play, Like mimic shafts of orient day; The wondrous splendour, fiery red, Round half the welkin seems to spread, And flashes on the summits bleak Of snowy crag or ice-clad peak, Lending a feeble blush, to cheer The twilight of the waning year. The thoughtful eye undazzled there May pierce the liquid realms of air, And the rapt soul delighted gaze On countless worlds that round it blaze. No floating vapour dims the sight That dives through the blue vault of night, While distance yields to fancy's power, And rapture rules the silent hour. A calm so holy seem'd to brood O'er white-robed hill and frozen flood, A charm so solemn and so still, That sure, if e'er the sprites of ill Shrink from the face of nature, this Must be the hallow'd hour of bliss, When no dark elves or goblins rude Dare on the walks of man intrude. Pure as the night, at that calm hour, Young Helga left her virgin bower; And trod unseen the lonely road To gloomy Hela's dire abode. The broken path and toilsome way Adown a sloping valley lay, Where solid rocks on either side Might have the hand of time defied; But some convulsion of old earth Had given the narrow passage birth. Onward with labouring steps and slow The virgin pass'd, nor fear'd a foe. The moon threw gloriously bright On the gray stones her streaming light; Till now the valley wider grew, And the scene scowl'd with dreariest hue. From the steep crag a torrent pouring Dash'd headlong down, with fury roaring, Through frozen heaps that midway hung; And, where the beams their radiance flung, Columns of ice and massive stone Blending and undistinguish'd shone; While each dark shade their forms between Lent deeper horror to the scene; And gloomy pines, that far above Lean'd from the high and rocky cove, With frozen spray their heads besprent Under the hoary burden bent. Before her spread a forest drear Of antique trees with foliage sere; Wreath'd and fantastic were their roots, And one way stretch'd their stunted shoots: Each hollow trunk some beast might hide, Or fiends more wily there abide. She seem'd in that strange wilderness A spirit sent to cheer and bless, A beauteous form of radiant light Charming the fearful brow of night. The wind, with a low whisper'd sigh, Came rushing through the branches dry; Heavy and mournful was the sound, And seem'd to sweep along the ground. The virgin's heart throbb'd high; the blood Beat at its doors with hastier flood: But firm of purpose, on she pass'd, Nor heeded the low rustling blast. A mist hung o'er the barren ground, And soon she was all mantled round In a thick gloom, so dark and dread, That hardly wist she where to tread. Mute horror brooded o'er the heath, And all was dark and still as death: When sudden a loud gust of wind, Shaking the forest, roar'd behind, And wolves seem'd howling in the brake, And in her path the hissing snake. Then all was hush'd; till swift and sheen A meteor flash'd upon the scene; A hoarse laugh burst upon her ear, And then a hideous shriek of fear. Dire phantoms, in the gloom conceal'd, Were instant by that light reveal'd; For, lurking sly, behind each tree Strange faces peep'd with spiteful glee, And ghastly forms and shapes obscene Glided the hoary rocks between. Oh, who shall save thee, Helga! mark The ambush'd spirits of the dark! Those are the powers accurs'd, that ride The blasting whirlwind, and preside O'er nature's wrecks; whose hands delight To weave the tempest of the night, Spread the red pestilence, and throw A deeper gloom o'er human wo! Those are the fiends, that prompt the mind To deeds of darkness, and behind Send their fell crew with sickening breath, Despair, and infamy, and death! Nor yet unmoved the virgin gazed; She trembled as that meteor blazed; But high she spread her white arms sheen, And thus she pray'd to beauty's queen. "Immortal Freya! if e'er my mind Has to thy gentle rites inclined; If e'er my hand fresh garlands wove Of flowers, the symbols of chaste love, And cull'd from all its blooming hoards The sweets which opening spring affords; If I have knit the silken twine To deck thy pure and honour'd shrine; Immortal Freya, attend my prayer! To a lone virgin succour bear! Give me to reach great Vala's grave, And from the powers of darkness save!" Fair Helga spoke; and as she pray'd, A charm descended on the maid, Like the sweet fall of measured sound, Or dew distill'd on holy ground; And vanish'd seem'd the powers of ill, And nature smiled serene and still. The darksome mist was roll'd away, And tranquil, as the fall of day, A milder gloom imbrown'd the way; While through that wild and barren scene The lofty gates of hell were seen. A strain delightful pouring slowly Breathed in soft cadence pure and holy: And the strange voice she long'd to hear Stole gently on her wondering ear. Hark! the wild notes are sweetly swelling, Now upon things unearthly dwelling, And now of time's old secrets telling. To rapture charm'd, fair Helga long Stood listening that immortal song; But onward now she sprang with haste, And through hell's portals quickly paced. Then, starting from his gory bed, The whelp of Hela raised his head, And, as he view'd the daring maid, Gnash'd his keen fangs, and fiercely bay'd. His glowing eyes with fury scowl'd, And long and loud the monster howl'd: For well he mark'd athwart the gloom A living form by Vala's tomb. But unappall'd the virgin stood, And thus, in calm unalter'd mood: "By the force of Runic song, By the might of Odin strong, By the lance and glittering shield Which the maids of slaughter wield, By the gems whose wondrous light Beams in Freya's necklace bright, By the tomb of Balder bold, I adjure thine ashes cold. Vala, list a virgin's prayer! Speak! Hialmar's doom declare!" She ceased; when breathing sad and slow, Like some unwilling sound of wo, A sweetly solemn voice was sent Forth from that gloomy monument. "Deep-bosom'd in the northern fells A pigmy race immortal dwells, Whose hands can forge the falchion well With many a wondrous mutter'd spell. If bold Hialmar's might can gain A weapon from their lone domain, Nor stone nor iron shall withstand The dint of such a gifted brand; Its edge shall drink Angantyr's blood, And life's tide issue with the flood. Victorious, at night's silent hour, The chief shall reach fair Helga's bower. But thou, who darest with living tread Invade these realms, where rest the dead; Breaking the slumbers of the tomb With charms that rend hell's awful gloom; Who seek'st to scan, with prescience bold, What gods from mortal man withhold, Soon shall thine heart despairing rue The hour that gave these shades to view, And Odin's wrath thy steps pursue." It ceased; and straight a lurid flash Burst through the gloom with thunder crash It lighted all death's dreary caves, It glared on thousand thousand graves. Hell's iron chambers rang withal, And pale ghosts started at the call; While, as the gather'd tempest spreads, Rush'd the red terror o'er their heads. And well I deem, those realms might show Unnumber'd shapes of various wo; Lamenting forms, a ghastly crew, By the strange gleam were given to view; And writhing agony was there, And sullen motionless despair: Sights, that might freeze life's swelling tide, Blanch the warm cheek of throbbing pride, And shake fair reason's frail defence, Though strongly nerved by innocence. Nor dared the breathless virgin gaze On hell's dread cells and devious ways; Back rush'd unto her heart the blood, And horror stay'd its curdling flood; As fainting nigh the gates of hell In speechless trance young Helga fell. Her glowing lips are pale and cold; Her dainty limbs of heavenly mould, Fashion'd for bliss and form'd to rest On couch of down by love carest, Lie by yon damp and mouldering tomb, Faded, and stript of mortal bloom; Like flowers on broken hawthorn bough, Or snow-wreaths on the mountain's brow. Shall e'er that bosom move again, To know love's subtle bliss or pain? Shall e'er those languid beauties stir? Shall heaven's pure light revisit her? Or is she thus enveloped quite By curtain of eternal night? And ye, who in life's varied scene Still its frail joys and sorrows glean, Say, does her fate for pity cry, Or were it best to sink and die, While innocence is chaste and pure, And flattering fancies yet allure To leave the hopes of youth half-tasted, To fly, before its dreams are blasted, Its charms foredone, its treasures wasted; Ere guilty bliss with secret smart Has touch'd the yet untainted heart, To shun the pleasure and the crime, Nor trust the wintry storms of time? True to the charge, some guardian power Watch'd over Helga's deathlike hour; Whether by pity moved and love Bright Freya glided from above, Spread round her limbs a viewless spell, And snatch'd her from the jaws of hell; Or Odin's self reserved the fair For other woes and worse despair; For at the earliest dawn of day In her still bower young Helga lay, And waked, as from a feverish dream, To hail the morning's orient beam. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING NOTES FROM ROBIN HILL by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE STORY OF THE END OF THE STORY by JAMES GALVIN MEMORY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 5. THE DANCING GIRL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON A YOUNG LADY'S SIXTH ANNIVERSARY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |