Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Part 13

No, nor on this dead dog, O King!

_The King_

O Vizier, thou art old, I young!

Clear in these things I cannot see.

My head is burning, and a heat Is in my skin which angers me.

But hear ye this, ye sons of men!

They that bear rule, and are obey'd, Unto a rule more strong than theirs Are in their turn obedient made.

In vain therefore, with wistful eyes Gazing up hither, the poor man, Who loiters by the high-heap'd booths, Below there, in the Registan,

Says: "Happy he, who lodges there!

With silken raiment, store of rice, And for this drought, all kinds of fruits, Grape-syrup, squares of colour'd ice,

"With cherries serv'd in drifts of snow."

In vain hath a king power to build Houses, arcades, enamell'd mosques; And to make orchard-closes, fill'd

With curious fruit-trees brought from far With cisterns for the winter-rain, And, in the desert, s.p.a.cious inns In divers places--if that pain Is not more lighten'd, which he feels, If his will be not satisfied; And that it be not, from all time The law is planted, to abide.

Thou wast a sinner, thou poor man!

Thou wast athirst; and didst not see, That, though we take what we desire, We must not s.n.a.t.c.h it eagerly.

And I have meat and drink at will, And rooms of treasures, not a few.

But I am sick, nor heed I these; And what I would, I cannot do.

Even the great honour which I have, When I am dead, will soon grow still; So have I neither joy, nor fame.

But what I can do, that I will.

I have a fretted brick-work tomb Upon a hill on the right hand, Hard by a close of apricots, Upon the road of Samarcand;

Thither, O Vizier, will I bear This man my pity could not save, And, plucking up the marble flags, There lay his body in my grave.

Bring water, nard, and linen rolls!

Wash off all blood, set smooth each limb!

Then say: "He was not wholly vile, Because a king shall bury him."

BALDER DEAD[7]

I. SENDING

So on the floor lay Balder dead; and round Lay thickly strewn swords, axes, darts, and spears, Which all the G.o.ds in sport had idly thrown At Balder, whom no weapon pierced or clove; But in his breast stood fixt the fatal bough Of mistletoe, which Lok the Accuser gave To Hoder, and unwitting Hoder threw-- 'Gainst that alone had Balder's life no charm.

And all the G.o.ds and all the Heroes came, And stood round Balder on the b.l.o.o.d.y floor, Weeping and wailing; and Valhalla rang Up to its golden roof with sobs and cries; And on the tables stood the untasted meats, And in the horns and gold-rimm'd skulls the wine.

And now would night have fall'n, and found them yet Wailing; but otherwise was Odin's will.

And thus the father of the ages spake:-- "Enough of tears, ye G.o.ds, enough of wail!

Not to lament in was Valhalla made.

If any here might weep for Balder's death, I most might weep, his father; such a son I lose to-day, so bright, so loved a G.o.d.

But he has met that doom, which long ago The Nornies, when his mother bare him, spun, And fate set seal, that so his end must be.

Balder has met his death, and ye survive-- Weep him an hour, but what can grief avail?

For ye yourselves, ye G.o.ds, shall meet your doom, All ye who hear me, and inhabit Heaven, And I too, Odin too, the Lord of all.

But ours we shall not meet, when that day comes, With women's tears and weak complaining cries-- Why should we meet another's portion so?

Rather it fits you, having wept your hour, With cold dry eyes, and hearts composed and stern, To live, as erst, your daily life in Heaven.

By me shall vengeance on the murderer Lok, The foe, the accuser, whom, though G.o.ds, we hate, Be strictly cared for, in the appointed day.

Meanwhile, to-morrow, when the morning dawns, Bring wood to the seash.o.r.e to Balder's ship, And on the deck build high a funeral-pile, And on the top lay Balder's corpse, and put Fire to the wood, and send him out to sea To burn; for that is what the dead desire."

So spake the King of G.o.ds, and straightway rose, And mounted his horse Sleipner, whom he rode; And from the hall of Heaven he rode away To Lidskialf, and sate upon his throne, The mount, from whence his eye surveys the world.

And far from Heaven he turn'd his shining orbs To look on Midgard, and the earth, and men.

And on the conjuring Lapps he bent his gaze Whom antler'd reindeer pull over the snow; And on the Finns, the gentlest of mankind, Fair men, who live in holes under the ground; Nor did he look once more to Ida's plain, Nor tow'rd Valhalla, and the sorrowing G.o.ds; For well he knew the G.o.ds would heed his word, And cease to mourn, and think of Balder's pyre.

But in Valhalla all the G.o.ds went back From around Balder, all the Heroes went; And left his body stretch'd upon the floor.

And on their golden chairs they sate again, Beside the tables, in the hall of Heaven; And before each the cooks who served them placed New messes of the boar Serimner's flesh, And the Valkyries crown'd their horns with mead.

So they, with pent-up hearts and tearless eyes, Wailing no more, in silence ate and drank, While twilight fell, and sacred night came on.

But the blind Hoder left the feasting G.o.ds In Odin's hall, and went through Asgard streets, And past the haven where the G.o.ds have moor'd Their ships, and through the gate, beyond the wall; Though sightless, yet his own mind led the G.o.d.

Down to the margin of the roaring sea He came, and sadly went along the sand, Between the waves and black o'erhanging cliffs Where in and out the screaming seafowl fly; Until he came to where a gully breaks Through the cliff-wall, and a fresh stream runs down From the high moors behind, and meets the sea.

There, in the glen, Fensaler stands, the house Of Frea, honour'd mother of the G.o.ds, And shows its lighted windows to the main.

There he went up, and pa.s.s'd the open doors; And in the hall he found those women old, The prophetesses, who by rite eterne On Frea's hearth feed high the sacred fire Both night and day; and by the inner wall Upon her golden chair the Mother sate, With folded hands, revolving things to come.

To her drew Hoder near, and spake, and said:-- "Mother, a child of bale thou bar'st in me!

For, first, thou barest me with blinded eyes, Sightless and helpless, wandering weak in Heaven; And, after that, of ignorant witless mind Thou barest me, and unforeseeing soul; That I alone must take the branch from Lok, The foe, the accuser, whom, though G.o.ds, we hate, And cast it at the dear-loved Balder's breast At whom the G.o.ds in sport their weapons threw-- 'Gainst that alone had Balder's life no charm.

Now therefore what to attempt, or whither fly, For who will bear my hateful sight in Heaven?

Can I, O mother, bring them Balder back?

Or--for thou know'st the fates, and things allow'd-- Can I with Hela's power a compact strike, And make exchange, and give my life for his?"

He spoke: the mother of the G.o.ds replied:-- "Hoder, ill-fated, child of bale, my son, Sightless in soul and eye, what words are these?

That one, long portion'd with his doom of death, Should change his lot, and fill another's life, And Hela yield to this, and let him go!

On Balder Death hath laid her hand, not thee; Nor doth she count this life a price for that.

For many G.o.ds in Heaven, not thou alone, Would freely die to purchase Balder back, And wend themselves to Hela's gloomy realm.

For not so gladsome is that life in Heaven Which G.o.ds and heroes lead, in feast and fray, Waiting the darkness of the final times, That one should grudge its loss for Balder's sake, Balder their joy, so bright, so loved a G.o.d.

But fate withstands, and laws forbid this way.

Yet in my secret mind one way I know, Nor do I judge if it shall win or fail; But much must still be tried, which shall but fail."

And the blind Hoder answer'd her, and said:-- "What way is this, O mother, that thou show'st?

Is it a matter which a G.o.d might try?"

And straight the mother of the G.o.ds replied:-- "There is a road which leads to Hela's realm, Untrodden, lonely, far from light and Heaven.

Who goes that way must take no other horse To ride, but Sleipner, Odin's horse, alone.

Nor must he choose that common path of G.o.ds Which every day they come and go in Heaven, O'er the bridge Bifrost, where is Heimdall's watch, Past Midgard fortress, down to earth and men.

But he must tread a dark untravell'd road Which branches from the north of Heaven, and ride Nine days, nine nights, toward the northern ice, Through valleys deep-engulph'd, with roaring streams.

And he will reach on the tenth morn a bridge Which spans with golden arches Giall's stream, Not Bifrost, but that bridge a damsel keeps, Who tells the pa.s.sing troops of dead their way To the low sh.o.r.e of ghosts, and Hela's realm.

And she will bid him northward steer his course.

Then he will journey through no lighted land, Nor see the sun arise, nor see it set; But he must ever watch the northern Bear, Who from her frozen height with jealous eye Confronts the Dog and Hunter in the south, And is alone not dipt in Ocean's stream.

And straight he will come down to Ocean's strand-- Ocean, whose watery ring enfolds the world, And on whose marge the ancient giants dwell.

But he will reach its unknown northern sh.o.r.e, Far, far beyond the outmost giant's home, At the c.h.i.n.k'd fields of ice, the waste of snow.

And he must fare across the dismal ice Northward, until he meets a stretching wall Barring his way, and in the wall a grate.

But then he must dismount, and on the ice Tighten the girths of Sleipner, Odin's horse, And make him leap the grate, and come within.

And he will see stretch round him Hela's realm, The plains of Niflheim, where dwell the dead, And hear the roaring of the streams of h.e.l.l.

And he will see the feeble, shadowy tribes, And Balder sitting crown'd, and Hela's throne.

Then must he not regard the wailful ghosts Who all will flit, like eddying leaves, around; But he must straight accost their solemn queen, And pay her homage, and entreat with prayers, Telling her all that grief they have in Heaven For Balder, whom she holds by right below; If haply he may melt her heart with words, And make her yield, and give him Balder back."

She spoke; but Hoder answer'd her and said:-- "Mother, a dreadful way is this thou show'st; No journey for a sightless G.o.d to go!"

And straight the mother of the G.o.ds replied:-- "Therefore thyself thou shalt not go, my son.