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Updated: June 13, 2025
A palisade enclosed the hallowed ground, and within it stood a spacious temple with the images of many gods, but none of them was worshipped with such devotion as Balder. So great was the awe with which the heathen regarded the place that no man might harm another there, nor steal his cattle, nor defile himself with women.
And, when they reached the high halls of Asgard, the Asa-queen spoke, and said, "Who now, for the love of Balder and his stricken mother, will undertake an errand? Who will go down into the Valley of Death, and seek for Balder, and ransom him, and bring him back to Asgard and the mid-world?" Then Hermod the Nimble, the brother of Balder, answered, "I will go.
Then Balder's body was taken and placed on the funeral pile upon his ship. When his wife Nanna saw that, her heart burst for sorrow and she died. So she was laid on the funeral pile with her husband, and fire was put to it. Balder's horse, too, with all its trappings, was burned on the pile. Whether he was a real or merely a mythical personage, Balder was worshipped in Norway.
Its streams abound in trout; its dense forests with elk and white-tailed deer; its balder hills with blacktail deer; its upper basins with grizzly bears; its higher country with sheep and that dizzy climber the Rocky Mountain goat.
Nevertheless, and apart from any question of personal danger, Balder felt ill at ease, like animals before a thunder-storm. As he sat down beside his companion on the steps of the black altar, and glanced up at the yellow visage that presided over it, he tried to quiet his mind in vain; even the thought of Gnulemah yielded a vague anxiety!
But the most intimate of them was George Cayley, son of the member for the East Riding of Yorkshire. Cayley was a young man of much promise. In his second year he won the University prize poem with his 'Balder, and soon after published some other poems, and a novel, which met with merited oblivion. But it was as a talker that he shone.
Balder his Berserker fury at white heat flung the man with such terrible strength as drove him headlong over the taffrail like a billet of wood, the stout strap snapping like thread! Manetho struck the water in sorry plight, breathless, bruised, half strangled. He sank to a chilly depth, but carried his wits down with him, and these brought him up again alive, however exhausted.
"Little more than a farewell, I think. There was some talk about the estate. At my uncle's death, the house was to come to you, the property to my father or his heirs. But neither expected at that time that it was to be their last meeting." "Was no one mentioned beside Thor's children and myself?" asked the priest, looking askant at Balder as he spoke.
The little sprig of Mistletoe shot through the air, pierced the heart of Balder, and in a moment the beautiful god lay dead upon the field. A shadow rose out of the deep beyond the worlds and spread itself over heaven and earth, for the light of the universe had gone out. The gods could not speak for horror. They stood like statues for a moment, and then a hopeless wail burst from their lips.
He spoke the unpremeditated notion which the sunburst had created in his brain, spoke not seriously nor yet lightly. He had as much right to his genealogy as she to hers. But what a strange effect his words wrought on her! She clasped her hands together quickly in a kind of ecstasy. "The sun, Balder! I have prayed to him, he as come to me, Balder, my God!"
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