To the prophetess he began A magic song to chant, Toward the north looked, Potent runes applied, A spell pronounced, An answer demanded, Until compelled she rose And with death-like voice she said: THE VALA: What man is this, To me unknown, Who has for me increased An irksome course? I have with snow been decked, By rain beaten, And with dew moistened,— Long have I been dead. VEGTAM: Vegtam is my name, I am Valtam’s son. Tell thou me of Hel; From earth I call on thee. For whom are these benches Strewed o’er with rings,— Those costly couches O’erlaid with gold? THE VALA: Here stands mead For Balder brewed, Over the bright drink A shield is laid; But the race of gods Is in despair. By compulsion I have spoken, Now will I be silent. VEGTAM: Be not silent, vala! I will question thee Until all I know: I will yet know Who will Balder’s Slayer be And Odin’s son Of life bereave. THE VALA: Hoder will hither His glorious brother send; He of Balder will The slayer be, And Odin’s son Of life bereave. By compulsion I have spoken, Now will I be silent. VEGTAM: Be not silent, vala! I will question thee Until all I know: I will yet know Who on Hoder vengeance Will inflict, Or Balder’s slayer Raise on the pile. THE VALA: Rind a son shall bear In the wintry halls: He shall slay Odin’s son, When one night old. He a hand will not wash, Nor his hair comb, Ere to the pile he has borne Balder’s adversary. By compulsion I have spoken, Now will I be silent. VEGTAM: