She spake, and to the cavern’s depth she fled, Mocking; and Hermod knew their toil was vain. And as seafaring men, who long have wrought In the great deep for gain, at last come home, And towards evening see the headlands rise Of their dear country, and can plain descry A fire of withered furze which boys have lit Upon the cliffs, or smoke of burning weeds Out of a tilled field inland: then the wind Catches them, and drives out again to sea; And they go long days tossing up and down Over the gray sea-ridges, and the glimpse Of port they had makes bitterer far their toil,-- So the gods’ cross was bitterer for their joy. Then, sad at heart, to Niord Hermod spake,-- “It is the accuser Lok, who flouts us all! Ride back, and tell in heaven this heavy news; I must again below, to Hela’s realm.” He spoke, and Niord set forth back to heaven. But northward Hermod rode, the way below, The way he knew; and traversed Giall’s stream, And down to ocean groped, and crossed the ice, And came beneath the wall, and found the grate Still lifted: well was his return foreknown. And once more Hermod saw around him spread The joyless plains, and heard the streams of hell. But as he entered, on the extremest bound Of Niflheim, he saw one ghost come near, Hovering, and stopping oft, as if afraid,-- Hoder, the unhappy, whom his own hand slew. And Hermod looked, and knew his brother’s ghost, And called him by his name, and sternly said,-- “Hoder, ill-fated, blind in heart and eyes! Why tarriest thou to plunge thee in the gulf Of the deep inner gloom, but flittest here, In twilight, on the lonely verge of hell, Far from the other ghosts, and Hela’s throne? Doubtless thou fearest to meet Balder’s voice, Thy brother, whom through folly thou didst slay.” He spoke; but Hoder answered him, and said,-- “Hermod the nimble, dost thou still pursue The unhappy with reproach, even in the grave? For this I died, and fled beneath the gloom, Not daily to endure abhorring gods, Nor with a hateful presence cumber heaven; And canst thou not, even here, pass pitying by? No less than Balder have I lost the light Of heaven, and communion with my kin; I too had once a wife, and once a child, And substance, and a golden house in heaven: But all I left of my own act, and fled Below; and dost thou hate me even here? Balder upbraids me not, nor hates at all, Though he has cause, have any cause; but he, When that with downcast looks I hither came, Stretched forth his hand, and with benignant voice, _Welcome_, he said, _if there be welcome here,_ _Brother and fellow-sport of Lok with me!_ And not to offend thee, Hermod, nor to force My hated converse on thee, came I up From the deep gloom, where I will now return;