Orpheus for the lost Eurydice, and likely to have no better issue!’—
Well, it would seem the resuscitation of a Heroism from the Past Time is no easy enterprise. Our impatient friend seems really getting sad! We can well believe him, there needs pious love in any ‘Orpheus’ that will risk descending to the Gloomy Halls;—descending, it may be, and fronting Cerberus and Dis, to no purpose! For it oftenest proves so; nay, as the Mythologists would teach us, always. Here is another Mythus. Balder the white Sungod, say our Norse Skalds, Balder, beautiful as the summer-dawn, loved of Gods and men, was dead. His Brother Hermoder, urged by his Mother’s tears and the tears of the Universe, went forth to seek him. He rode through gloomy winding valleys, of a dismal leaden colour, full of howling winds and subterranean torrents; nine days; ever deeper, down towards Hela’s Death-realm: at Lonesome Bridge, which, with its gold gate, spans the River of Moaning, he found the Portress, an ancient woman, called Modgudr, ‘the Vexer of Minds,’ keeping watch as usual: Modgudr answered him, ‘Yes, Balder passed this way; but he is not here; he is down yonder,—far, still far to the North, within Hela’s Gates yonder.’ Hermoder rode on, still dauntless, on his horse, named ‘Swiftness’ or ‘Mane of Gold’; reached Hela’s Gates; leapt sheer over them, mounted as he was; saw Balder, the very Balder, with his eyes:—but could not bring him back! The Nornas were inexorable; Balder was never to come back. Balder beckoned him mournfully a still adieu; Nanna, Balder’s Wife, sent ‘a thimble’ to her mother as a memorial: Balder never could return!— —Is not this an emblem? Old Portress Modgudr, I take it, is Dryasdust in Norse petticoat and hood; a most unlovely beldame, the ‘Vexer of Minds’!
We will here take final leave of our impatient friend, occupied in this almost desperate enterprise of his; we will wish him, which it is very easy to do, more patience, and better
