A deep hush fell on all created things, and every eye was fixed on the
great ship riding near the shore, and on the funeral pyre rising from
the deck crowned with the forms of Balder and Nanna. Suddenly a gleam of
light flashed over the water; the pile had been kindled, and the flames,
creeping slowly at first, climbed faster and faster until they met over
the dead and rose skyward.
A lurid light filled the heavens and shone on the sea, and in the
brightness of it the gods looked pale and sad, and the circle of giants
grew darker and more portentous. Thor struck the fast burning pyre with
his consecrating hammer, and Odin cast into it the wonderful ring
Draupner. Higher and higher leaped the flames, more and more desolate
grew the scene; at last they began to sink, the funeral pyre was
consumed. Balder had vanished forever, the summer was ended, and winter
waited at the doors.
Meanwhile Hermod was riding hard and fast on his gloomy errand. Nine
days and nights he rode through valleys so deep and dark that he could
not see his horse. Stillness and blackness and solitude were his only
companions until he came to the golden bridge which crosses the river
Gjol. The good horse Sleipner, who had carried Odin on so many strange
journeys, had never travelled such a road before, and his hoofs rang
drearily as he stopped short at the bridge, for in front of him stood
its porter, the gigantic Modgud.
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