Rota monologue — The Death of Balder

Think'st thou to thwart the Norna's will, young hero? She pointed out the hidden tree; she bade me Break off the bough of death; she bade me harden Its point in Nastroud's flames; she-- But what will I? My tears are wasted, like thy noble project. Well, then: use thou this spear! Death is its surname, And whom it smites eternal sleep shall fetter In Haelheim's silent night, if he is mortal; The immortal demon, whose eye by hate and wickedness Is clouded, 'twill plunge to torments of a thousand winters. Mark that, and use it well! Thy breast is noble; But him, the wretch! who breathest poison in it, (Full well I know he's near) him shalt thou punish.