Thor monologue — The Death of Balder

Before my eyes are murky shadows flitting. A mortal youth, with blood of Asa crimson'd! The fight and death of gods, the fall of Asgara! Hear, son of Odin, wretched slave of passion, Think not that dreams, that magic's foul deception, That spectres of the night my brain bewilder; And oh! think not that merely chance has led me To Balder's presence, and to these high forests! I sought thee, came with speed to give thee warning: Fear, then! It is thy friend, 'tis Thor, who's speaking! And on my lips I bear the words of Odin. Thou know'st there grows in night's mysterious valley A tree, as yet by men or gods seen never; It bears a bough, which bough, when once 'tis harden'd In Nastroud's flames, can slay thee.