The shadows groan on the ways of Hel, until
the fire of Surt has consumed the tree. Hrym steers from the east, the
waters rise, the mundane snake is coiled in jotun-rage. The worm heats
the water, and the eagle screams; the pale of beak tears carcases; the
ship Naglfar is loosed. Surt from the south comes with flickering flame;
shines from his sword the Val-god's sun_.'"
Swaying there like a furred Valkyrie above the final carnage of men and
gods, she touched his imagination, and the blood surged exultingly along
unknown channels, thrilling and uplifting.
"'_The stony hills are dashed together, the giantesses totter; men tread
the path of Hel, and heaven is cloven. The sun darkens, earth in ocean
sinks, fall from heaven the bright stars, fire's breath assails the
all-nourishing tree, towering fire plays against heaven itself_.'"
Outlined against the blazing air, her brows and lashes white with frost,
the jewel-dust striking and washing against hair and face, and the
south-sun lighting her with a great redness, the man saw her as the
genius of the race. The traditions of the blood laid hold of him, and he
felt strangely at one with the white-skinned, yellow-haired giants of the
younger world. And as he looked upon her the mighty past rose before
him, and the caverns of his being resounded with the shock and tumult of
forgotten battles.
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