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THE PROPHECY OF VALA, by                    
First Line: I have walked with the fates and the furies 'mid
Last Line: "fare you well! I go—I go!'"
Alternate Author Name(s): Doten, Lizzie
Subject(s): Mythology; Prophecy & Prophets


I HAVE walked with the Fates and the Furies 'mid the wrecks of the mighty Past,
I have stood in the giant shadows which the ages have backward cast,
And I've heard the voices of prophets come down in a lengthening chain,
Translating the Truth Eternal, and making its meaning plain;
Backward still, ever backward, 'mid wreck and ruin I trod,
Seeking Life's secret sources, and the primal truths of God.

"Tell me," I cried, "O Prophet, thou shade of the mighty Past,
What of the Truth in the future? Is its horoscope yet cast?
Thou didst give it its birth and being, thou didst cradle it in thy breast—

Show me its shining orbit, and the place of its final rest!"

A sound like the restless earthquake! a crash like the "crack of doom"!
And a fiery fulmination streamed in through the frightened gloom.
I stood in the halls of Odin, and the great All Father shone
Like the centre and sun of Being, 'mid the glories of his throne;
And Thor, with his mighty hammer, upraised in his giant hand,
Stood ready to wake the thunder at his sovereign Lord's command.

"Ho, Thor!" said the mighty Odin, "our omens are all of ill,
For the dragon gnaweth sharply at the roots of Yggdrasill;
I hear the wild Valkyrien, as they shriek on the battle-plain,
And the moans of the faithful Nornen, as they weep over Baldur slain.
A woe to the serpent Loké, and to Hörder's reckless ruth,
For Goodness is slain of Evil, and Falsehood hath conquered Truth!
Now call thou on mystic Vala, as she sleeps in the grave of Time,
Where the hoary age hath written her name in a frosty rime;
She can tell when the sun will darken, when the stars shall cease to burn,
When the sleeping dead shall waken, and when Baldur shall return."

A sound like the rushing tempest, and the wondrous hammer fell,
And the great Heimskringla shuddered, and swayed like a mighty bell.
There were mingled murmurs and discords, like the wailing of troubled souls;
Like the gnomes at their fiery forges—like the howlings of restless ghouls.

Then out of the fiery covert of the tempest and the storm,
Like a vision of troubled slumber, came a woman's stately form.
There fell a hush as at midnight, when the sheeted dead awake,
And even the silence shuddered, as her words of power she spake:

"Mighty Odin, I am Vala,
I have heard your thunder-call,
I have heard the woful wailing
Sounding forth from Wingolf's hall;
And I know that beauteous Baldur,
Loved of all the gods, is slain—
That the evil Loké triumphs,
And on Hörder rests the stain.
But my words shall fail to tell you
Aught concerning him you mourn,
For the leaves that bear the record
From the Tree of Life are torn;
And while Hecla's fires shall glow,
Or the bubbling Geysers flow,
Of his fate no one shall know—
Understand you this, or no?

"I will sing a solemn Saga,
I will chant a Runic rhyme,
Weave a wild, prophetic Edda,
From the scattered threads of time:
Know, O Odin,—mighty Odin,—
That thy sons shall all be slain,
Where the wild Valkyrien gather,
On the bloody battle plain;
And thy throne itself shall tremble
With the stern, resistless shock,
Which shall rend the world asunder
At the day of Ragnaroc.
Other stars the night shall know,
From the rock shall waters flow,
And from ruin beauty grow.
Understand you this, or no?

"Vainly shall the faithful Nornen
Water drooping Yggdrasill,
For the wrathful, restless dragon
At its roots is gnawing still.
Loké's evil arts shall triumph,
Hörder's eyes be dark with night,
Till the day of re-creation
Brings the buried Truth to light:
Then a greater god than Odin,
Over all the worlds shall reign,
And my Saga's mystic meaning,
As the sunlight shall be plain.
Out of evil good shall grow—
Doubt me not, for time shall show.
Understand you this, or no?
Fare you well! I go—I go!"

There came a voice as of thunder, with a gleam of lurid light,
And the mystic Vala vanished like a meteor of the night;
Then I saw that the truth of the present is but the truth of the past,
But each phase is greater, and grander, and mightier than the last—
That the past is ever prophetic of that which is yet to be,
And that God reveals his glory by slow and distinct degree;
Yet still are the nations weeping o'er the graves of the Truth and Right:
Lo! I summon another Vala—let her prophesy to-night.
With the amaranth, and the myrtle, and the asphodel on her brow,
Still wet with the dew of the kingdom, doth she stand before you now:

"Not with sound of many thunders,
Not with miracles and wonders,
Would I herald forth my coming from the peaceful spirit-shore;
But in God's own love descending,
With your aspirations blending,
I would teach you of the future, that you watch and weep no more.

"God is God from the creation;
Truth, alone, is man's salvation:
But the God that now you worship soon shall be your God no more;
For the soul, in its unfolding,
Evermore its thought remoulding,
Learns more truly, in its progress, 'how to love and to adore!'

"Evil is of Good, twin brother,
Born of God, and of none other:
And though Truth seems slain of Error, through the ills that men deplore,
Yet, still nearer to perfection,
She shall know a resurrection,
Passing on from ceaseless glory, unto glory evermore.

"From the truths of former ages,
From the world's close-lettered pages,
Man shall learn to meet more bravely all the life that lies before;
For the day of retribution
Is the final restitution
Of the good, the true, the holy, which shall live forevermore!
'Understand you this, or no?
Fare you well! I go—I go!'"





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