7 



of Delight. How pertinaciously this idea of a divine garden 

 has woven itself into nearly every great religion of mankind. 

 With the early Hebrews and the later Christians it was ever 

 the Garden of Eden. In ancient Greece, with the gods on 

 high Olympus and the heroes and their followers, it was the 

 Garden of Hesperides; in every mirage conjured up by his 

 heat-wracked imagination, the faithful Mahommedan sees 

 the waving palms of his Irem, promised to the sons of Allah 

 in the Koran and sung by the Eastern poets; while the old 

 Norse Vikings saw their Odin and their Frigga, their Loki 

 and their beautiful white Baldur in Asgard, and in Asgard 

 their Baldur suffered his tragic death as a consequence of 

 Odin's folly and Loki's hate. Baldur was to Asgard what 

 Apollo was to Olympus and what Ra was to the land of the 

 Lily and the Lotus, — the majestic and well-beloved god of 

 the sun. So much did Odin wish to preserve and prolong the 

 life of Baldur and to put off that evil day when darkness 

 should rule instead of light, that he sent his royal messengers 

 hither and yon throughout creation, pledging all things both 

 great and small to bring no harm to Baldur. Nothing was 

 too imposing, too dignified, too trustworthy; nothing too 

 small, too insignificant or too mean. Every nook and comer 

 was ransacked, every hill and valley traversed; every tree 

 in the forest, every flower in the garden, the birds in the 

 branches and the beasts in their lairs, all, all were sworn to 

 bring no harm to Baldur. Thinking the search complete and 

 immunity assured, a festival was called in Asgard where gods 



/ 



i 



/ 



y/i\ 



