The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Gods of the North, an epic poem, by Adam Œhlenschläger, translated by William Edward Frye.

What joys Valhalla’s realm pervade!

In brilliant nuptial dress array’d,

A last farewell bids Gerda now

To forest, rock, and vale below.

Towards Bifrost bridge ascends the fair;

Like shooting star she cleaves the air.

On heaven’s exterior bulwark stand

In pride of place th’ Asynior bland:

And when their scrutinizing eye

Survey’d the darling choice of Frey,

As full in Asgard’s view she came,

Vanish’d at once each latent flame

Of envy, sullenness, and pride,

And all admired the graceful bride.

Her glossy ringlets ebon dark

A contrast not unpleasing mark

With the bright locks of golden hue,

Which down the Disar’s shoulders flow.

They welcome her with tones of love,

And lead her straight to Freya’s grove:

Gluing to Gerda’s lips of rose

Her own, what joy each Disa shows!

And every Asa courts the bliss

Her well-turned lily hand to kiss.

Of Frey’s content I need not speak,

Therein must fail my harpings weak.

He who hath courted, and hath known

What ’tis to call his maid his own,

He knows and feels it too; while naught

Can by the art of Scald be taught.

But such sensation, youth! if thou

Yet knowest not, go learn it now!

And when in thy fond maiden’s arms,

Thou gloatest on her radiant charms,

And feelst ’twere primest ecstacy

Or thus to live, or thus to die,

Then wouldst thou know, and couldst reveal

The joys that Frey and Gerda feel.

Here ends my song of love; too soon

My harp must sound with diff’rent tone:

Oft from the lay sweet echoes spring,

As from the little bird in spring,

When, flutt’ring through the beechen grove,

He fills the air with notes of love.

Oft too its tones the ear assail

With sound as harsh as that of whale,

When he, through ice-bergs struggling, blows

And snorts amain with giant throes.

Like foam, the words then hurried fly,

Which from his nostrils mounts the sky,

And forms a column gleaming bright

Amidst the lurid clouds of night.

The sweetest plant of joy beneath

Lurks oft, alas! the germ of death!

Misfortune soon its power assumes;

And ’midst the liveliest joys and fumes

Of pleasure on the marriage night

Intrudes with livid face, Affright!

True, shouts of joy Valhalla shook;

But sudden, springing from a nook,

Fenris the wolf, with eye of flame,

Unwelcome guest, to the banquet came:

He paced around with fiendish grin,

Snapping at every Asa’s chin:

And oft with unremitting spite

The Disar’s legs he strove to bite.

But Odin, weary of this bane,

Possessing now the mystic chain

Wherewith to bind the hateful beast,

To Heimdal whisper’d his behest;

And quick transferr’d the magic band

Into that faithful Asa’s hand.

Heimdal, he knew, had skill and wit;

To cope with Fenris none more fit:

And next to Lok he boasts the pow’r

In jesting to beguile the hour.

The wit of Heimdal, void of hate

Or malice, bloom’d like violet:

But not innocuous Loptur’s jest,

Like thorn, it lacerates the breast.

Heimdaller, holding now the band

Slender as bowstring in his hand,

Approach’d the wolf, and with a smile:

“Let us,” said he, “the time beguile,

Since, banish’d to the realm of Hel,

Sorrow and hate have bid farewell

For ever to Valhalla’s court,

With some diverting manly sport!

In honour of Frey’s nuptial feast

Let each some art that suits him best

Exert to please the gods! and thou,

My wolf! thy feats of strength mayst show:

For deeds of strength they all admire;

And thou must, sure, the prize acquire.”

“Yes!” grinn’d maliciously the wolf:

“What thou hast said is true enough:

The hammer, when by strength or skill

Unexercised, is useless still.

But first allow me to demand,

What means that fetter in thy hand?

Thou Asa with the golden tooth!

Wouldst bind me like a dog, forsooth?”

“He, who hath power himself to free,

Cannot be fetter’d easily:

The slave is bound; but in the hand

Of strength an honourable band

Becomes the fetter:” (thus replied

Heimdaller.) “And since ’tis thy pride

The strongest iron bars to gnaw

In two, as if ’twere so much straw,

Permit me, to afford delight

To Odin and the Disar bright,

To bind thee with this brittle chain,

Which thou canst surely bite in twain.”

And now the wolf began to look

Around him for his father Lok;

But all in vain; no Lok was there;

The hateful beast then scowl’d with fear,

And sunk his tail, and show’d his tooth,

And loll’d his tongue from his frothy mouth.

Then howl’d he forth in tones of spite:

“I will not thus be bound to-night:

Go thy way, artful Heimdal! go!

Methinks, it is not needful now

On such a cord my strength to use,

Thor, Frey, and Odin to amuse.

On bars of brass or iron they

Have seen me oft my strength display.

If forged by common art that cord,

No pleasure would such feat afford:

But if by magic spell ’twere made,

Then foully were the wolf betray’d.”

Heimdaller blush’d: but Asa-Tyr,

The youthful page devoid of fear,

When Heimdal’s cheek so red he view’d,

In anger bit his lips to blood.

He griev’d to see an Asa droop,

Unable with the wolf to cope,

And from the contest forced to fly

In silence and humility.

To humble the malignant beast,

Himself now enter’d in the list,

And cried aloud: “Come, wolf! behold!

My hand as hostage thou shalt hold!

While round thy limbs the cord is laced,

Within thy mouth shall it be placed,

And lying at thy mercy there,

Nor trick nor fraud hast thou to fear.”

On Tyr’s presumption every god

Astonish’d look’d: he tranquil stood.

Now Thor thus whisper’d: “Youthful friend!

What rashness! what dost thou pretend?

Thy courage, certes, I admire,

But naught a hero can aspire

To do without his hand.” “No fear

I feel, thou cautious one!” said Tyr.

“Thy counsel sage I need not now;

Two hands, perhaps, requirest thou,

But thou shalt see, and frankly own,

That Tyr can do with one alone.”

Thus said, his dexter hand the youth

Into the wolf’s wide-gaping mouth

Undaunted thrust: the wolf is bound

With the dwarfs’ cord his limbs around.

And now to loose or burst the chain

He struggles hard, but all in vain:

Since naught his utmost powers avail,

The Asar laugh to see him quail.

All laugh’d, excepting Asa-Tyr;

The sport, alas! hath cost him dear,

For, bitten from the wrist, his hand

In Fenris’ bloody jaws remain’d!

But the youth, still undaunted, thrust

The stump into a heap of dust,

And stretching out his arm on high,

He shouts with voice that rends the sky:

“Now first my strength innate I feel;

Hard was the trial, yet ’tis well.

Now to Vaulunder’s forge I’ll go,

And he will make for Tyr, I know,

A hand of iron, fit to wield

Or glaive or mace i’ th’ bloody field:

What foes will dare the chief environ,

Whose hand and glaive are both of iron?”

Thus said, he left in haste the hall,

Much pitied by the Disar all.

They thought: “O what a valiant youth!

Thor’s fame he will eclipse, forsooth.”

But Gerda’s thoughts alone on Frey

Were fix’d; both breath’d a tender sigh,

And hied them to the shady grove

To revel in the joys of love.

On Thor now Odin cast a look;

Thor silent stood; then Odin spoke:

“This is too much! is’t then our doom

Brutal as giants to become?

O rueful act! what boots, my friend,

Courage by reason unrestrain’d?

Lost is thy hammer in the wave,

And Frey hath giv’n away his glaive,

That glaive which caused a mortal chill,

And whose bare look sufficed to kill;

Now in the mountain cave it lies,

And giants learn its worth to prize.

True, the wolf Fenris is trepann’d,

But Tyr hath lost his dexter hand;

Ran in the ocean rules her lord,

And Skada shares the power with Niord.”

Thus said, As-Odin slowly rose;

His robe around his limbs he throws:

Vingolf he leaves with gloomy mind,

But Asa-Thor remains behind.

He sits with hand beneath his chin,

And eyes the wolf with looks of spleen,

But both keep silence: in the hall

The waiting-damsels enter all,

To quench the lights; in darkness now

The god must sit with wrinkled brow:

Yet still he fix’d with looks of ire

The wolf, whose eye-balls vomit fire.

Now to a burst of laughter wild

The god gave vent, which Hlidskialf fill’d

With terror; then the hall he left,

And bang’d the door, with fury chaf’d.

He doffs his helmet; through the air

Shines, meteor-like, his streaming hair!

He mounts his car; through heaven he rolls,

And awful thunders shake the poles.

Down on the earth all night he threw

His lightnings; many a one he slew:

Here towns and villages became

A prey to th’ all-devouring flame;

A forest there of oak-trees fum’d,

Down to their very roots consum’d.

The children scream’d; the mothers tore

Their hair; Thor foam’d like angry boar:

And he, who whilom lov’d to save,

Prov’d unrelenting as the grave.

But when at length shone forth the day,

Towards Trudvang’s gate he bent his way;

There Sif receiv’d him in her arms,

And strove to sooth his wild alarms.

The goddess well knew how t’assuage

With bland caress his utmost rage;

She knew his wrath would soon be o’er,

And tenderness resume its power.

Then smiled the earth with tears of dew,

Such as an infant’s face bedew,

Whose father too much wrath has shown

And struck too hard his little one.

Repentance now Thor’s looks bespeak,

And tears roll down his manly cheek,

For he, when calm, was good and kind.

He then sent down on th’ morning wind

Roska and Tialf to Gefion’s [91] strand,

And every circumjacent land,

With gold and silver, to divide

’Mongst those whose dwellings were destroy’d.

The dead he to Valhalla brought,

And next the helpless infants sought

Who perish’d on that fatal night;

And bearing them to Folkvang’s height,

He bless’d them all in Freya’s name,

And chang’d to Alfs they straight became.

Now wings upon their shoulders grew,

And ’midst delights so strange and new,

Meeting again, assembled there

In Freya’s grove, their parents dear,

They sport and play the trees beneath,

Unconscious they had suffer’d death.

Hlesey’s an island of renown;

But now ’tis small, for time and tide,

Batt’ring its base on every side,

Into the sea have plough’d it down;

But great in times of old its worth;

Then Hlesey could the rage abate

Of the fierce Dragon of the north,

Yclept by nations Kattegat.

There, built of finest muscle-shell,

Amidst vast beds of sea-weed bright,

The vaulted hall appears in sight,

Where Ægir ever lov’d to dwell.

While raging Ran o’er ocean flew,

By his pearl-jug was Ægir seen;

And now he drank, and now he blew

For pastime in his conque marine.

Cruel was Ran; frightful her frown;

Like the fell goddess Hela, she

Delighting to destroy, with glee

Spreads out her nets mankind to drown:

But, like th’ unruffled sea, the smile

Of Ægir all creation charms;

And oft doth he the hours beguile,

Soft dallying in a mermaid’s arms.

While Ran afar is storming, he

Basks in the sun at home; his soul

It joys with diamond-pointed pole

To trace runes on the placid sea.

The surf each time reveal’d his joy,

When he behind the rushes prest

(Far from his scolding wife’s annoy)

A billow to his ardent breast.

On Frey and Gerda oft he smiled:

Much did his heart the vision charm

Of the fair couple arm in arm

Indulging in love’s transports wild.

For much the Gods did Ægir prize,

And by the Gods was lov’d full well.

Heaven thus to bathe in Ocean joys,

Who loves its genial ray to feel.

And now he bade them to his feast:

When Rana wander’d far from home,

To banquet in his friendly dome

His friends with eagerness he prest.

In vats of flint and ice profound

His ale and beer the monarch stow’d;

Fish, lobsters, crabs in store were found,

And cook’d in many a diff’rent mode.

No help he needs to deck his board,

For every time he guests invites,

The active Finnafeng delights

To serve as cook his much-lov’d lord.

But little fuel he requires;

The rivers for their monarch toil:

And, warm’d by subterranean fires,

Lo! of itself each spring doth boil.

Where Malstrom whirls with frightful sound

Into its gulf the eddying wave,

That gulf, from which ’tis vain to save,

Whiten’d with foam for leagues around:

There Eldir’s club to atoms breaks

Whatever falls to Ocean’s share;

There Ægir’s mill for ever clacks;

He grinds his wheat and barley there.

To Gerda’s father Asa-Frey

As present gave, we know full well,

The best among the blades of steel,

With which no other arm could vie:

He granted, not to die forlorn

Of love himself, the giant’s prayer;

Gave him his sword, and in return

Receiv’d a nymph of beauty rare.

Much Gerda lov’d her consort Frey;

Apart they never more could dwell:

His portrait Frey did far excel;

He won the greatest victory:

And Gerda then, her love to mark,

Enraptur’d with his graceful mien,

Gave to her friend a wondrous bark,[92]

The like of which was never seen.

Well might the Scald in times of yore

Of Hringhorn,[93] Balder’s vessel, say,

It flew unscathed o’er marsh and sea,

Nor quicksand fear’d, nor rocky shore.

There safely could the Disar fair

Sit by the gods in pomp array’d;

But not the battle’s shock to bear

Was pious Balder’s vessel made.

In time of peace this bark behold

Glide swiftly from its haven gay,

And towards the mart pursue its way

With a rich cargo in its hold!

Of horn is built its lofty prow

With sable shining crooked rings;

And when it flies, each swelling bow

Aside in foam the billow flings.

There is another bark of fame,

’Tis by the giants own’d, we know;

’Tis built of dead-men’s nails, and so

Of Naglefar it boasts the name.[94]

In the morass this vessel lies,

As yet a huge unfinish’d hulk;

Year after year its builder tries

Unwearied to increase its bulk.

All those who from the dead neglect

To cut the nails off foot and hand,

Bring ill-luck to the Asar band,

And mischief cause to rule uncheck’d.

From this the giants an immense

Advantage o’er the gods derive:

By idlesse and improvidence

Thus mischief never fails to thrive.

But for the bark, which Gerda kind

As present to the Asar gave,

It can the wildest storm enslave,

And stiffly sail against the wind:

In armour all the gods can stand

Upon its deck with sword and helm,

And sail from bright Valhalla’s land

To plough the waves in Ægir’s realm.

And when the gods to brave the gale

No longer chuse for pleasure’s sake,

Then Gerda can this vessel take

And fold it up like silken veil.

Then lies it, free from tempest’s shocks,

In Gerda’s bosom (blissful coast!)

And gently ’tween two surges rocks,

Such as the Ocean cannot boast.

The Asar’s voyage to Ægir’s isle

Think now how glorious ’twas to view!

The morning sun rejoicing too

Deign’d warmly on their course to smile.

See silent Vidar by the mast!

And Odin by the rudder stand!

And see, like flowers in vase incased,

In all their charms th’ Asynior bland!

How gently sail’d the bark along,

As on a river; ne’er it lurch’d

Nor plunged: upon the boom was perch’d

Heimdaller; Bragur tuned his song;

Niord waves the standard high in air;

Like subtlest dust ascends the spray:

An awning, framed by Frigga’s care

Of oak leaves, veil’d the solar ray.

Their temples wreaths of flowers adorn;

Nor did there lack amusement good,

For by the gangway naked stood

Young Tyr, as when he first was born:

In his left hand he grasp’d his sword;

A shark enormous hove in sight!

The hero brave jump’d overboard,

With the fell shark to prove his might.

Now must each Disa shake with fear;

The monster bravely fought, in truth;

It open’d wide its frightful mouth,

And snapp’d with fury after Tyr.

But soon doth cease the Disar’s pain,

And gaily now they laugh aloud;

The hero sprung on board again;

Down sank the dying shark in blood.

Ye all do know, the spiteful Ran

Delights with monsters fierce to live:

She to that shark did mandate give

To execute her envious plan:

By her ’twas sent to plague with fear

The guests who sped to Ægir’s hall;

But when the shark was slain by Tyr,

She then dispatch’d a monstrous whale.

Foaming it roll’d impetuous by,

So vast, it seem’d an isle broke loose!

It snorted loud, while from its nose

A wat’ry column spouted high.

But Heimdal lo! for sport in haste

Athwart the wat’ry column flew;

Then brilliant shone, as through he past,

A band of seven-colour’d hue!

Now Vidar standing at the poop

Fix’d with his fearful eye the whale:

At once its powers of mischief fail;

To Vidar’s eye all creatures stoop.

Aloud read Odin many a rune;

The whale must to the bottom go;

For Vidar’s look, like a harpoon,

Had pierced the monster through and through.

’Twas eve: the land begins to loom;

Now Hlesey full in sight appears:

And much it joys Valhalla’s peers

To greet Hler Ægir’s friendly dome.

Like clouds which shooting through the sky

Rush eager towards the wave’s embrace,

Thus lightly did Skidbladner fly,

Its name well suits its worth to trace.

The anchor’s tooth now bit the ground:

The sun its parting radiance shed.

A troop of Mermaids towards them sped,

And sportive swam the bark around:

There three by three those nymphs were seen,

Their arms around each other’s neck,

With flowing hair as rushes green,

And limbs like snow without a speck.

Each with a silver-tissued veil,

And brows with garlands white attired,

Sporting and dancing, never tired,

With songs of joy their guests they hail.

And now the Alfer they invite

To join their train with accents bland:

The bark the thoughtless Alfer quit,

And with their partners haste to land.[95]

They sat by pairs upon the rock:

Each Alf a gallant warrior proved;

The Mermaids like true females loved,

Unshrinking from the amorous shock:

There was no lack of pinching, flouncing,

Of kisses, and embraces warm:

The sound was that of sea-birds pouncing

Amidst a silv’ry herring-swarm.

Hler Ægir sits upon his throne,

With sceptre emblem of his might:

His silver helmet, gleaming bright

With crest in form of Dragon shone.

Yet from this helm so fair to view

Oft came a soul-appalling sound;

’Twas like the tempest howling through

The hollow of a rock profound.

I’ th’ middle of the festive hall,

For night had now obscured the earth,

A lump of gold placed on the hearth

Gave ample light and warmth to all.

The monarch here his friends regales

With what his realm produces best;

And every guest exulting hails

The generous founder of the feast.

But while the gods enjoy’d their feast,

As far as Finnmark’s farthest dale,

Midst fogs, and snow, and sleet, and hail

Flew Asa-Lok like one possest.

Wildly his cheek of corpse-like hue

Contrasted with each ebon lock

Wide streaming through the ether blue,

Like vapours dark at Ragnarok.

Vexation great the caitiff feels,

That Fenris wolf in chains should pine:

But forming quick a bold design,

Bats’ wings he fastened to his heels:

Then to his shoulders wings of owl

With art ingenious making fast,

He seem’d a huge ill-omen’d fowl,

As o’er the rocks and plains he past.

“So! I have not invited been,

Among the rest, to Ægir’s isle:

And, though a god, am held too vile

To figure in that brilliant scene;

But Thor is absent, so ’tis said;

He wanders warring in the east:

Now I’ll mix gravel in their bread,

And spoil the glories of their feast.

“Since I cannot their pleasures share,

Others’ enjoyment I’ll prevent:

While Lok ’s a prey to discontent,

No guest the smiles of joy shall wear.

Ha! they shall soon be made to feel,

No rose is pluck’d without a thorn;

And drops of wormwood I’ll distil

Into each Asa’s drinking-horn.

“Great powers I have not; yet in need

The weakest worm hath force to wound:

My tongue the Disar shall confound,

And floods of tears I’ll make them shed.

Since they’re averse to Asa-Lok,

To make them fear him be my aim:

My gibes obscene their ears shall shock;

My calumnies destroy their fame.

“Who on the power of truth relies

’Gainst slander, will repent full soon;

Since there is but one truth alone

Against a hundred thousand lies.

How easy is it to deceive

Mankind, if we but have the will!

The mass all, that they hear, believe,

And Lok in fraud is master still.”

Such was the restless caitiff’s song,

As sharp he grazed the mountain’s side:

On his best weapon he relied,

His merciless, unwearied tongue.

But, passing by some dwarfs, he paused,

And in his service press’d them all;

Chusing sharp adder’s stings, he caused

His tongue to be belay’d withal.

With garland strange he deck’d his head,

His hair he twisted into horns;

Thereto he added sharpest thorns,

With dark-blue hemlock flowers bespread.

To Hlesey now his course he bent,

And there bold Finnafeng he slew,

Who strove his entrance to prevent

Among the jovial Ægir’s crew.

Sprinkled with Finnafenger’s blood,

He sat him down by Ægir’s gate,

Preparing for the stern debate

With shameless front and accent rude.

Spite of his visage blood-besmear’d,

He rose and enter’d the saloon;

Around him insolent he stared,

And thus he spoke in jeering tone.

“Now hail to ye, ye Disar all!

Hail to ye, gods! Valhalla’s powers!

Without the blast inclement roars,

But here ’tis snug in Ægir’s hall.

Indulging in your evening feast

Fill’d with bright ale each drains his horn:

Despised is the unbidden guest,

But your contempt he laughs to scorn.

“With haughty glances towards the ground,

To answer Lok ye all disdain.

The slave of Ægir I have slain,

His cook for science so renown’d:

To Ægir’s hall he barr’d my way,

But I chastised his insolence:

The slave must, true, his lord obey,

But expiate oft his lord’s offence.

ODIN.

How darest thou, wretch! without a blush

Invade the Asar’s brilliant sphere?

Thou ne’er shalt be invited here!

Thou screeching owl behind the bush!

Avaunt! thou kill-joy! quick retreat,

Nor here thy odious form intrude!

My lance, I swear, when next we meet,

Shall pierce thy heart, and drink thy blood.

LOK.

More kind and decent was thy tone,

When, dress’d as lowly waiting-maid,

Thou turn’dst the silly Rinda’s head,

Heiress of Garderike’s throne:

Clothed in the garment of a slave,

Was conduct that for Odin fit?

Ha! though thou art more wise than brave,

Thy prudence far exceeds thy wit.

BRAGUR.

How darest thou thus presume to vent

On Valhall’s king thy envious spite,

With hair like hedgehog’s quills upright,

And sland’rous tongue on mischief bent?

Valhalla’s rays thy eye-balls sear;

Down then! to realms of darkness hie!

And since the sun thou canst not bear,

For ever from its splendour fly!

LOK.

’Tis not thy menace makes me shrink;

Thy sword rests ever in the sheath;

Useless! except to waste thy breath

In empty boasts, to doze and drink!

Cautious of shedding blood art thou,

To bite less proper than to bay:

When call’d upon to wield the bow,

The valiant Bragur slinks away.

IDUNA.

How dares thy spiteful tongue assail

The god, whose lyre enchants the earth,

Whose lofty song throughout the north

Cheers, like the moon, life’s gloomy vale?

Who raises merit to the skies,

Who points the genuine road to fame;

From evil causes good to rise,

And stamps the Nidding’s act with shame.

LOK.

Why prudish now ’gainst vice protest?

Slow wert thou ’gainst the mountain fiend

Thy precious virtue to defend,

When he thy juicy apples prest:

Fear taught thee to be soft and tame,

Thiasse could tell us how and when;[96]

Of Bragur’s honour, dainty dame!

Thou wert not quite so mindful then.

GEFION.

A dame, more pure and innocent

Than Ydun, nowhere can be found:

’Tis time thy sland’rous tongue were bound,

Yet ’tis to me indifferent.

Foul sower of all calumny!

What wretched harvests must thou reap!

Pursue thy trade! add lie to lie!

I hold thy utmost malice cheap.

LOK.

To men thou’rt scornful, cold, and glum,

But that is while the day shines bright:

’Tis well no power of speech hath night,

And that each forest tree is dumb.

Whene’er behind the bush, proud maid!

Thy limbs thou bathest in the flood;

Thou dost not then disdain, ’tis said,

To cool the water-demon’s blood.

ODIN.

This is too much. I’d have thee know,

The moon’s bright disk thou canst not stain;

That lily fair ’tis labour vain

To soil; ’tis casting coals on snow.

Fly, caitiff, to thy rocks remote!

Cease to disturb the social hour!

Bark, an it give thee joy, without,

Like mastiff chain’d at Ægir’s door!

LOK.

Hold thy tongue, Odin! blind, in troth,

Are thy awards i’ th’ tented field.

The bold must oft to witchcraft yield,

When Odin boils the magic broth.

’Tis thy delight the brave to lower,

And crown with palms the base and mean;

Oft dost thou borrow Mimer’s power,

But seldom his discernment keen.

FRIGGA.

Ha, Lok! dost thou presume to call

The chief, whom all the gods revere,

Alfader’s self, unjust, severe,

And partial, in this sacred hall?

He will not now disturb the peace

Of Ægir’s hospitable board,

But grief he’ll force thee to express

To-morrow for each sland’rous word.

LOK.

Hold thy tongue, Frigga! Asgard’s queen!

From scratching, pain oft follows strait;

Like the queen bee, with many a mate,

But with no king is Frigga seen.

Not sparing of thy charms art thou,

By zephyrs pleas’d to be carest;

In Spring thy looks too plainly show

The longing that pervades thy breast.

FREYA.

O Lok! since wrath hath no effect

The venom of thy tongue to tame,

Let females some exception claim:

Treat them at least with some respect.

Behold, the tears of Freya flow!

Would they could melt thy stubborn hate!

Ah me! what pleasure feelest thou

The gods’ fair fame to lacerate?

LOK.

What causes Freya’s grief? I pray:

Is it from longing I behold

Her cheek bedew’d with tears of gold?

What dost thou long for? Freya, say!

Thy husband fair has fled, ’tis true,

But ’tis not, sure, a hopeless case;

Thou canst find lovers not a few,

Eager and fit to take his place.

But why did Odur break his chain?

Ha, Freya! did he find thy kiss

Too warm, too prodigal of bliss?

Or was it that he felt disdain

For charms which had so oft been bared

And closely scann’d in Valaskialf,

And felt no zest in favours shared

With every Ase and every Alf?

FREY.

Be silent with thy hissing, snake!

With fire-red eye, where malice glows,

Why thus delight to prick the rose,

When thistles grow on every brake?

Why thus calumniate the good?

Why cause a gracious female pain?

Go! hie thee hence to Angurbod,

With locks as coarse as horse’s mane!

LOK.

With cynic lust thine eye still shines;

Tis thou hast Valaskialf betray’d,

O Frey! since with thy sword hath fled

All vigour from thy jaded loins.

Fair Gerda with her luscious kiss

Sucks out, like leech, thy warmest blood;

Each time thou tastest Freya’s bliss,

Much joy it gives to Angurbod.

HEIMDAL.

With the dark wizard ’neath yon rock,

Upon my life, thou must have drank,

And here thou com’st, with liquor rank,

Our ears with ribald taunts to shock.

Thy sparks of wit proceed, I trow,

But from the fumes of mead and ale;

Its emptiness we all do know:

Thy sarcasms here must ever fail.

LOK.

Ha! Lok must now succumb, ’tis plain,

Since pompous Heimdal threatens too;

Think’st thou I fear thy famous bow,

Made of mere vapour, sleet, and rain?

And what is Heimdal’s self, I ask,

When of his gaudy colours shorn?

What is he then behind his mask?

A simple watchman with his horn!

BALDER.

Behind thy ribaldry so coarse,

I can discern a vein of wit,

And genius too for all things fit,

Did virtue lend her sterling force.

Like Will o’ Wisp with spurious light,

Thou friskest the deep marsh about;

While others thou wouldst fain benight,

Thy own fantastic flame goes out.

LOK.

The lamb doth scarce compassion meet;

Coward, he lets himself be slain:

Lok ne’er before his foes will deign,

Lamb-like, in piteous strains to bleat.

Vain, Balder, is that rule of thine,

Patience and piety to use;

He only bows at virtue’s shrine,

Whose arm is weak and wit obtuse.

Vidar spoke not, but earnest stared

Full in the face of Asa-Lok;

The caitiff instant felt the shock,

With quiv’ring lip and visage scared.

The water-spout with gloomy frown,

Thus column-like from heaven doth come,

With thick shoes stamps old Ocean down,

And scatters far the billow’s scum.

Now black the vault of heaven became;

Athwart the vapours thick and close,

While Loptur’s blood with terror froze,

Glitter’d afar a lurid flame!

Of thunder now tremendous peals

Shake earth and make the billows roar,

And every one instinctive feels

With awe th’ approach of Asa-Thor!

Lok sigh’d and sweated now with fear,

Yet still his terror he conceal’d;

At length the lightning’s glare reveal’d

The white-hair’d goats and golden car.

But when Thor full in view appear’d,

Lok’s colour fled, his spirits fail’d;

At sight of the majestic beard

Of ebon hue, the traitor quail’d.

THOR.

Be silent, thou of sland’rers worst,

Who striv’st the Asar’s fame to soil!

Ne’er doth thy Nidding’s brain recoil

From hatching some vile scheme accurst.

But come, I’ll put an end full soon

To all thy schemes of treach’ry fell;

To Utgard’s shades I’ll cast thee down,

And bind thee fast with chains of Hel.

LOK.

I tremble not; I turn not pale;

Thou hast not got thy Miölner now;

Thy genuine hammer lies, we know,

Buried beneath the serpent’s scale.

Aye! spite of all thy godlike vigour,

Oft didst thou, Thor, my pity move;

I laugh’d to see the silly figure

Thou mad’st in Skrymur’s sweaty glove.[97]

THOR.

Be silent, thou pestiferous cloud,

That striv’st to damp celestial fire!

Thou’lt find, no hammer I require

To punish thee and all thy brood.

Behold that pine on yon high rock!

Thereon I’ll hang thy odious form;

All creatures shall thy suff’rings mock,

Traitor! when dangling in the storm.

LOK.

Methinks it is no longer fit

That Lok should throw away his jests;

My songs were meant for jovial guests,

For those who value mirth and wit.

The other gods with temper hear

My gibes, and like my humour well;

But Thor a joke could never bear:

’Tis time I bid ye all farewell.

Thus said, he plunges in the sea;

Swift as an eel he scuds along:

But after him, by anger stung,

Thor hurl’d a lightning’s forked ray.

But Lok intent his limbs to save,

Deep under water bow’d his head;

Innocuous ’midst the boiling wave

The thund’rer’s flaming arrow sped.

Thus as, when vanish clouds and rain,

The air breathes more serene and mild,

Each lovely Disa gracious smil’d;

Joy colour’d high their cheeks again.

Freed from the wretch, their torment dire,

They pass the night in dance and song;

And strains from Ægir’s golden lyre

Re-echo loud the rocks among.

CANTO XXV.
SKIRNIR FULFILS HIS ERRAND.

CANTO XXVI.
THE WOLF FENRIS AND TYR.

CANTO XXVII.
THE BANQUET OF ÆGIR.

CANTO XXV. SKIRNIR FULFILS HIS ERRAND.

CANTO XXVI. THE WOLF FENRIS AND TYR.

CANTO XXVII. THE BANQUET OF ÆGIR.

CANTO XXV.
SKIRNIR FULFILS HIS ERRAND.

CANTO XXVI.
THE WOLF FENRIS AND TYR.

CANTO XXVII.
THE BANQUET OF ÆGIR.