CANTO IX.
THOR’S FISHING ADVENTURE.

Lo! coil’d in folds voluminous and vast,
Behind huge beds of coral buried fast,
Far in the deepest cavern of the sea,
The Midgard serpent Jormundgardur lay!
While o’er him free and active sports the whale,
He foams, and with vexation bites his tail.
Lashing the coast, his body mines the rock;
The waters mount; earth feels the frequent shock;
Nastrond wide gapes, and Hecla vomits smoke!
With flames of joy the ice-crown’d mountain glows,
While down its side the liquid lava flows!
There, while the wave drips from his shaggy mane,
Lok’s frightful offspring doth his post maintain:
There doth he lie, and heave, and pant, and rock,
Impatient for the day of Ragnarok.
But lo! his sluggish eye he opens wide,
And marks the Asa’s bait before him glide:
The bull’s head floating ’fore his mouth he sees,
And eager his fell hunger to appease,
Prepares with swallow wide the tempting bait to seize.
When at his belt Thor feels a vig’rous pull,
The snake has bitten, and his gorge is full.
Thor towards him draws the belt: the serpent’s head,
With weeds, the growth of centuries, bespread,
Must needs the will of Asa Thor obey,
And rise perforce to view the light of day;
The anchor to disgorge in vain he toils,
And struggling hard in knots his body coils.
In vain; Thor is a fisherman endow’d
With perseverance, strength, and hardihood;
The serpent pow’rless with extended jaws
Must blindly follow, when the Asa draws.
But when above the wave appears his head,
Earth trembles with astonishment and dread;
The sky is overcast with sudden gloom,
And mix’d with sand the billows swell and foam.
When high in air protrude his long fore-teeth,
All nature shrinks, infected by his breath:
Small is his left, and large his dexter eye;
His scales present a many-colour’d die:
His jaws wide gape, his palate swells with pain;
As wont, like fighting cock, he screams amain:
The dryness of his throat with sultry heat
Charges the air—now threatens to upset
The fragile bark; but Thor around his loins
Tighter and tighter still his girdle twines:
Naught fears the god, whom heroes all revere;
He puts forth all his strength, and shines without compeer.
Towards him he pulls his prey with effort rude;
The serpent writhes, his jaws are fill’d with blood;
The bark is swamp’d; but lo! on shallow ground
The chief already has a station found,
And drags the monster forth from the abyss profound.
The monster shakes and bellows; from his eye
Shoot flames; but Thor, the fisher good stands nigh,
And threatens Nastrond’s brood with hammer lifted high
When now the giant saw the danger grave,
Thus with himself he reason’d: “I must save
This serpent, for the sake of Jotunheim:
For is it not foretold in mystic rhyme,
At Ragnarok this snake with pois’nous breath
Thor, our arch-enemy, will crush to death?”
The wolf-faced giant, vex’d his bark to lose,
And anxious from the hook the captive snake to loose,
His dagger grasping (fashion’d ’twas with skill
By the dwarf’s labour) strives the belt to file;
But Thor, with his vast hammer rising now:
Strikes at the monster’s head a fearful blow.
Deep was the sound! the pines along the shore
Scatter their leaves; and loud the billows roar!
Fresh ’midst the murky skies the rainbow glows;
Heimdal rejoicing loud his clarion blows!
The rain comes hissing down, the lightning glares;
The sun’s bright eye, but lately fill’d with tears,
Bursts through the blanket of the dark, to view
The Asa’s valour, and his triumph too.
On high now Thor his hammer lifts again:
The giant shakes with fear; the serpent yells with pain.
Though still the giant strives the belt to file
With his sharp dagger, naught avails his toil;
Now on the anchor he would fain essay
His force; and, wading fish-like, bends his way,
To where, still struggling hard, the hook-bound serpent lay.
He puts forth all his strength, and files: the sight
Makes Heimdal tremble, e’en from Bifrost’s height.
Now dark as pitch become the heavens, for lo!
Filed by the giant’s steel, the anchor bursts in two!
The serpent freed now sinks beneath the main,
And hark! resounds a loud triumphal strain;
’Tis Loptur’s[41] daughter, who the gods on high
Insults with gibing laugh, and bitter mockery.
Inland the giant towards his mountain flies:
Up to his waist in water Aukthor cries,
And fills with imprecations dire the skies.
Now through the yeasty wave he wades; his rage
And deep vexation nothing can assuage:
He hurls his lightning o’er th’ affrighted main,
And still he hopes, and thinks the monster serpent slain.
The serpent ’midst the rushes roll’d and raved,
Severely wounded, though his life was saved:
Again his crest he raises, on the rock
Again he lies, and waits for Ragnarok.
Now in his fury Thor his hammer threw
After the serpent: deep the nib pierced through
The monster’s flank; the gods beheld with pain
Such glorious feats of strength deploy’d in vain.
Now Thor without his hammer homeward hies:
Between the serpent’s scales deep-buried Miölner lies.

CANTO X.
LOK BECOMES ENAMOURED OF SIF.

With pensive look
In Valaskialf sits Asa-Lok:
His head hangs down; his spirits fail;
To cheer him naught Valhalla’s joys avail:
The mead hath lost its wonted zest;
Sâhrimner’s flesh he scorns to taste.
Naught good his gloomy look betides;
The Asar he unceasingly derides.
Whene’er on Asa-Thor he thinks,
His dusky front in wrinkles sinks.
“On fresh adventure art thou started,
Thou mighty one!
And this time all alone;
Naught of thy plan hast thou to Lok imparted.”
Tis flattering to his pride
In arms to follow Asa-Thor,
And carry, by the hero’s side,
The iron gauntlets of the god of war.
As round the oak fast twining thrives
The mistletoe, that supple parasite,
And strength and growth therefrom derives:
Thus Asa-Lok, the artful wight,
Clings to the god, although with hate
He views him; hoping some bright beam
Of Thor’s renown on him may gleam,
And shed some lustre on his humbler state.
As, gleaning from the sun its light,
The moon dispels the gloom of night:
Thus doth the cunning Loptur aim
To shine with Aucthor’s borrow’d fame:
While Askur’s race know not the truth,
And equal homage pay to both.
He sits at th’ entrance of a grot:
A stream transparent murmurs near.
To bathe in this sequester’d spot
The lovely Disar oft repair.
By cowardice and treachery
Alone is Loptur known to fame;
The Disar all abhor his name,
And ever from his presence fly:
Love’s arrows keen he oft doth prove,
But never meets return of love.
Now towards the brook th’ Asynior pass;
They dance in couples on the grass.
With Siofna her beloved child
See Freya dance in measure wild!
See Eir Iduna fond embrace,
And o’er the mead the mystic circle trace!
Now as in mazy rounds they wheel,
Their robes fall off, and all their charms reveal.
Now Loptur from his lurking place
Gloats on each feature, charm, and grace;
His ravish’d eyes at leisure scan
All that can tempt the heart of man:
The semi-globes of each voluptuous breast,
The well turn’d haunches, and the slender waist:
The Disar little thought that Lok
Enjoy’d the sight with prying look.
Like swans they sail adown the stream,
Attended by their handmaids fair:
Like birds of passage now they seem,
Who seek a softer clime and milder air.
Now round each other’s loins their arms they wreathe;
Like wild ducks now they dive the stream beneath:
Their snow-white arms they oft employ,
Like fishes’ fins, to stem the wave;
The wave transported foams with joy,
Such graceful-fashion’d limbs to lave.
But who of these in Loptur’s eyes
In beauty bears away the prize?
Thor’s consort, Sif, he most admires;
For ne’er his roving eyes could find
Such beauty with such strength combined:
His veins with wildest flames she fires.
In charms this goddess yields to none,
Except to Freya; she alone
(To whom Alfader, when he meant
To fill the world with ravishment,
Gave life and being) doth surpass
Fair Sif in beauty and in grace.
Sif cannot boast that mild soft beam
In th’ azure eye, that melts all hearts,
E’en like the moon, when it imparts
To beechen grove its silver gleam;
Strong limb’d and with majestic mien,
She shines a lofty heroine;
And Sif all tongues aloud proclaim
A true high-minded northern dame.
Her shoulders broad so milky white,
Her juicy, plump, and well-turn’d arms
Are fit for love’s or war’s alarms,
T’ embrace, or to defend her right.
These shoulders fascinate Lok’s eyes,
He views her with extreme surprize;
Her haughty look excites in him
A passion never felt before;
With gloating eye he scans each limb,
And sinks a slave to Astrild’s power.
The arches of her eye-brows meet;
This would all other dames disfigure;
But naught doth this her charms defeat,
But adds to each peculiar vigour:
For in her awe-inspiring gaze
Her lofty soul itself pourtrays.
Proud and indifferent to desire,
No passion seems her breast to fire;
Not small her hands, but dainty white
Like swan’s-down, or new fallen-snow;
Her nails like polish’d almonds grow;
On well-turn’d feet her tow’ring height
Securely stands; her hair loose streaming
Down to her feet descends, with golden radiance gleaming.
Behind the bush conceal’d,
Are all these charms to Lok reveal’d.
Then thus he thought: What pleasure should I prove
To be encircled by such arms!
To taste all those luxurious charms,
And in the beechen grove—revel in joy and love!
Close to my lips those coral lips I’d glue,
Those lips, which offer to my ravish’d view
Teeth fine as pearls, and whiter far, I trow,
Than any beast of prey can show.
What tumult fires my blood!
Oh! that I could,
While Thor is gone a-fishing far,
Fish him to shame in the same bath with her!
Thus thinks the lustful treach’rous elf,
And still behind the bush conceals himself:
For Sif her dwelling soon will seek,
Which lies midst Dovre’s rocks so bleak,
Where fir-trees undulate with many a spire:
Her robes resuming quick, the Disa veils
Each charm, while passion Loptur’s breast assails
With still increasing fire.
She claps her helm her golden locks upon,
Which, moisten’d by the wave, less brilliant shone.
Now far inland she climbs the mountain steep:
Lok follows after cautious and unseen.
Arrived at her abode in the sequester’d glen,
The rustling waterfall lulls Sifia soon to sleep.
The wind invading now the bower
With burning kisses dries her hair,
And gives back to those tresses fair
Their golden tinge and magic power.

CANTO XI.
CONVERSATION BETWEEN LOK AND SIF.

LOK.
Pardon the lowly slave of love,
Whom thy enchanting form inspires
Once more to plead in amorous strain!
O that thy heart would deign to prove
The fervour that my bosom fires,
And urge thy will to soothe my pain!
SIF.
LOK.
To catch the fish the worm is held;
The trap ensnares the artful fox:
All to some tempting bait must yield;
Lok is allured by female locks.
SIF.
To thy own wife, to Sigyn hie!
In flowing locks descends her raven hair:
Or Angurbod with fond caresses ply!
She will not, sure, refuse thy couch to share.
LOK.
Whene’er with thirst we languish,
And no delicious fruit is nigh,
The sourest apple to assuage our anguish
We pluck, and swallow greedily:
But when such charms as thine, O Disa dear!
Before our ravish’d eyes appear,
Who would not?—but while thou in sleep
Indulgest, Thor goes fishing on the deep:
Thoughtless of home he braves the gale,
And with the giant bobs for whale.
While he that wild career pursues,
Do thou a softer pastime chuse!
With foliage soft is fill’d thy bower—
Love points—propitious smiles the hour.
SIF.
Hast thou forgot in Mimer’s fane
The banquet held? with amorous pray’r
My heart thou strovest to ensnare;
What was my answer? cold disdain.
I am not changed; and Sif bestows
Once more contempt on all thy vows.
But be advised, and quickly flee!
Thor may return, and on a tree
He’d quick suspend thy odious form,
To dangle in the midnight storm.
The Disa spoke: indignant pride
Inflamed her look; she turn’d aside.
And reckless of her suitor’s pain
To sleep address’d herself again.
Her golden tresses in profusion
From the bedside hung streaming down,
While Lok with anger and confusion
Beheld all chance of conquest flown.
But when her forehead’s grove appears
In sight, by vengeance fired, the shears
He takes, and with malignant pleasure
Lops from her head its golden treasure.
Aloft the caitiff bears away
With outspread wings his gorgeous prey!
How meteor-like the tresses gleam,
As through the murky heavens they stream!
And falling down, where’er he flew,
Give to the corn its golden hue!
Where’er he flew, down fell the hair
In flakes, and tinged with colour fair
The peasant-maidens’ locks, who dwell
On Hertha’s isle or Guldbrand’s dale.
Their locks of yore were black as jet,
As Finnish women bear them yet:
But now their tresses’ golden die
May well with Freya’s, or with Gefion’s vie.

CANTO XI.
LOK’S CONVERSATION WITH SIF.

An attempt to translate the 11th canto in the alliterative metre of the Icelandic or ancient Scandinavian poetry, something in the style of the original.

LOK.
Forgive love’s lowly
Liegeman, O Sifia!
Again thy beauty
His bosom burns.
O that my passion,
Pleading for pity,
Could chafe thy fainter
Feelings to flame!
SIF.
Through holes creep rats
Restless roving;
The thief undoeth
Dextrous the door;
Sleep is not safe from
The snares of Loki,
Who with lust leering
Lurks in my bower.
LOK.
With hooks bait-blinded
Beguiled are fishes;
In traps fallacious
Oft foxes fall;
By locks luxuriant
Of lovely females
Seduced, e’en subtle
Loki succumbs.
SIF.
Go seek thy own spouse
Soft-hearted Sigyn,
Wreathing in raven
Ringlets her hair!
Or to thy jet-black
Giantess hie thee!
She to thy wanton
Wishes will yield.
LOK.
By hunger harass’d
Haws must content us,
When no well-flavour’d
Fruit we can find.
Be not disdainful,
Delicate Disa!
Hear with complacent
Pity my prayer!
On the high seas with
Hymir, thy husband
Sits in the wherry,
Wheedling the whale:
Or, of home reckless,
Roves by the rivers,
Intent the silv’ry
Salmon to snare.
While he his own way
Wilfully wanders,
Do thou more pleasing
Pastime pursue!
Thy blooming bower is
Bestrew’d with foliage;
The hour so long’d for
Lures us to love.
SIF.
Of Mimer’s bounteous
Banquet bethink thee,
When thou to Sifia
Sigh’dst forth thy suit!
This time again fate
Frowns on thy frolic;
Vain are thy vows to
Vanquish my heart.
Get thee hence, heartless
Hater of Asar!
Thund’ring terrific,
Thor travels home:
To loftiest larch-tree
Lash’d, he’ll suspend thee
Mournful to moulder
In midnight storms.
Thus the disdainful
Disa derided
Her lustful lover’s
Languishing suit:
Turning away from
The fiend false-hearted,
Sinks the fair Sifia
Softly to sleep.
But now the fraudful
Felon’s eye fixes
From the bedside her
Hair hanging down:
From the head of Sifia
(Seizing her scissors)
Clips he its golden
Glittering grove.
Through airy regions
Rapidly rising,
Loptur licentious
Launches his flight:
Proud of his precious
Prey, he deploys it;
Like shooting star, he
Scuds through the sky.
Thus shone the recreant
Ravisher roaming,
Vaulting thro’ veering
Vapours of night:
For though in murky
Mists mourn’d the heavens,
Sifia’s locks dismal
Darkness dispell’d.
Where’er he flew, in
Flakes fell the hair down
O’er Hertha’s fertile
Flower-crown’d fields;
Stiff’ning the wheat-stalks
Wide-around waving,
Yarely with yellow
Gilding the green.
Where’er he flew, in
Flakes fell the hair down.
Gleaming on Guldbrand’s
Grain-cover’d vale:
Now on each lively
Lassie it lowers,[42]
Tinging with topaz
Tresses of jet.
Of yore in ringlets
Raven-hued rolling,
Their hair o’ershadowed
Shoulders of snow:
Now they display their
Tresses triumphant,
Golden, like Gefion’s,
Like Freya’s, fair.

CANTO XII.
LOK PROCURES THINGS OF VALUE FROM THE DWARFS.

Lok sat in his hall and thought on his deed,
With his vengeance well content;
But Sif, o’er the lake as she bow’d her head,
To a flood of tears gave vent:
For no more in ringlets she now can wreathe
Her hair so golden, so shining;
When her face she view’d in the stream beneath,
She never could cease repining.
But Lok sat under the green-wood tree,
Like the cunning fox by his hole:
Now the earth felt a shock, and began to rock,
And the thunder began to roll.
But Thor in the shape of a gull dived down,
And the salmon he caught with his beak:
“Thou knave,” quoth he, “well I knew ’twas thee;
Thou shalt bitter rue thy freak.
“I’ll break and pound every bone of thine,
As the mill-stone pounds the corn.”
Now Lok, resuming his shape divine,
His mischief affects to mourn:
“Why this rage?” quoth he, with humble prayer?
“By slaying me where’s thy gain?
Sif will not recover a single hair,
Bald-headed for aye she’ll remain.
“If thou wilt forgive my frolic this bout,
(’Twas a sorry frolic, I own,)
Why then I swear by leek and by crout,[43]
By the moss on the Bauta-stone,[44]
“By Odin’s[45] eye, and by Mimer’s fountain,
By thy hammer and golden car,
I’ll straight descend to the caves of the mountain,
To the dwarfs, who my vassals are.
“And for Sif a new head of hair I’ll bring
Of gold, before dawn of day;
She then will rival the youthful spring
All deck’d in her flow’rets gay.”
“Thou swear’st by my hammer, but that I’ve lost,”
Indignant the god replies;
“Which well thou know’st, in the ocean toss’d,
In the hands of Ran now lies.”
“Well, then, I’ll procure thee a hammer new,”
Says Lok, the deceiver sly,
“And at the bare sight of that hammer bright,
All the giants, thy foes, will fly.”
“Thou pleadest in vain; I come with Frey,
My brother in arms so brave:
Thy flesh to the ravens shall food supply,
Thy brains shall float on the wave.”
“O spare me, Frey!” thus Lok made reply,
“Thy mercy I humbly implore;
I’ll procure thee a steed of such matchless speed,
As the world never saw before.
“All the earth around this courser shall bound,
To mortals a cheering sight;
And o’er the salt sea ’twill bear thee free,
And shine like herrings at night.”
Now the tears he shed and the vows he made
Have soften’d the Asar twain:
“Go, the depths to brave of the mountain cave,
And, what thou hast sworn, obtain!”
Now like a mole through the rocky hole
He glides, and reaches the place,
Where with all their might, by the sulph’rous light,
Stood working the dwarfish race.
There the bellows blew, and the sparks outflew
Through the vaulted roof so glowing;
In leathern frock stood the dwarfish flock,
And crystals they all were blowing.
They melted sand in the sea-coal brand,
And mix’d with it leaves of rose;
By the furnace flame it harden’d became,
And a ruby proud arose.
Now the females stout have gather’d without
Fresh bunches of violets blue;
And the sapphire bright, to dazzle the sight,
Was produced from the magic stew.
From the juicy mass of concocted grass
An emerald fashion’d appears;
And pearls they distill’d from a limbeck, fill’d
With widows’ and orphans’ tears.
In this cavern dark one could straight remark,
That chieftains had play’d of yore;
For a table there stood, of muscle-shell good,
And of counters and fish a store.
In the rock inlaid was a giantess’ head,[46]
With the bust all changed to stone;
And the cascade fell, with its deafening yell,
All over the calcined bone.
From the giantess’ mouth jutting forth he saw
Huge teeth, as frightful and long
As those which fill the elephant’s jaw,
Or like those of the walrus strong.
Now Lok to the dwarfs declares his mission,
The dwarfs to his mandate bow:
“To thee,” they cried, “we all owe submission,
For our sovereign, Lok! art thou.”
A wild boar’s skin was then brought in,
The largest they well could find;
And with their bellows those hardy fellows
To the work compel the wind.
Now blow upon blow their hammers they throw,
Till sparks from the skin outflew;
But with envy’s smart rankled Loptur’s heart,
And his purpose he ’gan to rue:
“To those Asar two I’m compelled, ’tis true,
The things I promised, to give;
But by Hel I swear, that those presents rare
Unscathed they shall not receive.”
The dwarfs in a ring, round the anvil spring,
And busy the bellows ply;
But Lok, in his guile, became changed the while
To a huge blue-bottle fly.
On the blower’s hand now he took his stand,
And began his skin to prick;
But he prick’d in vain, the dwarf felt no pain,
For his skin was hard and thick.
But behold! the steed (’twas for Frey decreed)
Burst forth from amidst the flame,
And the form it bore of a huge wild boar,
And Gyllinbörste its name!
When dark is the night, and no stars give light,
It a meteor’s shape assumes;
Then on it mounts Frey, and rides, through the sky,
While its mane all the earth illumes.
Now into a mould a handful of gold
These workmen so skilful threw;
But when drawn from the flame, O! then it became
An ornament bright to view.
For now ’twas a ring of burnish’d gold;
Two hands that each other grasp
Were figured thereon, and a precious stone
Was carved as a flower for clasp.
’Twas a jewel of weight; for Odin the great
Was destined this precious ring;
’Twas a worthy charm, to encircle the arm
Of the Asar’s lofty king.
This ring so bright boasts a wondrous might,
’Tis a fact in the north well known,
That eight other rings, on each ninth night,
From the parent ring drop down.
Such rings are the meed, so Odin decreed,
For each constant and loving pair;
And this ring was found, at the funeral mound,
On the bosom of Balder fair.
Now more iron the crew on the anvil threw,
No flame they for this required;
And though black and cold, they hammer’d it bold,
Till they gave it the form desired.
When the hammer for Thor, fit weapon of war,
Drew near to its termination,
Lok, fraudful in mind, and to mischief inclin’d,
Undertook a new transformation,
And, changed to a hornet with painful sting,
He stung the dwarf on the chin;
And this time the smith felt the pain forthwith,
For the blood flow’d down his skin.
And he drove the hornet away with his hand
Ere the hammer was finish’d quite;
Thus its shaft fail’d in length, but the god of strength
Grasp’d the weapon with keen delight.
Next a female dwarf took a lump of gold,
To her distaff’s spindle she bound it;
And the wheel went round with a whizzing sound
And the gold in threads around it.
And she span and span, while the gold thread ran,
New hair for the Disa mild;
She sang by the rill, that flowed from the hill,
This strain so wizard and wild:
“The goddess her hair henceforward shall bear
Loose streaming before the wind;
Nor in plait nor in fold shall the ductile gold
Hereafter her temples bind.
“Each swain who above shall behold it move
Like a meteor through the sky,[47]
His heart ’twill ensnare, for her ringlets fair
With those of Freya shall vie.
“Though gold be dead, when it touches the head
Of that Disa in beauty’s bloom,
’Twill life receive, and easy to weave
Like flax will it straight become.
“Like the high-plum’d crest by the winds carest,
It shall wave and enchant the sight;
It shall never decay; like the sun at mid-day
It shall pour forth a wondrous light.”
Thus she sang, and with glee now she bent the knee,
And presented the gift to Thor;
He gazed on each tress, and must needs confess
Such locks he ne’er saw before.
From the mountain Frey vaults his steed on high,
Thor follows with hammer and hair;
To the regions of light, where the sire of the fight
Rules in glory, they both repair.
Now on Sifia fair Thor fasten’d the hair;
It took root like sea-weed on rocks:
Down her lovely face, fraught with ev’ry grace,
It fell down in luxuriant locks.
At Valhalla’s Ting to Odin the ring
Was tender’d with homage due;
And Lok this time was pardon’d his crime,
But too soon he sinn’d anew.