Thus they advance to where the snow gives way,

And grass luxuriant grows, and flowers, and corn;

The rocks, which now before them lay,

Birch, pine, and larch, and various shrubs adorn.

Ice-clumps upon the roof no more they view’d,

Where sleeps the dwarfish Lapp in gloom and smoke;

But in the vales strong houses built of wood

More polish’d life and milder clime bespoke.

No longer rolling in his sledge they view

The dark-hair’d Finn by nimble rein-deer drawn;

The horses’ hoofs here boast the iron shoe;

The[48] Jarl’s proud mansion on the well-trimm’d lawn

Tow’ring arose, where lay in nuptial dress

His youthful bride, all grace and loveliness:

The lark with blithesome carol fills his throat,

And silences at once the dark owl’s screeching note.

Down falling o’er the grass, the dew of heaven

With pearls besprinkles every flower and stem;

Home crawl the peasant’s geese by urchin driven;

Oxen stand drinking at the limpid stream;

He yokes them to the plough; then whistling, light

Of heart, with many a furrow scars the field;

While the three Asar on earth’s bastion sit,

Like warlike champions arm’d with spear and shield.

Then smil’d the father of the fight,

And said to Lok, who by his side was placed:

“Methinks, if I have read thy soul aright,

The peasant’s provender thou fain wouldst taste.

Of hunger too myself I feel the power;

By the long march fatigued, my spirits fail:

From Vardoe we are come, in one short hour,

To the dark birchen grove in Guldbrand’s dale.”

Then laughing, Lok replied: “Be sure,

Since each ingredient’s here at hand,

A good repast Lok’s genius will procure;

Fat oxen in the meadow lowing stand;

Like the red fox, give but the word,

I’ll hie me to the peasant’s pantry board;

To baste our meat his butter will I steal,

At his expense we’ll make a glorious meal.

“In the meanwhile an ox must Hœnir slay,

And with its tepid blood refresh the earth;

Then with his dagger’s point the carcase flay,

While I steal bread from the good peasant’s hearth.

Some humble charge thou wilt perhaps consent

To exercise, and think thereof no shame;

To strike out sparks, for instance, from the flint,

And with dry reeds and faggots feed the flame.”

Then Odin answered, sighing: “Ah! too plain

I feel, I’m clothed in human clay and dust:

Men live by rapine; ’tis their trade accurst;

And what one loses doth another gain.

Go, then, employ thy nimble heel!

Follow thy fav’rite trade and steal!

That we are gods did the good peasant know,

He’d slaughter all his herd, methinks, his zeal to show.”

Now Hœnir kill’d an ox, and Loptur ran

To th’ pantry, where his store the peasant kept;

Slily on tiptoe through each room he crept,

And with fresh butter fill’d his can.

He then took bread made of the finest rye,

In a white napkin wrapp’d; and as he pass’d

The hen-roost, all the eggs that met his eye

He snatch’d up quick and in his basket placed.

Meanwhile did Hœnir not remain

Inactive long; with much dexterity

He bound in cords and truss’d the cattle slain,

And fix’d it ’gainst a trunk of osier nigh.

He took the bowels out and stripp’d the skin

From off the flesh; then wash’d away the blood

From the fat-cover’d thighs and ample chine,

And with his prize content, exclaim’d that all was good.

But Odin, he who through the world’s expanse

Hath launch’d the sun in sempiternal course,

And lighting with his torch her golden lance

Instructs her how to guide her matchless force;

Who, from that sun borrowing her fainter rays,

Hath to the moon a milder radiance given,

And bade small sparks innumerable blaze

Athwart the pole, when night envelops heaven:

Now humbler functions Odin’s labours claim;

With flint and steel he now proceeds

To elicit many a spark, and feed the flame

With faggots, wither’d branches, and dry reeds;

And soon the smoke’s white column rose

In spiral motion from the burning straw.

With conscious pride now Odin’s bosom glows

To mark the strict observance of his law.

His glorious eye moisten’d with many a tear,

Thus he exclaims, with pride and joy elate:

“O wonderful in small things as in great,

In what is distant as in what is near!

In one small rain-drop equally divine,

Ægir! as in thy ocean: Odin too

In one small flint-drawn spark doth equal shine,

As when the sun’s vast orb he launch’d in ether blue!

“And Thor! when thou dost hurl thy lightning down,

What dost thou more than I do now, my son?”

Now Lok return’d with butter, salt, and eggs,

Proud of his robbery and nimble legs;

The weazles, foxes, rats, as he pass’d by,

Jump’d from their holes and thus began to squeal:

“Lo! there he goes, our god, so trippingly!

Well doth he teach his subjects how to steal.”

Then Odin laugh’d: “This loss will I repair,

Lok’s theft the honest swain shall not regret,

For harvests thousandfold his fields shall bear;

This for the stolen bread will compensate.

His flocks and herds with wondrous increase fill’d

Shall for the butter make amends, I trow:

And for the salt, on every child

Of his will I prudence and wit bestow.

While Hœnir to divide the carcase toil’d,

To a sharp spit a pine-branch Loptur filed;

Then felling two small trees, firm in the ground

One end he fix’d; the other end he clove

Of each, and on them turn’d the spit around:

Nor did he long delay his skill to prove;

He skewer’d each joint, then fed the flame, and plied

The labours of the cook with joy and pride.

While thus he stood watching each bubbling joint,

To some short distance were his comrades gone;

When he surmised the roast enough was done,

He prick’d it often with his dagger’s point:

Yet still dropp’d from the flesh the tepid gore,

As if it from a living creature came;

And though the fire he nourish’d more and more,

Heavier and duller burn’d the flame.

Thwarted by such delay, he stands aghast,

And ever and anon consults the sky;

When lo! an eagle of dimensions vast[49]

With threat’ning aspect fix’d his eye,

With outspread wings, as midnight vapours dark,

Perch’d on the branches of an elm-tree lithe;

Forth jutting from the leaves, its beak so stark

Shone crook’d and polish’d as a reaper’s scythe.

As th’ ignis fatuus over marsh and mire

At midnight a malignant radiance flings;

Thus glared the giant bird with eyes of fire,

And gazed upon the roast, and clapp’d its wings.

Behold a dire mischance the cook befell!

Down fell the cloven trees! and with them fell

The ox! the eagle still with frightful leer

Gazed on the flame, which now went out from fear.

“Why sitst thou there? by what accurst device

Thus jugglest thou,” said Lok, “to spoil the meat?”

“Of thy good cheer I fain would taste a slice,”

Answer’d the eagle, “for my hunger’s great:

If then thou’lt treat me as thy guest,

Thy roast shall expeditiously be drest.”

Thus said, the bird his swarthy pinions shakes,

And hops down from the tree, and gnaws the steaks.

With bitter gall now swell’d the breast of Lok;

He grasp’d in both his hands a pond’rous spear;

But vain his efforts all, as if he struck

In the dark night the vacant air.

The eagle’s beak caught one end of the lance,

While Loptur’s hands fast to the other clung;

High soar’d the eagle through the heaven’s expanse,

While dangling to the lance his foe with terror hung.

Borne by the goblin through the airy space,

O’er forest, hill and dale flies Asa Lok;

Now dip his legs into the deep morass;

Now strike against each sharp projecting rock:

The frogs all grin, the eagle laughs aloud;

Who feels compassion for a Nidding base?

The marsh bespatters all his limbs with mud,

And brambles, brakes, and thorns his features fair deface.

Bruised by the rocks, now drip with blood his feet;

He weeps; but cold the cliff beholds his pain:

Against his bosom mercilessly beat

The howling tempest, hail, and snow, and rain.

Now in the ocean deep immersed he lies,

A hedgehog like with mackerel bedight:

Now borne aloft athwart the sunny skies,

A swarm of bees upon his forehead light.

Much did he pray and promise, but in vain;

Now Thor invoked, now loud to Odin screech’d:

The goblin still pursued his course amain,

Until a mountain’s snow-clad top he reach’d:

He there with iron fetters strong and tight

Bound fast the caitiff to a rugged rock;

Then jeering cried: “Sit there, thou treach’rous wight!

Sit there, and groan in chains till Ragnarok!”

Then Lok with humble mien and piteous face:

“Thou viewst me, I perceive, O chief! with hate,

And I deserve it; how could I forget,

That I too sprung from the brave mountain race?

But if my arguments thou’lt deign to hear,

And give me back my liberty so dear,

My cunning shall the Asar’s strength enthral,

And in one common ruin plunge them all.”

“Well then!” the goblin drily thus replied,

“If I release thee from these realms of night,

And give thee back to liberty and light,

Wilt thou by my conditions strict abide?

Then ponder well, and swear to my demand!

Thou shalt procure, and place at my command

That which is held in greatest estimation,

The gods’ best gift, since first the world’s creation.

“Behold where Bragur’s wife, Iduna hight,

Dwells in her bower employ’d in household care!

Like shell of snail,[50] around her forehead bright,

Is wreath’d in many a fold her radiant hair;

Straight as the poplar is her shape; her mien,

Her varied grace, no words have power to tell;

While bounding ’neath the silken veil so green

The plump luxuriant snowy hillocks swell.

“A vessel rare of burnish’d gold

That Disa in her hands is wont to hold;

From Asagard ’twas brought, where on the ground

By Odin, Vil, and Ve ’twas found;

Not easy ’tis the images portray’d

Thereon to guess; one reaps, another sows;

The sun, emerging from dark vapour, glows,

Charm’d by the magic murmurs of a maid.

“An apple in that vessel claims her care,

Red as a rose, yellow as wax to view;

A power divine reigns in that fruit so rare,

The power, health, youth and beauty to renew.

The influence of time is never seen,

Or felt by those, who on that apple feast;

And every Disa, who its juice doth taste,

Maintains the bloom and freshness of eighteen.

“Without this fruit so precious, where, Oh! where

Would be their godlike strength, and beauty rare?

Each goddess would resemble Hela grim,

Did not this juice invigorate each limb.

E’en as each furrow on the sandy waste

Is levell’d by the wind, and disappears,

Thus full and white becomes the flabby breast,

As when the funeral mound its snowy vestment wears.

“Just as the spark ignites the branches dry,

That juice gives lustre to the old man’s eye:

But for that drink, youth’s fervid glow

In Odin’s veins long since had ceased to flow:

Did not Iduna mingle every morn

That apple’s juice i’ th’ liquor brew’d for Thor,

The world his boasted strength would laugh to scorn,

Spite of his belt, his gauntlets, and his car.

“No raven’s scream in Idun’s grove is heard;

Nor ever jars the ear the cricket’s cry:

For Asa-Bragur the celestial bard

All nature animates with harpings high.

Now towards the east he turns his fond regard;

And when the sun, fresh bursting from the sky,

Spreads o’er the ravish’d earth its magic shine,

He strikes the golden harp, and chaunts a lay divine.

“Cheer’d by the glorious sound all creatures smile,

From every flower and plant bright tear-drops flow;

Then feels the earth a soft and holy thrill,

And the spring blushes with a deeper glow;

Then beats with love the maiden’s heart still more;

Then dreams of bliss the dying old man soothe;

Immortal strains console his parting hour,

And to bright Gimle’s realm the awful passage smooth.

“If in my power thou’lt place the beauteous wife

Of Bragur, with her vessel rare of gold,

I’ll give thee liberty again and life,

And loose thee from this mountain-prison cold.”

“Well then,” quick answer’d Lok, “I swear, I swear.”

“Nay!” Thiasse grim replied with bitter mock,

“Thy ape-like oaths and vows thou well mayst spare;

No one, be sure, will trust the oath of Lok.

“To all an object of contempt and scorn

Thee gods and giants equally despise;

Mere froth and scum each oath by thee that’s sworn,

A cloud that into vapour melts and flies:

No! vacillating traitor! fraudful swain!

For thy good faith I must have surer ground:

The peasant’s dog is fasten’d with a chain;

With his own mouth shall Lok be bound.

“The venom-swelter’d serpent brood

Their poison in their hollow teeth collect,

And only then the venom takes effect,

When, pierced the skin, it mingles with the blood:

If from its gums each tooth be torn,

Harmless becomes the snake and innocent;

Around the neck, or arm, or waist ’tis worn,

A strange, but still innocuous ornament.

“But far more mischief, traitor! than the snake,

Thou causest with thy sland’rous tongue alone:

Well, then! this trial I’m disposed to make:

Deprived of speech, thou shalt thy crimes atone.”

No sooner said than done, the giant took

A diamond pin, steel thread; and now with glee

Together fast he sew’d the lips of Lok:

Ye gods! in truth, ’twas droll to see.

“Hold! hold! I faint—I die,” said Lok

With frightful howl—“one word—I feel such pain—

For mercy’s sake—I cannot breathe—I choke—”

“Breathe with thy nostrils! thou hast twain;”—

Answer’d the giant: and with double seam

Continued fast his captive’s lips to sow,

Naught caring for his piteous scream:

This done, some magic runes he murmur’d low.

“Now, then, I have thee safe: now, caitiff! hie

To the green bower, where fair Iduna dwells!

To my own hall i’ th’ hard-wood grove I fly,

Where Cape North’s granite front the surge repels.

There bring to me forthwith my wish’d for prey!

Once in my arms the fruit and goddess lay!

Then will I straight thy mouth unbind,

And all our mountain race shall hail thee friend.”

Then of his own contrivance proud,

And loudly laughing, Thiasse let him go.

And now behold the once loquacious god,

Dumb, spiritless, the lowest of the low!

Like partridge, when by hawk pursued across

The sky it flies, glad to escape within

Its straw-built nest, though with the loss

Of half its plumage, and with bleeding skin.

But now, when near to Asa-gard arrived,

Tortured in mind and raging with his smart:

“Unheard of (thus he thought), of speech deprived,

How shall I now seduce a female heart?

By cunning, not by force, must this be done;

But how can I my cunning bring to pass?

Who both as weak and dumb to all is known,

Must ever for a hopeless blockhead pass.”

Much musing on his errand night and day,

His brain a thought conceiv’d that pleased him well:

Could not a rune, carv’d on a staff, convey,

As well as word of mouth, a fraudful tale?

Warm, unsuspecting is Iduna’s heart;

As genuine spouse of Bragur well she loves

To listen to a strain that pity moves;

And Lok is no small master of his art.

He drew his knife, delighted with the plan,

And cut a long stick from a neighb’ring wood;

His theme of lies he then forthwith began,

And lied, as far, as the stick’s length allow’d.

These were the runes he carv’d. “There is a tree

I’ th’ giants’ orchard, on whose branches grow

Apples of wondrous flavour, three by three,

With tint, like the sun’s purple blush on snow.

“These apples a more powerful juice contain,

Than those thou keepest in thy golden cup.

This liquor rare could once the Asar drain,

All Jotunheim before their arms must stoop.

To hide that precious fruit from the world’s eye

Has been the giants’ constant industry:

Thus have they, to avert the menaced doom,

Enwrapp’d that grove in sempiternal gloom.

“But a young giantess (O power of love!)

Th’ important secret hath to me reveal’d,

And shown the road to the mysterious grove,

Where flourishes that glorious tree conceal’d.

But lo! while on our route, a goblin lay

In wait for us behind the brazen wall,

And, fearful we the secret might betray,

Hath let on Lok peculiar vengeance fall.

“To close my mouth the giant has thought fit

With diamond needle, and with thread of steel;

Yet naught his ruthless act, nor murmur’d spell

Hath power to damp my mother wit:

That, thanks to Mimer, in the hour of need

To Lok will never fail; that still is free:

And thus upon this staff with speed

The giants’ secret have I traced for thee.

“If with thy apple of eternal youth

Thou wouldst attend me to the giants’ grove,

Then would the threads burst from my bleeding mouth,

Without thy aid the task would idle prove.

So sure and simple is the stratagem,

I need not pluck those apples from their stem,

Thou needst but touch them with thy fingers white,

They’ll instant fall into thy vessel bright.”

These runes he carv’d, and with the staff he flew

To th’ arbour in the grove across the sea,

Where sat Iduna with her eyes of blue,

Under the shade of her own apple-tree.

Mindful of wondrous scenes, she fix’d her look

Stedfast on every beast that wander’d by;

But most the graceful stag engaged her eye,

Ogling his own proud form in the pellucid brook.

A fountain bubbling near with eddying flow

Fills the transparent stream: with motion fleet

A cygnet scuds across, and at the feet

Of his fair mistress makes obeisance low:

There with her vessel sat the goddess meek,

And fed her fav’rite swan with crumbs of bread

While ever and anon he plunged his beak

Within the circles by the bread-crumbs made.

Absent was Bragur; he Alfader’s might

Was chaunting in shield-cover’d Valaskialf:

With rapture listen’d every Asa bright,

And every Disa fair, and radiant Alf.

Mimer had also left his fav’rite care;

Thus like an artless child Iduna lay,

And unsuspecting fell an easy prey

Into the treach’rous Lok’s malignant snare.

His bleeding mouth with pity she beheld;

And when to reinforce his runes of guile

His eyes shed tears like those of crocodile,

With grief oppress’d her gentle bosom swell’d:

She reach’d to him her hand so lily white,

And spreading wide her feather’d garment light,

Wafted herself and Loptur far away

Towards the dark hard-wood grove, where Thiass expectant lay.

Soaring athwart the azure plains on high,

Radiant was she and glorious to behold,

As in the groves of Ind or Araby

The bird of paradise with train of gold:

When lo! a griffin black rush’d from his lair,

Pounced with his talons on th’ affrighted fair,

And bore her far away! the giants’ scream of joy

Re-echoed from the rocks to welcome their decoy!

The Disa then too late her error found,

And wept: the winds with zeal and love intense

Waft down her tears to Ocean’s caves profound,

And there to pearls those precious drops condense.

And when her last farewell Iduna sigh’d,

A mournful plaint re-echoed from the vale:

The stagnant air blasts all the lily’s pride;

No more the roses’ perfume scents the gale.

A dew lethargic, noisome, humid, cold

Around the heavens its veil malignant spread!

And lo! the sun shorn of its rays of gold

In midst of vapour stood with disk blood-red!

And cold became the whilom jocund breast

Of ev’ry hero and of ev’ry maid;

Far towards the south the feather’d songsters prest,

And with them too all joy and gladness fled!

Where Timour pulverized in days of yore

Whole hecatombs of foes at Samarcand,

The loose sand whirls in eddies as before.

Nor of that triumph doth one record stand:

The meadows still display their emerald sheen,

Forgetful of the day, when frantic war

With streams of blood incarnadined the green;

No longer now the traveller’s vision scare

Huge piles of human sculls, long since dispersed in air.

And who art thou whose quenchless thirst of fame

Thus furiously lays waste th’ affrighted earth?

Not near so puissant as the nightly flame,

Which the volcano’s entrails vomit forth.

The harden’d lava-streams its force attest,

And though a thousand long long years have fled,

Give to the swelling grape its poignant zest:

Thy deed, like ashes, moulders with the dead;

The ravens on thy fame, as on thy limbs, have fed.

Yet do not thou crow neither, little gnome

Who sittest in thy workshop snug, and filest;

Who safe intrench’d within thy rocky dome,

Lookst down securely on the fight, and smilest,

As looks the lamb upon the wolf below:

Who thinkst the awl a better instrument

Than Aukthor’s hammer: thou requirest too

Iduna’s apple, if thou beest intent

To reach thy labour’s goal, and shine pre-eminent.

Whoever, dwarf or giant, seeks to rise[51]

From his low cave to genius’ source divine,

Let him towards thee, Iduna! lift his eyes,

And view, where burning incense at thy shrine

Bragur with Mimer, Balder, chaunt all hail,

And in thy praise their lofty strains unite:

No real hero will thy blessing fail,

And future Scalds his actions shall recite,

And o’er his tomb describe an endless halo bright.

How flat unprofitable life would flow.

Unquicken’d, Idun, by thy apple’s zest!

Deprived of Mimer’s fount, how mean and low

Were man’s existence, by vile cares opprest!

Dark Surtur chaunts the song of triumph loud,

To see the lov’d Iduna captive borne:

While Lok, of his successful mischief proud,

Joys in his heart to see the Asar mourn,

And Valhall’s glories fled, and Valaskialf forlorn.

Now when the sun arose, by vapours foul

Obscured, it fill’d no bosom with delight:

When the dull moon slow climb’d from pole to pole,

It heard no amorous plaint disturb the night.

No longer travels with his car and goats

The once aspiring Thor; now deaf to praise

He throws aside his club; he raves; he dotes;

While Hlidskialf, Odin’s dome, shorn of its rays,

No longer warms the earth with heart-consoling blaze.

And Freya’s bosom, once so proud to view,

Now sinks like snow before the solar beam:

Her golden hair assumes a silver hue;

Her once blue eyes two gelid rain-drops seem.

Heimdal, who on his rainbow stood betimes

Shining amidst his seven colours bright,

Discover’d frightful witches mutt’ring rhimes

Of direst import, with black caps bedight,

And wings, like those of bat, loud flapping in the night.

With a lethargic mist they veil the sky,

And summon Skada from her grot profound:

While Niord, before whose lance all vapours fly,

Rests in his cell, in magic slumbers bound.

Now Skada, mounted on her glander’d horse,

Whose nostrils, frightful snorting, taint the gale,

Each night uncheck’d pursues her baneful course:

Athwart the clouds her murky sisters sail,

And with loud shrieks of woe th’ affrighted earth assail.

Each star now veils its front, which once in guise

Of lamp illumed the heavens: the seaman bold,

Who, sailing in the Kattegat,[52] defies

The foaming billow and the tempest cold,

Hath lost his rudder; and when in despair

He to his anchor needs recourse must have,

Behold! the cable stiff with frozen air

Cannot be bent: death rides upon the wave,

And stares with beamless eye, and shakes his icy glaive!

When summer came, no sunbeam cheer’d the vale;

Like slave, the wretched swain must groan and sweat:

His house, his tools, his clothing he must sell;

His only thoughts were rye, and oats, and wheat:

He had forgotten quite to bend the knee

In humble duty fore Alfader’s throne:

His horse was far more dignified than he;

He felt with inward pang, and needs must own

His watch-dog’s heart more warm, more faithful than his own.

No longer now the warriors, as before,

Sit at the board of their crown’d chieftain high,

Gentle yet awful, worthy sons of Thor,

Soft temper’d by the radiance mild of Frey:

In scurrilous abuse and words of shame

To jealousy and hate they now give vent;

To slur and vilify his comrade’s fame,

More than to raise his own, each chief is bent;

Ignoble quarrels mark their envious discontent.

When the Scald sung, ’twas raving coarse and wild,

No longer Gimle’s inspiration sure;

No longer from thy breast, O nature mild!

He drew the milk so bountiful, so pure;

His only nurses now were prejudice

And discord, each a foul-mouth’d envious quean:

His aim is now, deep grovelling in vice,

To please the multitude with jest obscene,

To flatter or to mock, calumniate and feign.

Once Saga sat, and on her shield engraved

Each act of virtue generous, good, and great:

Of graver and of buckler now bereaved,

She pines, unconscious of the world’s debate:

The fond devotion to the public weal,

The scenes of Nidaros and Leir in vain

Crowd fore her eyes, and to her sense appeal:

The heron of oblivion clouds her brain;

Self-interest views the oak and laurel with disdain.

Sage Mimer griev’d the world’s mischance to know,

And Balder mark’d it in his bright abode:

With bitter tears see Mimer’s fountain flow!

The sap no longer gives the kernel food.

And Balder, gentle-hearted as a maid,

Visited Mimer in his cavern cold:

At once the rueful change they both survey’d:

’Twas night, and Balder sat with locks of gold,

His once unruffled brow in gloomy wrinkles roll’d.

’Twas easy to perceive all joy was fled;

Each goddess had her youth and beauty lost.

What wonder Mimer bow’d his laurell’d head,

At such discovery sad, dishearten’d, crost?

What wonder Balder, once serene and meek,

To omens dire should yield himself a prey?

Hear him with quiv’ring lip and hectic cheek,

Grief in his heart, and madness in his eye,

Rave incoherent strains, wild gazing at the sky!

Now at the ash Yggdrassil[53] they alight,

Whose branches o’er the earth their shade extend;

The holy tree, to which the Asar bright

Down from the bridge of Bifrost all descend.

There, as a shepherd watches o’er his flock,

Odin, enthroned as judge supreme, appears;

Examines every cause with piercing look;

Enacts new laws; pronounces doom; and hears

What from the nether world his courier Hermod bears.

In this immortal ash an eagle lives;

All things it sees, and straight imparts the same

To Odin’s ravens:[54] but no longer thrives,

Vigilant as before, its look of flame.

Thick murky vapours an unwholesome veil

Spread o’er the tree, and glide with motion fleet

O’er rock, and marsh, o’er forest, hill, and dale:

The squirrel crouching at the eagle’s feet

Hath naught but rotten fruit and hollow nuts to eat.

Balder and Mimer now direct their course,

Passing that tree, to Urda’s mystic stream:

The forest path conducts them to the source,

Which from the rock bursts forth with silv’ry gleam:

Fragments of stone with ivy overspread

Choke up the passage to the silent dell,

To all impervious, but the Asar dread:

Berries and flowers the sacred fount conceal;

Pine forests thick around each eye profane repel.

But every growth was blighted! and behold

On the stream’s brink the Norna Skulda sat,

With finger on her lips, and aspect cold,

The awful guardian of the book of fate:

Omniscient queen, whose mind can fathom all

That to Alfader’s self remains unknown.

Enormous wings adown her shoulders fall:

A fillet broad upon her forehead shone,

With many a mystic rune and strange device thereon.

Green was her garment; towards the fountain now,

Now towards the days to come she turns her eye.

Wrapp’d in a sable shroud with tranquil brow,

But with averted face, sits Urda nigh.

Here with her sisters twain Verdandis too,

Mistress of time, resides: her garment bright

Was interwov’n with scales of various hue.

These females all are of gigantic height;

None dare dispute their will; resistless is their might.

Sleep never ventures here: the Nornor’s eyes

Do never close, whether the mid-day sun

Or radiant stars illuminate the skies:

Awake they sit, though motionless like stone.

Urda the actions of the past unveils;

Skulda the future cons with prudence meet:

Meanwhile Verdandis weighs in golden scales

The present gifts, the gods to send think fit,

A sceptre or a grave; a triumph or defeat.

Immovable they sit, mute as the grave,

Like sphinx of marble on the Theban plain;

While shine reflected in the limpid wave

The figures of the awful virgin train.

Impatient the decrees of fate to learn

Oft to this grove the proud Valkyrior come;

With questions sharp assail the Nornor stern,

Then soar aloft, through the wide world to roam,

And fill the troubled air with strange prophetic doom.

Thus Mimer to the lofty Skulda spoke:

“O thou! who feelest neither joy nor woe,

Hostile to none, friendly to none; whose look,

Like that of falcon ardent, can pierce through

The blackest night, whether the dove doth coo,

Or the sword clash, alike unmoved; my prayer

Do not reject! and O resolve me true

The great enigma! shall Iduna fair

Again, freed from her chains, respire her natal air?”

The virgin breast of Skulda swell’d awhile:

What marble seem’d, now moved with high pulsation;

She gazed on Mimer; and he thought, a smile

Play’d on her mouth; it gave him consolation.

Urda’s fount ceased to rustle through the dell;

From Skulda’s lips resounds this solemn strain:

“When bravery shall fickle time compel

To constancy, and fast the recreant chain,

Upon the wings of love health shall fly home again.”

She spoke. In sable clouds Night veils her brow;

And sooth’d with hope, Earth’s bosom gently heaves:

The fount calls to its water: “Swell and flow!”

The blast loud whistles through the arid leaves.

Homeward with joy now hie the Asar twain,

For well the Nornor’s speech they comprehend:

They oft repeat the heart-consoling strain,

While floating in the air they swift ascend,

And eager still their course towards bright Valhalla bend.

“When bravery shall fickle time compel

To constancy, shall health fly home again

Upon the wings of love.” Thus through the dell

Re-echoed wide the solemn Nornor’s strain.

“What other god but Thor can solve this spell?

Juggler of time is Lok, we all agree;

And Thor alone can Lok subdue—tis well—

The Queen of Love preserves the prison key,

’Tis said, that Queen alone can set Iduna free.

These words were ponder’d oft the gods among;

Thor seized their import; red as blood his cheek

With anger, from his bench he quickly sprung,

And grasp’d the pallid Loptur by the neck:

And lo! as round the spindle turns the wheel,

When busy housewife spins her flax with glee,

Thus Thor twirl’d Lok around from head to heel;

And now he touch’d the moon, and now the sea,

While at the caitiff’s screams the gods laugh’d heartily.

“Thy being is a composition strange

Of Asagard and Helheim (thus said Thor):

Force must compel thee to repent and change;

Thou must be shook like oil and vinegar,

When in a vessel mix’d: but, traitor! say!

Ere from thy worthless trunk thy head be torn,

Wilt thou amend? wilt thou my voice obey?

Wilt thou, on the light wings of Freya borne,

Bring back Iduna straight to Valaskialf forlorn?

A coward and a traitor both is Lok,

And want of firmness all his acts reveal:

Fearful to be whirl’d round again and shook,

Lowly at Aukthor’s feet behold him kneel!

“If the bright Queen, the fairest of the fair,

The lily, which adorns Folkvangur’s plain,

Freya, will lend her wings, I solemn swear,

Spite of all spells, to loose Iduna’s chain,

And bring the goddess back to Asagard again.

“My soul’s resolv’d; naught shall my purpose bend,

The beauteous captive’s suff’rings deep I feel:

Foul Thiasse was to blame; by him constrain’d

Was I the goddess and her vase to steal.

But o’er the forest’s pines and ocean’s wave,

Cloth’d like a bird with gentle Freya’s wing.

I’ll hie me swiftly to the giant’s cave.

And back in triumph fair Iduna bring:

Health, youth, and strength again in Valaskialf shall spring.”

To fetch her pinions Freya was not slow;

Her hands to fix them on Lok’s shoulders deign.

Aye, and much more would she have giv’n, I trow,

Her own lost youth and beauty to regain.

Now Lok for his past conduct feeling shame,

And mindful too of Thiasse’s bitter mock,

O’er hill and dale, and marsh, and forest, came

To where, deep in the bowels of the rock,

The fair Iduna sigh’d, conceal’d in gloom and smoke.

But in the dark Lok finds his way most sure:

Naught was he daunted by the giant’s spell;

On Freya’s wings relies the god secure,

Which time defy, and brave the power of steel.

His course he steers, thorns, brakes, and briars among;

Now like an owl he has recourse to flight;

Now like a cat he needs must creep along.

At length the secret cave appears in sight,

Where rocks piled upon rocks conceal the treasure bright.

Immers’d in grief the fair Iduna sat

Like marble statue on a monument;

Upon the sea of time so desolate,

Which never ebbs, her look despairing bent.

But spite of every hindrance, Asa-Lok

Into the gloomy cavern forced his way,

Where pined the Disa fetter’d to the rock:

Some words of comfort scarce he stopp’d to say,

But caught her in his arms, and bore her far away.

While they together flew o’er land and sea,

Behold! a bale fire vast illumes the north!

’Twas Asa-gard whence Odin, Vil, and Ve

Sent messages to Lok o’er all the earth.

But now blest tidings all Valhalla cheer:

Iduna, borne by Lok, arrives in view!

Scarce did the nymph in Odin’s dome appear,

Away all care and pain and sorrow flew;

Each flow’ret oped again its chalice to the dew.

The lark now sang; each goddess felt the charm;

Again their bosom with youth’s fullness swell’d:

Odin again felt vigour in his arm,

And Thor once more aloft his hammer held.

Again the sun lent to the moon its gold,

And lit anew the radiant rings on high.

Mimer no more his brow in wrinkles roll’d:

Balder no longer, madness in his eye,

Raved incoherent strains, wild gazing at the sky.

And lo! obscures the sky a vision vast,

Awful, but not unpleasing to behold!

’Tis Thiasse! who his prey pursuing fast

Hath become dazzled by the bale-fire’s gold.

He flutters round it long with sable wings;

E’en as the moth, attracted by the fire,

Into the flame abrupt its body flings;

Th’ enormous Jotun-fly doth thus expire,

By his own impulse hurl’d against the blazing pyre.

E’en so doth every frightful vision dire,

Which terrifies mankind i’ th’ hour of night,

Dissolve, when blazes forth the gorgeous pyre,

Which from the east dispenses warmth and light.

And thus the genial dew, which falls in spring,

Sheds tears of gladness on each plant around:

And every lively bird doth tuneful sing,

Inspired with joy, like Bragur, when he found

His darling wife once more in his embraces bound.