Now Skirnir, eager his zeal to prove,
Down Bifrost urges his course amain,
And, speeding through Hertha’s gloomy grove,
Soon reaches the Giant’s drear domain.
’Twas like the wind blowing o’er the road,
Which gate nor barrier hath power to stop:
’Twas like the blast raging o’er the flood,
Which lashes to foam the billow’s top.
Now Skirnir thought: “Pitch dark is the night,
Brakes, briars, and brambles impede my course:
And the wind and the rain with all their might
’Gainst the bosom beat of my jaded horse.
But if no Giant in th’ hour of need
To give me refuge as guest will deign,
Then Skirnir must on his panting steed
Return in haste to Valhalla again.”
To Elivagor he chose the road,
He came to a fiord,
[81] and fain would cross:
And there at the brink a ferryman stood
With wrinkled brow, and with aspect cross.
“Who art thou, fellow, that standst so grave
Upright in thy bark?” thus Skirnir cried:
“If thou wilt ferry me o’er the wave,
I’ll give thee oatcakes, and herrings beside.
“Upon my shoulder my wallet see!
Therein of provisions a store I’ve put.”
Then answer’d the ferryman scornfully:
“Fine horseman thou, with thy shoeless foot!
[82]A woollen kirtle is all thy treasure,
Yet thou talkst like a lord of wealth and power.
Ha! thinkst thou slaves to thy will and pleasure
Us Giants to find at the midnight hour?”
SKIRNIR.
Steer hither thy bark! thou grumbling wight!
Thy name and thy lineage quick declare!
Why stand there idle the livelong night,
And lose every chance to earn a fare?
HARBARD.
A Nidding is he who denies his name;
Yet were I base as the torrent’s scum,
My birth to reveal I’d feel no shame:
’Tis not such as thou shall make me dumb.
SKIRNIR.
I seek not to cross the fiord, I swear,
To teach thee manners and language meet:
But thou hast perchance a sister fair,
Who would more courteous a stranger greet:
Or thou art link’d to a beauteous bride,
Who would not disdain on a youth to smile:
Then ferry me quick to the other side!
I fain would commune with her awhile.
HARBARD.
Aye! aye! our females are smart and fair;
That Odin himself must needs confess:
I only wish more renown’d they were
For constancy and for gentleness.
[83]If in search of beauty thou makest thy trip,
Thou’lt meet with dames that will please thee well:
But beware lest a kiss from the wife’s soft lip
Be repaid by a kiss from the husband’s steel!
SKIRNIR.
Like dogs forsooth are your mountain brood,
Envious and snarling and quarrelsome;
Who to other creatures refuse the food,
Which they themselves can never consume.
Incapable of true love are ye,
Yet ye fain would exact return of love:
Ye seek not to hide your inconstancy,
Yet expect your matrons should constant prove.
HARBARD.
Thou hast talk’d enough: ’tis an envious theme:
Now rest thee, and quench thy thirst, and eat!
But ere I ferry thee o’er the stream,
Thou must proof exhibit of talent meet.
No fare from trav’llers I’m wont to take;
But if they cannot give answers good
To every question I chuse to make,
Down at once they sink in the dark blue flood.
And now the goblin began to ask
Young Skirnir about the orbs of heaven:
What various names (’twas no easy task)
To the sun and moon and stars were given:
To earth and water, to fire and air,
To plants and trees, to the wind and rain:
And what the terms expressive were,
Which all their properties explain.
But Skirnir’s answers never fail,
And all his ready wit display:
“The earth is call’d by the Asar, vale:
By the Alfer, green: by the Vaner, way:
The cave of metals, by Dwarfs ’tis named:
Fruit-bearer, by all the Giant brood.”
Then Harbard, raising his oar, exclaimed:
“In truth, my hero! thou answer’st good.”
“Heaven,” Skirnir quickly then rejoin’d,
“Is term’d by the Asar the ceiling blue;
The Vaner term it the realm of wind:
And
drypsal[84] ’tis call’d by the Dvergar crew:
Fairloft by the Alfs: by the Giants ’tis hight
Opheim.
[85]” All these answers, ’twas plain to see,
Were much approved by the ferrying wight,
And Skirnir’s cakes he devour’d with glee.
“To the moon by the Dwarfs, I know full well,
Of yellow-shiner the name is given:
By the Asar, dreamer in the vale:
By Hela ’tis term’d the wheel of heaven:
By the Alfs, year-reckoner: the Giants proud
With the name inconstant soil the moon:”
Then Harbard chuckled, and cried aloud:
“Much knowledge, ’tis plain, thou hast, my son!”
“The sun is call’d the darter of rays
In Valaskialf by the Asar all:
But the Dwarfs, who cannot endure its blaze,
Sight-blinder the glorious orb miscall:
’Tis named by the Alfs the wreath of gold:
Night-vanquisher by the Giant breed.”
These answers grave Harbard much extoll’d,
And herrings he eat with his oaten bread.
“The cloud that flits the heavens along
Is term’d by the Asar the car of Thor:
Rain-dropper in every Vaner’s song:
And runaway base in the Giant’s lore:
By the Alfs shade-giver; the Dwarfs, who thrive
In their grots, and dislike the glare of day,
[86]To the cloud the term umbrella give,
Since it shields them well from the solar ray.
“The wind doth many a title claim
From the denizens of air and earth:
The wide-embracer is its name,
The blust’rer, railer, and so forth.
The metal-melter, the smoky-veil’d,
Are appellations given to fire.
And hair of the earth the trees are call’d,
When their branches wave in their green attire.”
Fresh questions the boatman grave proposed,
But the answers of Skirnir never fail.
Of day and of night the names he posed,
And those bestow’d on corn and ale.
Then Harbard said: “Ne’er met my eyes
A man with wisdom so profound:
Yet Gestur’s riddles, I surmise,
Will far beyond thy reach be found.”
Grim Harbard now unmoor’d his bark,
And briskly Skirnir stepp’d on board;
For naught he valued the Giants dark,
And felt secure with his trusty sword.
And though the frightful boatman stared
As stiff as a corpse with his evil eye,
Yet not a whit was the hero scared,
For his witchcraft all he could well defy.
But Harbard soon lays down his oar,
For lo! the skiff no guidance needs:
Steady it nears the mountain shore,
Urged by the stream, which upwards speeds.
Unlike all other streams this wave,
Which from the mountains take their source,
And toward the sea, their common grave,
Flow downward with unerring course.
[87]
Swift gliding on the wizard brook,
They reach a drear and barren spot,
Where dews in vain bathe the naked rock,
Nor plant nor blade of grass takes root.
No bird’s soft carol here fills the sky,
All nature here seems a lifeless corse;
Naught is heard but the owl, which flitting by
Assails the ear with warnings hoarse.
’Twas night: the earth in frost was bound:
Thick flakes of snow from heaven descend:
Rising on every side around,
Huge ice-bergs seem their course to fend:
The shaggy beard of Harbard froze,
And icicles his ringlets deck’d:
But naught could Skirnir discompose;
On him the cold had no effect.
’Twas day: a torrent rustling through
A drear and sandy desert flow’d;
The wind like breath from furnace blew;
The sun was veil’d by sultry cloud;
A thirsty buffalo its snout
Protruded from the tepid wave:
Yet scorching heats and vapours naught
Affect the nerves of Skirnir brave.
Quoth Harbard: “Friend! I must allow,
Thy nature can all climes withstand:
Thou heedest neither Greenland’s snow,
Nor scorching suns of Negroland.”
Then Skirnir answer’d smiling. “Right!
Nor heat nor cold should travellers dread:
Were I a soft effeminate wight,
Think’st thou, I should so far have sped?”
The bark now with redoubled speed
Shot ’gainst a perpendic’lar rock;
The bark had timbers proof at need,
Else were it split by such a shock:
But naught alarm’d was Skirnir bold,
When dash’d against the marble steep.
Now Harbard’s brows in wrinkles roll’d,
And many a curse he murmur’d deep.
“Now we’re arrived upon the strand;
Yon silver-hair’d blind veteran see!
If thou hast wit at thy command,
The cavern’s gate he’ll ope for thee.
If thou his riddles canst unravel,
The mountain’s treasures he’ll display:
But hast thou doubts, ’twere best to travel
Homeward, young friend, without delay.
“For Gestur none admits, before
His
[88] riddles they correct unfold:
In chains of copper by his door
Yon four ferocious dogs behold!
His riddles shouldst thou fail to guess,
On thee he’ll loose his mastiffs strait;
Then will thy mangled limbs express
In language clear the wand’rer’s fate.”
“I am prepared for all his guile;
Let him begin forthwith his task!
And thou wilt find, that I have skill
To solve each riddle he may ask.”
“Nay! nay! thou dost, advent’rous youth,
Thy skill, perhaps, too highly prize:
But now ’tis time from Gestur’s mouth
To hear them: Hark!” aloud he cries.
GESTUR.
What is it that union and mirth inspires,
Yet oft is the cause of quarrel and strife?
Which oft the tongue with eloquence fires,
Yet oft deprives it of power and life?
SKIRNIR.
Not difficult is this question, I trow;
Mead is the key to the riddle proposed:
Wit from the mead-horn doth often flow;
By the mead-cup oft is the fool exposed.
GESTUR.
I pass’d on a road, where three roads met,
Yet these roads never touch’d each other.
Howe’er ingenious thy mother wit,
Here’s a nut to crack, thy brains will bother.
SKIRNIR.
To a frost-bound river thou didst come,
And o’er the ice thou didst glide with speed,
While under thy feet the fishes swum,
And birds in the air flew o’er thy head.
GESTUR.
I yesterday drank, but water ’twas not,
Nor any pottage with liquid drench’d,
Nor wine, nor beer, nor mead was my lot,
Yet my burning thirst was easily quench’d.
SKIRNIR.
Beneath a tree thou didst lay thee down.
While the dews of night all creation drench’d;
At morn thou didst lick the dew from the stone,
And thus thy thirst was easily quench’d.
GESTUR.
A two nosed bride groom I know full well,
Who kisses his bride with such ardent zeal,
That if thy finger were placed between,
His nose would smash both bone and skin.
SKIRNIR.
The answer deft I can scarcely miss:
Who would not shrink from the ardent kiss,
That the hammer to the anvil gives,
When his trade the smith laborious drives?
GESTUR.
Two creatures without lungs I know;
Yet such is the force with which they blow,
That metals they melt, and snakes they breed,
Which have power to hiss and to bite, when dead.
SKIRNIR.
Thy lungless wights are the smith’s vast bellows,
And swords for the warrior’s use they form:
How weak would prove e’en the bravest fellows
Without their swords in the battle’s storm!
GESTUR.
A wondrous weaver there is forsooth,
Who sits on his woof, and weaves his cloth:
His eyes are four, and his legs are eight,
And his knees exceed his body in height.
SKIRNIR.
I would not as model of beauty cite
The spider, yet he’s an industrious wight;
He’s thrifty too; and from his own breast
He weaves his woof, and he builds his nest.
GESTUR.
’Twas black as a raven, and bright as a shield,
And sharp as a spit, as it lay on the field,
But lately it glow’d with an ardent flame,
But now like the grave it is cold and tame.
SKIRNIR.
Thou sawst the lava from Hecla flow,
Which in the sun’s beam so bright did glow;
But o’er snow-clad fields meandering down,
It ceased to flow, and it turn’d to stone.
GESTUR.
Of a white-hair’d female I’ve been told,
Who well knows how white balls to mould;
Yet hath this female never a hand:
This riddle, pray! dost thou understand?
SKIRNIR.
’Tis the long-neck’d swan with its colour white,
Who loves to sail on the lake so bright:
No hands hath she, but her yellow feet
Can give to her eggs the figure meet.
GESTUR.
A corpse sat riding a corpse upon,
And though without life the steed moved on;
Across the river it speeded fast,
And stopp’d on the opposite bank at last.
SKIRNIR.
On the ice lay a horse deprived of breath,
And on it an eagle frozen to death:
On the drifting ice the courser sped
Across the stream, although it was dead.
GESTUR.
Who is it in ashes sleeps like a slave,
And seems neither life nor vigour to have?
Yet when ’tis angry, and throws off its mask,
O! then its mercy ’tis vain to ask.
SKIRNIR.
In the midst of ashes the glimmering spark
No one ever deigns to notice or mark:
Yet should it escape, and flame abroad,
Then woe to each straw-roof’d dwelling of wood!
GESTUR.
Who is that wizard with cloak of grey
That speeds o’er forest and stream his way?
Who flies ’fore the wind, and not from the lance,
And darkens the sun’s beneficent glance?
SKIRNIR.
Thy riddle is easy, O Gestur blind!
’Tis the cloud compels the sun to yield:
But Niord comes riding upon the wind,
And the cloud in turn must quit the field.
GESTUR.
What beast is that in yonder field
Whose house protects him like a shield?
Toad-like in form, his house of horn
May laugh the serpent’s tooth to scorn.
SKIRNIR.
The tortoise thou must mean, I’m sure:
Beneath his shell he sits secure:
Happy the chief who takes the field,
Guarded by such a powerful shield!
GESTUR.
Who are those lively females, say!
In summer clad in hue of clay,
But when stern winter hovers in sight,
They flaunt in bridal robes of white?
SKIRNIR.
Thou speakst of partridges, I guess;
While winter lasts, white is their dress;
Like bears, their coats aside they fling,
And brown, like clay, become in spring.
GESTUR.
What nymphs are those, who speed away,
Unmarried, to their dying day;
White caps on their dark locks are worn,
And flowing trains their backs adorn?
SKIRNIR.
Thou meanest sure the waves of ocean,
Which winds so easy put in motion,
But to a speedy end they come;
Their joy is naught but froth and scum.
GESTUR.
Who plunges oft in the sea profound,
And joys with tooth to seize the ground?
Who saveth many a chieftain good
From dangers dire by wind or flood?
SKIRNIR.
This riddle doth, O wizard blind!
With thoughts sublime inspire my mind:
The anchor surely thou dost mean,
Emblem of Hope to mortal men.
GESTUR.
What guests are those, that in silence drain
A cup, which unemptied doth still remain?
Though the guests in silence their bellies fill,
The cup itself makes a clamour shrill.
SKIRNIR.
Each little pig abstains from noise,
When he his mother’s milk enjoys:
But never the mother can silence keep,
She grunts for pastime loud and deep.
GESTUR.
Thy wits will fail thee, I surmise,
Shouldst thou perchance a monster meet,
Who boasts ten tongues and twenty eyes,
With twice five tails, and forty feet.
SKIRNIR.
Thy frightful beast, O Gestur blind!
Can with no terrors fill my mind:
The pregnant sow be pleased to slay
That stands by yonder trough, I pray!”
The sow was slain; such was her doom;
They counted the pigs in the mother’s womb:
Skirnir, in troth, had guess’d aright,
For lo! nine farrow appear’d in sight.
The news threw Gestur into fits;
Too great for him was this mental shock:
Changed to a statue there he sits
For aye, upon that fatal rock!
Now wagg’d their tails, were mild and tame
The dogs, so fierce and wild before:
When Skirnir to the mountain came,
Wide open flew the cavern door:
And in went Skirnir, fearless swain,
His master’s errand to fulfil:
Of peril reckless and of pain,
He felt he was an Asa still.
Through the rock’s windings intricate
Without a torch he found the road;
He reach’d an open silver gate,
Near which a stream o’er diamonds flow’d.