He was, indeed, as a god, the familiar companion of Thor; who, however, had no great wish for his society. Like most of the gods, he was married. His wife, Signe, was an amiable being, who loved him in spite of his depravity. By her he had two sons, Nari and Vali, whose fate will be mentioned in the proper place. But he had other and more mischievous offspring by the giantess Augerbode,—Fenris the wolf, Jormungandur the great serpent, and Hela the queen of death. This alleged affinity will confirm the observation, that there was originally but one Loke, the lord of Utgard, and consequently the everlasting foe of the gods. How the Asgard Loke should become so wicked as to produce such offspring, might surprise us, if we were not assured that he was not so originally, and that he became so by eating the half-roasted heart of an enchantress.

These three children of Loke were reared in Utgard by the mother. The fatal influence which they were to exercise over the universe, was not concealed from Vala, the mysterious prophetess of heaven, or from Skulda, the Norny of the future. The gods being warned, sent to secure them. Jormungandur, one of the most dreaded, was seized, and by Odin cast into the great sea that separates the human from the giant world. There so large did it become, that it surrounded the whole earth,—being condemned to hold its tail in its mouth, and thus to form a circle. There he lies, waiting for the time when destiny will unloose him—the Ragnarok, or the twilight of the gods; when he will assist in the destruction of the visible universe.

Hela, the next mythologic offspring, is hideous to behold,—her body being half livid, half of natural colour. By Odin, or rather by destiny, of which he was merely the instrument, she was placed in the upper confines of Nifleheim,—in the region which, from her, is called Hell (Helheim). She was invested with dominion over six, or perhaps seven, of the nine worlds, (as we have before observed, there is some doubt whether Muspelheim be eternal,)—over men, and dwarfs, and giants, and gods. All who die a natural death proceed to her “drear abode:” hence her title, queen of the dead. “Hela’s hall,” says the prose Edda, “is affliction; her table is famine; her knife is hunger; her threshold, a drawbridge; her bed, lingering sickness; her tent, cursing.” She too, like Odin, had nornies, whose province it was to summon mortals to her vast domain. But these were much inferior in loveliness and dignity to the celestial nornies. They appeared to the fated victim by night only. Hela herself was sometimes believed thus to appear. She had a dark red cock, to signify, by its crowing, the approach of fate; and a spectre horse, to carry the doomed to her gloomy abode.

The third demon offspring of Loke, the wolf Fenris, is no less wonderful than his brother and sister. The one had been surprised and, thrown into the sea; the other had been partly persuaded to submit, through the high dignity offered to her; but Fenris, who was more powerful, was also more troublesome. He was taken, indeed, and bound; but he snapped his fetters, strong as they were, as if they had been nothing. A massive chain was now made, and he was bid to try its strength: it snapped as if it had been dried clay. Another was made double the strength of the preceding,—the strongest that the gods could make; but with a very slight effort it too gave way. What was to be done with this formidable criminal,—one destined, if oracles were true, to endanger the world? The gods had no fetter in which to bind him; the giants, who were skilful, could not be expected to join in any design against one of their own body,—one, too, that was naturally hostile to the Aser. In this, as in many other dilemmas, recourse was had to the Dwarfs in the bowels of the earth. At the instance of Skirnir, the messenger of Freyr, they constructed a chain called Gleipner; which, though so slender as to resemble a silken thread, was nevertheless not to be broken by gods, or giants, or dwarfs. The Edda acquaints us with the materials of which it was constructed. These were six, all curious enough to deserve mentioning:—the sound made by the feet of a cat; the beard of a woman; the roots of huge rocks; the fibres of trees; the breath of fishes; the spittle of birds. But how bind by it the formidable monster? Deceit must be used. Repairing with him to a solitary island, the gods desired him to try his strength on this, as he had done on preceding things. “Little honour,” replied the cunning demon, “can result from breaking a silken thread; but probably it may be enchanted!” and he refused to try it. He was next taunted and jeered; and in vexation he at length consented to be bound; but then, to be assured that the gods were honest in their proffer, he insisted that some one of them should put a hand in his mouth. They were in utter dismay; but the undaunted Tyr^[62], the northern Mars, the defender of the gods, at length resolved to sacrifice a member for the preservation of the universe. He therefore placed his hand in the open jaw, and the wolf allowed himself to be fettered. The chain was cunningly fastened round his body, passed through a rent rock, carried downwards to the centre of the earth, and there made fast. Fenris now tried as before; but so far from escaping, every effort that he made only entangled him the more, and rivetted his bonds the more firmly. He therefore desisted; but in his anger he bit off the hand of Tyr. From that moment the god has been only left-handed; but as he uses that hand with much effect, he is still to be dreaded. He alone had courage to take food to an animal, the roaring of which was felt by all nature, until the gods thrust a sword into his jaws, and thus gagged him. There he lies until Ragnarok, when, like Midgard’s serpent, he will break loose.

There is no personage in the whole system of a more mythic character than Loke. He was evidently the personification of the active evil principle. His name signifies flame; and he is a representative of the demon of fire—the destructive, in opposition to the alimentary, aerial fire, of which Balder may be considered the symbol. At this day the devil is called Loke by the Norwegians. Still there is frequently some obscurity in the mythi respecting him, and it is occasioned by his being so often confounded with the demon king of Utgard. Though they were originally one, the Edda has made him into two, in conformity no doubt with the genius of two distinct systems of mythology. The mysterious allusion to the assistance which he afforded Odin in the work of creation, is one great proof of his identification with the powers of evil: his relationship with the giants, on both sides, sufficiently accounts for his hostility towards the gods, with whom he associated that he might find an opportunity of triumphing over them. He is styled a coward, because his deeds will not bear the light—the inventor of deceit, of lies, of every thing base. The first of his offspring, the great serpent, is evidently a relic of the Celtic creed. The Britons acknowledged its existence; and there are two bold promontories on the coast to which they have given the name of the Worm’s Head.^[63] Of the wolf Fenris the character is more obscure, though no less confirmatory of the mythos. It is doubtless a symbol of destruction. In several countries of the East, it is believed that a wolf will finally destroy, if not the world, the sun and moon. Thus, in the Budhist system, a wolf, Rakoo, is always on the watch to swallow both luminaries. This mythos, we suspect, with a living writer^[64], has given rise to the superstition so common in the middle ages,—that of men-wolves; viz., the power possessed by some men of assuming the form of that animal. Hela, or death, the offspring of sin, or Satan (Loke), needs no explanation. We may, however, observe, that there is some plausibility in the arguments of Magnussen, when he attempts to show that Helheim is more ancient than Valhalla; that it is the place of punishment acknowledged by the original inhabitants, while the warrior’s heaven was introduced by the Gothic conquerors.

The mythological fables in which Loke so prominently appears, will illustrate his character better, and certainly more agreeably, than any formal description. In most of them he was associated with Thor; but we select one in which Odin and Hoenir were concerned with him. Hoenir, we must observe, is but another name for Vile, the brother of Odin, who assisted in the work of creation.^[65]

The three Aser one day left Asgard to see other worlds, especially Utgard. Travelling over dreary wastes, they reached a mountainous region, more hungry than they had for some time been. Entering a valley, they found a herd of cattle, and killed one of the animals for supper. Loke, who was to be the cook, made a fire, and proceeded to his task, while the two nobler gods walked about. But notwithstanding the great heat of the fire, the ox would not roast. A voice, from the tree above him, told him that he would have no supper unless he promised to let the speaker join. He looked up, and seeing an eagle only, gave his consent. The bird now descended to the fire, and seized both shoulders, which he, considering as somewhat too large a share, would not permit. Taking a large billet of wood, he struck the unreasonable animal; when the eagle instantly flew upwards, one end of the billet adhering to its beak. But alas! the other end was no less tenacious of Loke’s hand; and away he was dragged over mountain, wood, and stream, his arm ready to fall from his body, and his feet sorely wounded by being trailed over the sharp rocks and bushes. He lustily called for help to Odin and Thor. “Cry away!” replied the eagle, who was no other than the giant Thiasse in that shape^[66]; “but never shalt thou be released from this situation, unless thou promise by oath to bring Iduna and her apples from Asgard to me!”

Iduna was the wife of Braga, the god of eloquence, and daughter to the dwarf Ivalldr, one of the most scientific of his race. She was a goddess, and the wife of a god: for both honours she was no doubt indebted to the wonderful apples of which she was the guardian, and which had been given her by her kindred. They had this virtue, that when the gods felt the approach of age, they had only to eat of these apples to be restored to all the bloom of youth. The giants, like the gods, were subject to decay; and, like the gods, they wished for the means of immortality,—to escape the dark empire of Hela.

As Loke was no friend to the Aser, he swore to comply with the giant’s demand, within a given time. He was therefore released, and enabled to return with the two gods to Asgard. When the covenanted time arrived, he told Iduna, that in a neighbouring wood he had discovered some apples, much finer, and much more valuable, than any she possessed. Her curiosity being raised, she took some of her own apples with her, to compare with the others, and was accompanied by Loke to the wood; but scarcely had they passed the boundary of Asgard, than Thiasse arriving in the eagle’s shape, bore her away to the dark mountains of Utgard.

Great was the consternation of the Aser at the disappearance of Iduna and her apples. The effect was soon visible: they became weaker, less supple, decrepit, and wrinkled. Though the season was spring, the flowers withered, and the leaves became sear as at the close of autumn. A council of the gods was convoked to learn how and whither Iduna had disappeared. No one could give them any other information than this,—that she had been last seen with Loke departing from Asgard. Loke was examined; and when he showed a disposition to evade the questions that were asked, Thor seized him, and threw him into the air so high that his heels struck the moon, and then descended to the sea. All this was nothing in comparison with what he would suffer if he did not restore the goddess. He readily promised to do so, if Freya would lend him her disguise, that of a hawk. Being furnished with it, he flew in that disguise to Utgard, and reached the abode of Thiasse just as that giant had left it to row for a short time on the neighbouring sea. Changing Iduna into a swallow, he returned with her in his claws towards Asgard. When Thiasse returned, and learned the departure of the goddess, he resumed his eagle’s dress, and rapidly followed in the direction which the hawk had taken. He obtained sight of the fugitives just as they approached Asgard; and he would certainly have overtaken them but for a stratagem of the Aser, who were anxiously watching the pursuit. Forming a vast pile of faggots under the walls of the city, they set fire to it; and the flames ascended so high as to burn the eagle’s wings. Thiasse fell to the ground, and was immediately despatched by Thor.

This is one of the most interesting fables of the prose Edda. It has doubtless a meaning, though we are by no means sure that Magnussen has discovered the right one. According to him, Iduna is the spring, which may be called the renewer of nature’s youth. Spring is always accompanied by joy and harmony,—by the song of birds, by the cheerful hum of men, by the gambols of animals, by the sportive winds: hence it is personified in Iduna: she is the wife of Braga, the god of poetry, of music, of song, of harmony. Thiasse, the giant, is the winter: Iduna flies from him in the shape of the swallow, which is everywhere the bird of spring. The destruction of the giant by the flames, denotes the season of winter killed by the heat of the spring.—That this explanation of the mythos is ingenious, as well as plausible, cannot be denied; but we are not quite satisfied with it. Though a meaning is involved in these fables, we doubt whether all the incidents are thus designed. Many were invented through the love of invention, or rather to please the multitude; and by such inventors physical principles would not always be observed. For this obvious reason, much caution is requisite in interpretations which have not positive authority for their base.

The next mythos in which Loke is exhibited, is in connection with Thor.

Geyruth, also called Geirrod, was one of the Aser’s most formidable enemies. In the former volume we have given, from Saxo Grammaticus, a description of his empire^[67],—a description rivalling in power of invention any to be found in Homer. To it we refer the reader, before he proceeds any farther with this narrative, as nothing can be more curious than to compare the account which Saxo derived from tradition (no Edda had then been compiled), and, what is more, from Danish tradition, with that given in the sacred books of the Scandinavians from Norwegian sources.

Thor’s first journey was preceded by that of Loke. Loke, with all his cunning, was frequently in trouble;—and how could the devil be otherwise? Assuming a hawk’s disguise, (the hawk in more countries than the North was the symbol of that personage,) he entered the dominions of Geyruth, was caught, and, when he refused to answer the questions that were put to him, was shut up in a chest during three months. His revenge then gave way, and he confessed who he was. The giant then released him, on his promise to bring Thor to Utgard, without belt or hammer. The object of the giant’s policy may be easily guessed. Thor, the defender of Asgard, the everlasting enemy of the giants, would be reduced to the same level with themselves when deprived of those wonderful treasures. Loke had no difficulty in prevailing on the stout-hearted god to visit the dominions of the giant king. On the way to that region, within the boundaries of Utgard, was a magic forest, of which the trees were all iron. It was inhabited by certain enchantresses, who were the mothers of male and female sorcerers, who could at any time assume the wolf’s shape. These enchantresses were cruel: they often raised storms, and enticed travellers into their power from the mere love of destruction. Thor met one of these witches, who cautioned him against the arts of Geyruth, and presented him with a pair of iron gloves, a girdle, and a staff.

On reaching the river Vimur, the longest one in the world, he observed Gialp, one of the giant’s daughters, standing astride the whole river,—one foot on each bank; and making the water rise in a fearful manner. He threw a rush at her, and forced her to retire. Wading across, he proceeded to Geyruth’s palace, which he entered, and a separate lodging was provided for him. In one corner of the cavern was a stool, on which he sat down; but scarcely was he seated, when the stool began to rise from the ground. With the staff which he held, he struck the roof of the cave, and immediately heard a loud scream beneath him. On looking, he discovered, with broken backs, three daughters of his host, who had placed themselves on the roof with the design of crushing him to death. Geyruth himself did not escape more easily. Inviting Thor to drink with him, the two sat down in another part of the palace, one on each side of a large fire. Having sat for some time, the giant seized a red-hot iron wedge that was glowing in the fire, and threw it with all his might at the god. The latter caught it with his gloved hand, and returned it with such force, that though Geyruth had run behind a pillar, it went through both pillar, himself, and the walls of the palace. Still it remained in his breast; and in that position, attended by his three maimed daughters, he has remained ever since.^[68]

In the second journey, which is much more imaginative, Thor was accompanied by Loke. The temple of Upsal had been visited by Utgardelok (the demon king of Utgard)^[69], who had not only extinguished the sacred fire, but made a ruin of the edifice. Now Upsal was the palace which, above all others in Midgard, Odin loved. In it Thor and Frigga too were worshipped with great pomp; and the priestesses of the latter were of royal blood,—the daughters of kings. Great was the wrath of the three deities. Thor, in particular, was observed to knit his brows, and to clench his fist at table: but he spoke not a word; for he was revolving the means of vengeance. Formidable as he knew the demon king to be in natural, and still more in supernatural power,—in a science unknown to the gods,—he resolved to invade his dominions. Having emptied a full horn presented to him by one of the Valkyrs, he called for his car, for his goats, and for Loke, as the companion of his journey. Having harnessed the animals, nailed on their golden shoes, wound the reins round his waist, he entered with Loke; and grasping Miölner in his right hand, proceeded at a rapid pace down the bridge Bifrost.

Reaching a cottage towards nightfall, they asked for hospitality, which was readily granted. Humble was the cot; and it contained little for gods to banquet on,—nothing but simple vegetables. But Thor was not anxious on this account. With his hammer he slew his two goats, which were skinned and roasted with considerable despatch. Ample was the entertainment; not only was the flesh delicious, but the place teemed with excellent mead; and some idea may be formed of a divine appetite, when we add, that the two goats were entirely devoured,—all but the bones, which Thor desired should be carefully thrown back into the skins that were stretched before the hearth. But Thialf, a son of the rustic host, and a mere stripling, broke a thigh-bone of one goat for the sake of the marrow. The next morning, before daybreak, Thor arose, and swung his hammer over the two skins, when suddenly the two goats rose up as if nothing had happened. But one of them limped; and dreadful was the countenance of the god. Supplication, however, disarmed him; he took the youth and a sister into his service; and leaving the car and the goats at the peasant’s cottage, all four proceeded on foot. The boy, who immediately won the favour of his master, carried a wallet; and the maiden, quite a beauty, tripped lightly along. Thor marched pensively; his hammer flung over his shoulder; his dark locks escaping from his silvery casque. They reached the sea, which was agitated by a dreadful tempest; and Loke began to be afraid; but he was compelled to follow the god, who rushed into the water, like some thundering rock. The mortals too followed: but the storm continued to rage; and they required all the help of the leader to reach the other side. A trackless desert was next to be traversed; and on they went, in darkness, except that the moon now and then gleamed,—weary, hungry, wet, and faint. Other trials were to be encountered,—the storm, the lightning, the slippery ice, the deep mud; the roaring wind, which the demon king excited by his magic power. Thor, who had to support the maiden Roska, lost his temper; and he vowed revenge on Utgardelok when he should meet him. What seemed to be a hut, in the midst of the pitiless waste, presented itself; and three of them entered it, Thor himself remaining at the entrance with his mallet in his hand, to protect them while they slept. Vast, and of a strange form, was the only apartment which the hut contained; but in a storm any port is welcome. Towards morning, while Thor glanced in great anger over the waste, he heard a strange noise, and felt a strange motion. Rising, he beheld, by the faint glimmer of the moon, a vast giant—so vast as to cover several acres—asleep and snoring. Grasping his mallet, he was preparing to punish the intruder, when up started the giant. “Who are you?” demanded Thor. “Skrymner, the servant of king Utgardelok, just come from Jotunheim.” He addressed Thor by name, of whose feats he had heard much; but common report, he thought, had been too favourable; for after all, even he, who was of little esteem compared with his fellows, could put this hero of the gods in the palm of his right hand. “I have lost my gauntlet!” suddenly observed the giant, who groping for it, took it up. What was it but the strange hut in which Loke and the two mortals had passed the greater part of the night? All but Thor were dismayed at this commencement of their acquaintance with the subjects of Utgardelok; but Thor trusted in his hammer. “What brings you so far to look at a desert?” was the natural question of Skrymner. Thor replied, that he was determined to see, face to face, their boasted monarch, whose magic and frozen mountains he only ridiculed. The giant thought he might rue his boldness: however, if he was determined to proceed, let him do so, and he (Skrymner) would be his guide. When evening came, and the giant laid down to sleep under a great tree, until supper was ready, there was more magic. Neither Thialf, nor Loke, nor Thor himself, could open the wallet, or cut the strings. In great wrath the god seized his hammer, and struck at the forehead of the sleeping giant. “Has a leaf fallen on my face?” asked the giant, rubbing his face, and wondering why they had not gone to sleep. Towards midnight, the snoring of Skrymner so enraged Thor, that he arose, and aimed a hard and more vigorous blow at the monster: the hammer seemed to enter his very brain. “Has an acorn fallen?” was the cool observation of the other, as he rubbed his face. A third blow, which seemed to send the very handle into the giant’s head, had no better effect; so that Thor now began to have less confidence in the weapon which had hitherto terrified all created things.

But we must not dwell on events which have been so frequently described.^[73] The adventures of the god and his companions at the palace of Utgardelok were not such as to inspire him with more confidence. Loke—fire itself, which consumes all things—was beat at eating. Thialf—a mythologic personage too, though represented as a peasant’s son, his name signifying thought—is exceeded in the race. The mighty thunderer himself is vanquished in three successive trials. Though he is the sun, the greatest drinker surely in all nature, he cannot much lessen a large horn of liquor that is presented to him: he cannot lift a huge tom-cat from the floor: he cannot, in wrestling, throw a toothless old woman, who brings him on one knee. In much shame, though in no consternation, the god returned with his companions. On leaving the confines of the city, however, he was made acquainted with the deceptions that had been practised on him. The three blows which he had struck, were not at a head, but at a rocky mountain; and deep were the dells which they had made in it. The horn was the ocean; yet he had drunk so much of it as to leave in many places land instead of water. The cat was Midgard’s great serpent, which he had almost lifted from the sea. The old woman was Hela, the goddess of death, who with all her strength could only bring him on one knee. In great anger, he was going to exact revenge for such tricks, when the spectre and the city itself vanished like mist.

This mythos in a great degree explains itself. The contest between Thor and Utgard’s monarch is evidently one between the summer and the winter, between heat and cold, between light and darkness. Many of the details, we believe, in opposition to Magnussen, who sees in every thing a physical meaning, to have been created without any other design than entertainment.

Hymis-quida, a song about Hymir, is from the elder Edda, and is of great antiquity.

The sea-god Ægir gave a banquet to the gods; but he was little prepared for such drinkers, and his mead fell short. Thor called for more with some anger; and that anger was not diminished when he found that no more was forthcoming. The excuse was, that Ægir had not a cauldron large enough to brew sufficient mead at a time. Tyr, who was present with the rest, and who, though a god, is represented as the son of the giant Hymir, observed that his father had one a mile deep, which might be obtained by stratagem. On this business the two gods immediately departed in the chariot of Thor towards Hymir’s abode, which lay on the confines of the eastern sea. Here they found two ladies, the mother and wife of the giant; the former a strange creature, with 900 heads; the latter, who was the mother of Tyr, a fine woman, and kind as she was comely. She told them both that she feared Hymir’s return; since he was subject to dreadful passions; and she hid them behind some kettles. Towards evening he returned, in no good humour. As he entered the house, the icy mountains emitted a thundering noise. An old man he was to view, and the hairs of his head, which resembled a forest, were frozen. His wife, saluting him, told him that their son was arrived, in company with the famous enemy of the giants and the friend of men, Veor.^[74] “Look,” she added, “where they sit, at the extremity of the house, to avoid thy glance!” The giant looked; but they were concealed by the nine kettles. At his glance, however, the tree or beam from which they were suspended, burnt into two, and eight of them burst. The two gods now advanced; and though Hymir was compelled to exercise some degree of hospitality, he did so unwillingly. Three oxen (one for each, we suppose, unless the lion’s share was to be Hymir’s,) were ordered to be roasted. But Thor showed that he had more than a giant’s appetite; for, to the surprise of his host, he ate two of the animals himself. This made the latter observe, that the next evening the two visitors must eat what they could take in hunting or fishing for themselves. The next day, therefore, Thor proposed to fish, if the giant would give him bait. “Go amongst the cattle, and seize one,” was the reply. “I suspect, however,” Hymir added, “that thou wilt not easily catch such bait.” Without reply, Thor went into the wood, and seizing the horns of a large black bull, pulled off its head, and returned to the giant, who expressed some surprise at such a feat in one so little. They now went out into the sea, and the giant hauled two whales. But nobler was the prey of Thor: with the bull’s head he caught the great serpent Jormungandur, the head of which he drew out of the water, and which spewed venom upon him. The rocks trembled; the desert places howled, and the ancient earth rolled itself closer. He then struck the monster with his mallet, and it sank. Hymir rowed back, sullen and silent; and the strength which had been exhibited in bringing the two whales to his mountain home, gave him some reason for thought. When returned, the two gods were desired to try their strength in other things. A cup was put into the hands of Thor, and he was defied to break it. In vain did he dash it against several pillars in succession: he split them, but it remained unbroken. The wife now whispered him to throw it against the giant’s head, which was much harder than the rock. He did so; the head was uninjured; but the cup was broken, and the owner lamented its loss. The next trial of strength was to carry the great cauldron out of the house. Tyr tried twice; but could not so much as move it. But Thor placed it upon his head; and though the edges descended to his heels, he walked away with it. He was now pursued by a great number of giants whom he slew with his mallet.—From that time the sea-god was able to treat the Aser men to their satisfaction.

Of this mythos the physical meaning is dark; and this darkness is probably owing to the fondness with which the northern scalds added extraneous circumstances for the sake of embellishment. Nothing, indeed, is more hopeless than the attempt to restore these ancient pieces to the original fragmentary state in which they were left by the priests of Thor and of Odin. The scald has, by embellishing, concealed the priest; the fabulist concealed the philosophic theologian. All that we can safely assert is, that there is here a physical contest between heat and cold, between evaporation and congelation; that the sun (Thor), having drunk up all the streams of the earth, now invades the dominions of frost and snow. The bursting of the vessels under the glance of Hymir, is a notion universally diffused in the northern latitudes. Thus, the two magicians the suitors of Gunhilda, could destroy every thing by their glance.^[75] The meaning doubtless is, that excessive frost makes every thing brittle, and may therefore be said to split every thing.

If the scalds took such liberties with the ancient or poetic Edda, as often to bury the sun, they were more licentious still in regard to the younger or prose Edda. This work was evidently compiled to explain the former. With it a licence still more dangerous has been taken; so that, in many instances, it bears little conformity with the preceding work. We may add, that by modernising, paraphrasing, and embellishing the prose Edda, Ohlenschlager has done no service to the ancient mythology of his country: he cannot be followed by any one that would form a correct notion of the subject. In the same manner as the compilers of the second Edda deviated from the spirit of the first, so has the celebrated Danish poet deviated from them.^[76] For the sake of illustrating this divergence, let us advert for a moment to the same adventure in the prose Edda and in the version of Ohlenschlager: it will be found to have lost its mythical character in proportion to the improvement of its fable.

When Thor reflected on the gross impositions which Utgardelok had practised on him, he was apprehensive, and not without reason, that gods and men would take him for a fool. To vindicate his merits, he ventured again to visit Utgard, and without Loke, whose honour he justly suspected. This time he would, like them, change his form, and he obtained from Odin, in the shape of ointment, power that would enable him to do so. Leaving behind his car and his goats—

“But being now resolved to proceed with caution, he began by changing his form. Throwing his ponderous helmet on the ground, it became a rock covered with pines.

“The poet in describing Hymir’s residence gives a vivid picture of Norwegian scenery, black rugged rocks crowned with pines, a waterfall, a river white with foam dashing through thick brushwood down the ravine, and hard by a verdant dell filled with cattle. On hearing a stranger’s step, Hymir sprang up, and demanded of the stripling how he dared unbidden to venture into his wood. Thor replied that he felt no apprehension:

“He finishes a long speech by saying, that his object was to obtain the giant’s permission to accompany him when he went out to fish.

“He then granted the request, and invited Thor to take shelter in his cave from the keen morning wind, adding tauntingly,

“Thor asked only to be put to the proof, and now begged to be allowed to take with him what he might want for his fishing. Hymir assented, telling him that for bait he would find a grub amongst the cows. Thor went into the field, and a wild bull rushing towards him, he seized it by the horns and brake off its head, and then throwing it over his shoulders leaped the enclosure, and hastened to Hymir, who was getting the boat ready.

“The god now became elated at the near prospect of measuring himself with the serpent, and gave full liberty to his thoughts. If he could succeed in slaying it,

“It must be confessed,” says the prose Edda, “that Thor here made quite as great a fool of Jormungandur as Utgard’s-Lok did of him, when the giant king caused him to lift up the worm, believing it was a cat. The worm gulped down the ox’s head so ravenously, that the hook stuck deep in his jaws. As soon as he perceived this, he plunged with such violence, that both Thor’s fists struck against the sides of the boat, on which the god’s anger got up and his strength at the same time, and he pulled so furiously against the snake, that both his legs went through the boat, and he remained standing on the bottom of the sea. He now pulled up the serpent to the edge of the boat, and, to say the truth, it was a terrible sight to see Thor look so grim at the serpent, and the serpent all the while gaping and spewing out poison against Thor. It is reported also that the giant Hymir changed colour, and became white with fear, when he saw the snake, and the dark blue sea breaking through the sides of the boat.

“In the same moment Thor seized hold of his hammer and swung it round in the air, but the giant fumbled about for his knife, and scored Thor’s knot over, by which means the snake got loose and sank down to the bottom of the sea. Thor threw his hammer after it, and it has been asserted that he thus knocked its head off against the breakers. But I think that it is pretty certain that the Midgard’s worm still lives and lies in the sea. Thor then lifted his arm and gave Hymir such a cuff on the side of the head that he fell overboard, and the soles of his feet were turned up in the air, but Thor waded to shore.”^[80]

The contrast between the preceding version and the simple relation in the venerable poetic Edda will, no doubt, appear striking to the reader, and abundantly confirm all the observations we have made on the subject.