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.”

He cannot easily digest Such slights: his soul can find no rest: Nowhere he feels at home: And longs once more through the wide world to roam.

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.