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.