CANTO XIII.

THE RAPE OF IDUNA.

Odin, with Hænir and with Asa-Lok, Assuming human forms, once on a time To view the earth a journey undertook. Odin felt weary of his throne sublime On Hlidskialf, and he fain would rove Throughout the world, mankind himself to prove: While through the forest dark he bends his way, He gasps for breath, and feels himself but clay.

O’er mountains cover’d with eternal snow They wander now, and now through Orkner’s vale; Before them stood, perch’d on the dizzy brow Of a projecting rock, huge as a whale, An ice-bear fierce! naught did the sight The travellers alarm; the monster fled, ’Midst heaps of snow to hide himself with dread, For inwardly he felt the Asar’s presence bright.

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!