CANTO XXIV.

GERDA’S LOVE.

Skirnir the open silver portal view’d, And through an archway straight his course pursued: The passage, cut through coal, and polish’d bright, Gave to the traveller sufficient light. But soon, when he some paces onward sped, Again the starry vault shone o’er his head. To a court-yard he came; and there his eyes Met with a sight that fill’d him with surprize: For there, instead of ducks and hens, a brood Of snakes and lizards crawl’d about for food,[89] Which from her apron’s fold a maiden threw, And call’d them to be fed in accents strange and new. But all at once the maid, when she espied The swain, rush’d back behind a porch, and cried Stoutly for help: her speech brave Skirnir naught Could comprehend; ’twas Finnish, as he thought. A numerous train of carles and maidens, scared At the shrill sound, slept forth and round them stared. Skirnir observ’d them close: their stature short And squab: their visage sallow; coarse, lank, swart Their hair; small eyes that with no meaning glow; Nostrils compress’d; a forehead flat and low; Their fingers, like dried carrots, long and lean; Awkward their gait; ignoble all their mien: Their looks betray, so lustreless, so tame, Their portion scant of the celestial flame: In Finnmark and in Greenland such a race May still be found, devoid of soul or grace. “Now help me, Thor!” quoth Skirnir, in despite: “Hath my good master lost his senses quite? Is then his love a witch like one of these, Whose aspect bare the warmest blood would freeze? Love’s blind, they say, but madness ’twere, forsooth, For such a hero in the bloom of youth To pair off with a damsel so uncouth.”

Thus musing towards the porch he cast a glance, And there beheld from ’midst her train advance The beauteous Gerda: wonder and delight Enchant his soul at such a vision bright! He stood entranced, and dumb: e’en so doth stand The humble swain, when at his lord’s command He ploughs the earth, and turning up the mould, Discovers fill’d with coins a vase of gold. Now could he well conceive his master’s flame, For ne’er his eyes beheld a lovelier dame: Not golden-hued her locks, like those which deck The brow of Freya; down her ivory neck Part flow in ebon ringlets, part entwine With many a glossy wreath her front divine: Not heavenly blue her eyes, like those which grace The lofty females of the Asar race; But like two garnets dark they fervent beam, And fix the heart with soul-subduing gleam. In just proportion every feature shone, And all combin’d to form a paragon.

Now Skirnir, when the power of speech again He felt, address’d the fair, and to explain His mission straight began; but with disdain Hasty she answer’d: “To thy lord return! And tell him, Frey for me may vainly burn. Ne’er let him hope to touch my heart, still less The mountain damsel in his arms to press: I hate him; is he not of Asar race? And can we e’er forget the dire disgrace Heap’d on us giants? by their mystic spells Our Utgard-Lok in gloomiest caverns dwells. Yet is his prison vast; we still can boast A world more glorious than the one we’ve lost. We hold more treasures in our grots profound, Than on the surface of the earth are found. With ether’s glitt’ring orbs let Odin toy; In frothy billows Ægir seek his joy; Frigga in fading flow’rets boast her choice; The Alfs in unsubstantial air rejoice: But we possess fire, metals, precious stones, At our command the fierce volcano groans: We need but nod, as the proud courser shakes His mane, earth with a fev’rish motion quakes: Walls, castles, towns are levell’d with the ground, And forests sink in wat’ry wastes profound. Though Odin in Valhalla boast his might, Lok hath an elder and superior right, And earth still owns him lord: but think! O think! The time will come when all your power shall shrink: Your race expire; Valhall in flames be hurl’d; Though now ye vainly dream to rule the world.”

Now to fair Gerda answer’d Skirnir mild: “Who taught thee such conceits? thou lovely child! Not from thy own conception comes thy speech; Too innocent thy heart such flights to reach: For Utgard-Lok thou knowst not, ne’er hast seen, With hair upright like quills and swarthy mien: This from thy father thou hast learnt, I ween. ’Tis well; that thy opinions are the same As his, who shall thy filial reverence blame? Yet think again! but distantly art thou Allied with Utgard-Lok, who reigns below: Naught with that chief in common dost thou share; He, frightful to behold; thou, wondrous fair. Like rose-bud thou, t’embalm the air design’d; Like deadly nightshade he, to blast mankind. Yet oft the virtues of a child suffice To expiate her father’s crimes and vice: From unlike sources various products spring; Joy sometimes grief; misfortune bliss doth bring. Between the sand runs not the muddy stream So long, till purified it shows a gleam Like that of diamond? in its surface bright The maidens then to view their forms delight. From mould impure sweet flowers their birth derive, Yet lift their heads in air, and fragrant thrive. Now let the rose of love thy front entwine, And with earth’s brightest jewel heaven combine!”

Now Gerda thus replied in soften’d tone: “Thy speech is courteous and discreet, I own: With zeal and eloquence dost thou fulfill The task imposed thee by thy sov’reign’s will: So now depart! but first, I pray thee, taste, Thy strength to renovate, our night’s repast, Then quick returning to thy bright domain Inform thy anxious lord, his suit is vain. Tell him, however prudent, smooth and kind Thy words, they naught have influenc’d Gerda’s mind. Stout champions, brave in war, our mountains yield, Chiefs, whom in power the Asar ne’er excell’d: Should such a chief one day his passion prove For me, and bend my heart to mutual love, Then will the mountain nymph with joy and pride Accept his hand, and hail the name of bride. Here in my native vales content I live;[90] ’Midst mountains high, and fountains clear I thrive. A princess too by birth, born to command, Among the giant race pre-eminent I stand. And, trust me! not so humble or so low Doth Gerda feel, as with submissive brow T’intrude herself amongst the gods on high; To meet contempt from every Disa’s eye, Who hold my birth too mean, myself too base To form alliance with the Asar race.”

“Therein thou dost the fair Asynior wrong; (Thus Skirnir answer’d with persuasive tongue) Pride, arrogance prevail amongst mankind, But in a Disa’s soul ne’er harbour find. The features grand that mark the gods on high Are virtue, wisdom, and simplicity, Not birth; since ’tis well known the gods among, That Thor and Odin both from nothing sprung, Like insects, at Alfader’s nod; though now On Valhall’s throne they sit with radiant brow.”

To him replied the lively Gerda: “Love, For what we know not, we can never prove. I know my native vale, each rock, each field, But Frey or Valhall ne’er my eyes beheld. Me hath he never seen; whence springs his flame At once so ardent for the mountain dame? Methinks, to tell thee truth, my gentle swain! All goes not right in thy fond master’s brain.”

And now his master’s actions and his fate Did Skirnir circumstantially relate: How he ascended Hlidskialf’s lofty tower, And what from thence he view’d in Gerda’s bower: How, when her charms she bared, love’s potent dart At once transfix’d his vacillating heart.

With downcast look and palpitating breast, Deep blushing, Gerda listen’d to her guest. But when young Skirnir talk’d about the moon, She laughed, and quick resumed her jesting tone. “If like the moon thy master be,” she said, “Let him ne’er hope to win a youthful maid! For pale and sallow is the moon; such hue All blooming damsels with repugnance view: Such love is lukewarm.”--“Nay!” the swain replied, “Did Frey once press thee in his arms as bride, Thou wouldst not of his lukewarm love complain; But since my powers of argument are vain, ’Twere best I seek my couch; but first, I pray, Let me the bower, where thou dost sleep, survey. A present from my sov’reign lord I bear For thee, which I would fain deposit there.” Laughing, she pointed out her chamber-door, Then went herself his supper to procure; For Gerda was by nature good and kind, And Skirnir’s jovial frankness pleased her mind.

Skirnir now stood alone; her couch he view’d, Near which a vase of alabaster stood, Wherein the maid, before she went to rest, Was wont to lave her face, her arms, her breast: ’Twas fill’d with water: with his project pleas’d, In haste his horn the gallant Skirnir seiz’d; Within the vase all its contents he pour’d. And charged it with the image of his lord. This done, he left the bower of Gerda strait, And his own chamber sought with mind elate.

But now the mountain damsel, when her guest And all her menials had retired to rest, Flew to her chamber, curious to behold The gift from Valhall brought by Skirnir bold. Curling her lip, as maids are wont to do, She thus exclaim’d with laugh contemptuous: “Now I needs must view the wond’rous present given By the enamour’d denizen of heaven. What can it be? diamonds, or rubies bright, Silver, or gold are common in my sight: Such treasures in our spacious grots abound, But in the skies, I trow, are seldom found.” But when around she look’d, and naught could find, She laughed again, but anger vex’d her mind: “I thought as much; a miserable joke; Worthy of Asar;” jeering thus she spoke. “I must allow, the gods do far surpass In fraud and mockery our giant race.”

And now the maid began to loose her zone, And from her shoulders doff the woollen gown: Bared to the middle by the diamond’s light She stands; what glorious charms appear in sight! In th’ hollow of her hand she caught the wave To cool her purple cheek, her front to lave; But when she view’d the image bright of Frey Reflected in the wave, a piercing cry She gave, and started back with fear assail’d; Then blushing, cross-ways o’er her bosom held Her arms, and catching up her robe in haste, Around her beauteous body wound it fast. But soon to admiration changed her fear, And to her mind the stratagem was clear. Wrapp’d in her garment to the neck, she flew Once more the image beautiful to view: The form divine of the enchanting god Melted the maiden’s heart, and fired her blood: What majesty displays his forehead high! What tender mournful smiles beam from his eye Of fire! his bosom seems t’exhale a sigh: ’Twas meant for Gerda; from his polish’d brow Adown his ivory neck the golden tresses flow: With hand placed on his heart he seems to say; “Here Gerda reigns with undisputed sway!” Pensive awhile she stood; nor was aware That down her damask cheek had roll’d a tear Into her lover’s mouth: an ardent flame, O wonder! from the gelid water came, And enter’d deep her heart: now with a sigh, O’er the vase leaning, she exclaim’d: “O Frey!” Then sudden started back once more, afraid, Some prying witness might her bower invade: But when secure that she alone was there, She oft bow’d down to kiss the image fair. It vanish’d now within the eddying wave, Which had the power thy purple mouth to lave, But not to cool thy lips, O virgin bright! But when the water clear again in sight Brought back the image of the god beloved, Reflection deep the heart of Gerda moved. Seldom with greater care explores the sage The vast conceptions that his mind engage, Than doth the deep-enamour’d maiden trace Each separate feature of her lover’s face; O’erlooking, while each beauty glads her heart, In favour of the whole, each faulty part. But here must Gerda search for faults in vain; Perfect was Frey; without one flaw or stain His form; a god, a prince amongst the Asar train. Now vanish’d all her pride; she now became Soft as a dove, and gentle as a lamb: Now slides her ’kerchief from her ivory neck; The air was warm; no fears her passion check. “This image, by the waves’ reflection made, This image cannot see,” she blushing said: “I cannot rest enjoy, until I lave My arms and bosom in the cooling wave.”

Thus said, her tunic from her breast she threw, And stood with half her charms exposed to view: ’Twas thus, as poets tell, fair Embla stood, When bursting from the tree her Askur first she view’d. Now on her couch she fain would court repose, But strove in vain to sleep; full oft she rose To look into the basin standing nigh, And contemplate the much-lov’d form of Frey.

At length the gentle Siofna, who unseen ’Midst Gerda’s train had enter’d, and the scene Had witness’d, felt compassion for the maid, And waved her poppy garland o’er her head: She closed her eyelids with her magic art. And sent delightful dreams to gladden Gerda’s heart.