CANTO XXVIII.

LOK’S TREACHERY.

The reader is requested, before he begins this Canto, to read the note.

In serpent’s form Lok fled away into the ocean blue; All the fell monsters of the deep now met him full in view. In order to avoid them, how dexterously he toils! Now in a line deploys him, now rolls himself in coils! The peasant standing on a cliff followed with curious eye The course of Lok, as like the wind he swiftly glided by: Fearing pursuers, up he swam as far as Lindernæs, On Norway’s coast; and hid him there ’midst sea-weed, sand, and grass. At length his shape resuming, upon a reef of rock He seats himself, like goatherd who watches o’er his flock. “What have I done? Ah! woe is me! from Valaskialf’s abode Thus exiled, what is Loptur now? a giant, or a god? Am I thus amongst monsters condemn’d my time to pass?” Where’s now my fav’rite pastime, the zest of life? alas! Must I ’midst stupid giants dwell in the realms of night, Who dose like sleepy dragons o’er gold and silver bright? For them no sunshine blazes, no spring brings with it joy, The art the blockheads know not existence to enjoy: They know not love’s soft blandishment, they prize not music’s tone, Their only pastime is to hear the cascade rushing down. Heavily slumbering like bears in gelid caverns drear, What doth avail heroic strength, if th’ hero be a bear? Shall I ne’er listen to again the sound of Bragur’s harp? At times on the good bard, I own, I used my wit too sharp. In Fensal shall my eyes no more the fair Asynior woo? My impudence no longer tinge with red their skin of snow? No longer now shall Odin sage be overreach’d by me? ’Twas my chief sport to disconcert his stiff formality. Shall my sarcasms no longer put to blush Asa-Thor? Thor is indeed a hero, and had he half the store Of wit, that falls to Loptur’s share, to all Valhalla’s power He could defiance bid, and force each god his crest to lower. He suits me well; with patience my raillery he bears; With him I love to travel; and when his car he steers Athwart the spacious regions of heav’n with pond’rous wheels, And thunders shake Heimkringlas with soul-appalling peals, I share Hlorrida’s glory: each time earth trembling shook, I thought myself his equal, and frown’d with swagg’ring look. Each Disa smiled enchanting, when courteous I address’d her; With blushes Fulla trembled, when in my arms I press’d her. She is in love with Lok, I know, poor little innocent thing! And many other Disar in my net I hoped to bring. My impudence doth in their cheek the blush of shame recall, But soon, becoming used to it, they’ll cease to blush at all. Sweet to my taste Sâhrimner was, and sweeter still the mead; And when the proud Einherier pranced about the flow’ry mead With shield and lance, I was content: all things to hear and see, And mock at all the gods by turns, was charming sport to me. I was the clev’rest of them all, and with the gods I play’d, Just as a cat does with a mouse, which he has just waylaid. First doth he his poor captive with feign’d caresses quail; His eyes with malice sparkle; he frisks about his tail: At length when weary of the sport his food Grimalkin needs, His teeth inflict the mortal crunch, and then poor mousie bleeds! But now Puss on the house-roof sits, nor deems himself secure E’en there; he licks his beard and paws; his master from the door Hath chased him in his anger, because i’ th’ cupboard he With his dame’s hams and bacon had chosen to make free.

But if their loss I feel, will not they feel my loss much more? Odin, I’m sure, when no one laughs, will feel vexation sore. Long days of constant seriousness the Asar soon will rue; They’ll find that to the zest of life mirth must contribute too. Heavy and dull are they become already; there they sit, And yawn, and in their mead-horn gaze, when they have emptied it. Let but the Disar once the bread without the leaven taste, Insipid will it prove, I trow, without friend Loptur’s yeast: Without the poignancy of change pleasure itself must pall, And light, unchequer’d e’er by shade, be insupportable. No diff’rence of opinion now excites ye; true, ye breathe, But spiritless and dull your life; ’tis the repose of death.”

In such reflections Loptur from sorrow sought relief, And often gazed he wistful upon Yggdrassil’s leaf. “Could I,” thought he, “of Asa-Thor the pardon once obtain, The favour of the other gods ’twere easy to regain.” Thus Lok amidst the grove of pines pensive and restless stray’d; His silence deep at length he broke: “I have it now,” he said; For Thor his hammer I’ll procure; I think, upon my life, To get his hammer back again he’d give away his wife.”

Now over hill and dale he flew, quite joyous at the thought, And passing through the hard-wood grove, soon reach’d the mountain grot: There at the entrance of a cave sat Thrymur, giant-king, Around a bunch of arrows sharp twining a golden string: Red ribbands in his courser’s mane then did he interlace, While the full moon pour’d streams of light adown his dusky face. Into the field the giant look’d, and seeing Lok, cried out: “Ha! welcome here! thou smallest toe in mighty Odin’s foot! To visit us poor folks below doth Loptur condescend? What pleasure can an Asa find in our dark goblin-land? Have the gods turn’d thee out of doors? hast thou been indiscreet? Shame were it such a chief of worth so scornfully to treat; To start them game the gods, perhaps, thee falcon-like have sent: Speak out then, thou accomplish’d rogue! say! what is thy intent?”

Now sitting down by Thrymur’s side with mien composed he said: “With insults deep and injury the gods have Lok repaid; Did I not hope one day your cause to aid, ye giants good! I ne’er would set my foot again in Valhall’s curst abode. You do require a spy, methinks, to find out and detect All that the fraudful Asar brood against your realm project: Some clever and ingenious wight; and where on earth’s vast round More proper for this task than Lok can any one be found? Besides, unknown to ye no doubt, I’ve often proved your friend, And to some gratitude from ye I may with right pretend: But howsoe’er with pitying eye my sufferings ye regard, In my own conscience, in my heart I find my best reward.”

Then Thrymur answer’d, laughing loud: “What means this canting speech?” With pious look and honied words thinkst thou to overreach Us giant champions, as ye catch the larks with berries red Behind a net of horse-hair fix’d, and ’bout the meadow spread? Tears canst thou shed, like Dragon foul, when, eager for his food, He seeketh travelers to entrap within the marshy flood; But out with it! thy errand quick, O turncoat vile, relate! Be frank for once, or in thy face, by Hel, I’ll shut my gate.”

“Ah! thou hast reason to be proud and haughty,” answer’d Lok: “Now may’st thou with contempt on Thor, and all Valhalla look: Hast thou not found his hammer ’twixt the scales of Jormundgard? A glorious booty ’tis, forsooth: ’twill all your pains reward: For though that hammer’s use thyself thou dost not understand, Immense advantage ’twill afford; thou may’st with right demand, In ransom for that weapon, all the wealth thou canst conceive; Whate’er thou chusest to exact, the god will freely give.”

“What ransom?” cried the giant harsh and rough: “doth Thor possess Gold, silver, copper, as I do within my deep recess? Such gifts small value have for me; for riches naught I care; But much of Freya have I heard, and of her beauty rare: They say, she doth in form and grace all other dames eclipse; Ivory her limbs, of gold her hair, of coral are her lips: Her voice sweet music; plump well-rounded arms; a laughing mien; A mouth that is for kissing made, and loves it too, I ween. I burn with ardour to embrace a nymph of colour white; No more the dames of swarthy hue my passion can excite. If therefore Freya fair, as bride, Odin to me will give, Thor in exchange his hammer bright that instant shall receive. Did not Frey wed a Jotun nymph? If so, with equal right May Jotun Thrymur claim as spouse his sister Freya bright. Such my proposal is, which thou to Asagard mayst bear; Why should we plague each other’s lives with endless hale and war, Let friendship durable ensue upon this marriage tie! But mark me! Miölner eight miles deep doth in the ocean lie: Never again shall Thor, I swear, his much-prized arm behold, Unless I clasp in my embrace Freya with hair of gold.”

Thus spake the giant-king: a dwarf, as page, came to the gate, And oped it; in his master went; the dwarf then closed it strait. Lok stood without at th’ midnight hour abandon’d and forlorn, To Asar and to giants both the object of their scorn.

He laugh’d out loudly in the dark: so fearful was the sound, The owls perch’d on the forest trees fell down upon the ground. To learn the cause, the scolding Ran rose from the depths of ocean, And scars on warriors’ limbs now bled afresh at th’ wild commotion: Fell Jormundgardur shook himself; for miles and miles around Men, fields,and dwellings were submerged in ocean’s waves profound. Each Nidding starting from his couch by stings of conscience vex’d Arose; a cold sweat on his brow announced a soul perplex’d: Fenris loud howling through the sky the vast creation scared; Lok’s laughter and the wolfish howl the long long night were heard.

“Giants and gods alike I hate,” said Lok: “soon shall they prove, How terrible that power can be, which but itself doth love. Would I could make them perish all together! ha! what bliss, Could I the vast Heimkringlas sink i’ th’ bottomless abyss! Ye’ve exiled me from Valaskialf; asylum ye refuse; But means of vengeance still I hold, and such I mean to use. Like tree rubbing ’gainst tree in fell collision shall ye come, Until a flame arise, and all your hated brood consume: Then shall ye when too late, I trow, do honour to my skill:” Thus did the traitor Lok the air with groans and curses fill.

“With force unmanageable works the purblind mountain race; The Asar boast their virtue pure, combined with strength and grace: If to an act of treachery I once could Thor incline, Then cunning overreaches strength; the triumph then were mine; Thor a mere giant then becomes: when at the midnight hour Odin of witches dire invokes the soul-appalling power, Yggdrassil trembles; then grows dry the fount in Urda’s vale: Then shines the frightful Jormungard with doubly brilliant scale: Hel’s colour from a livid blue changes from joy to white, And Heimdal’s horn excites the world to sempiternal fight.”

But since his last expulsion Lok to mount to Valhall’s dome Without safe conduct ventured not, and houseless still must roam: Towards evening he reach’d the grove of beech on Sealand’s isle, As homeward with his plough return’d the peasant from his toil. There is a spot within that grove, whence fountains with delight Spring from benignant Hertha’s breast, and through the sand stream bright: ’Twas on the spot where Leire stood, and afterwards king Hro[98] With many a stone and plank and joist constructed Kongebo.[99] At morning and at evening’s blush there loved the Alfs to rove, And scatter Freya’s tears like dew throughout the beechen grove: And when she prick’d her finger with her needle, up they took The drops of blood, and pour’d them on the green plants by the brook: Lo! by the next revolving sun those plants with flowers were crown’d, Which spread delightful odours through the grove for miles around. They took the yellow sparrows grey, who o’er earth’s surface rove, And kiss’d their beaks and taught them how to pour forth notes of love. Nightingales they became at once, whose tones so sweetly sound, And fill each youthful heart with dreams of tenderness profound. Now ev’ry morning they anoint the locks of Freya fair With precious unguent, which embalms with fragrancy the air. Once from the Disa in a shell they stole some drops of oil, And pour’d them on a weed; a Julian flower repaid their toil: But far too strong that odour proved; its strength prevails e’en now. Some drops were left; with water mix’d upon the turf they throw Those drops, and lo! upon green stems blue violets fragrant grow!

Thus in that grove the little Alfs amuse themselves secure; They teach the peasant’s cock to crow loud at his master’s door, To rouse him from his slumber, and make him hie with speed To earn with plough and harrow for wife and children bread. At night they show the lover, who through the forest roves, The way that he should wander, to find the maid he loves: And when he meets her, when her hand he presses tenderly, The Alfs their hands together bind with links of flowers, which she, Now kind become, ne’er seeks to loose.

But while the blithesome crew Of Alfs were dancing on the grass yet glitt’ring bright with dew, Lo! from an ash-tree’s hollow trunk Lok started forth to view! The Erl-king in the full-moon’s glare he much resembled now, With crown of blackberry, thick beard, and tail like that of cow. At first the Alfs were terrified; away they fain would fly; They fear’d it was their enemies the black Alfs hov’ring nigh: But when they Loptur recognized, they hail’d him with a shout Of laughter, and delighted frisk’d their new-come guest about: He pleased them; in their frolics oft he took an active part; He was an Asa, well they knew, but knew not his bad heart.

“How now? friend Lok! what dost thou here i th’ forest? art thou sprung From th’ branches of the tree, to dance our mirthful choir among?” “Yes! my dear little creatures! Lok, ye know, doth love ye all; Eager to teach ye novel sports, he comes to join your ball.” He join’d the dance; a circle now the Alfs around him trace, But Lok’s tail made a rustling noise, like serpent in the grass: Sudden the fountain ceased to flow; the once transparent brook Troubled and dark became, while toads in stagnant marshes croak; A swarm of crickets hover round a corpse with deaf’ning cry: But how could innocent white Alfs suspect Lok’s treachery?

Thus on the grass in Autumn late two lovers often sit; They gaze upon each other’s face with rapture and delight; They feel not that the fev’rish air announces: “One shall die!” Grasping their flow’ry garland in their hands, their ecstacy Makes them incautious; they inhale the pestilential breath Of the foul Lok, who lurks behind the bushes on the heath. The placid moon, which cheer’d so oft their love with radiance meek, But which had not the power to cool the deep blush on their cheek, A few weeks later on the bier a lifeless corpse doth view Crown’d with white flowers: from Lok’s black art such bitter fruits ensue!

“Ye friendly little Alfs!” said Lok in soft cajoling strain, “D’ye wish to know the reason why I join your sportive train? Ye’re call’d Valhalla’s children; the Asar hold ye dear; Poor Lok needs your assistance, and therefore comes he here. I have been sadly indiscreet; too free hath been my tongue; But Ægir’s banquet is to blame; his liquor was too strong, My head too weak: I’ve mock’d the gods; my crime I frankly own: But if great Odin will once more admit me near his throne, If Thor for what I’ve said or sung will grant his pardon too, I promise in return (my word is truth itself, ye know) To fetch him Miölner back again, which deep in earth now lies; So that again he may strike home, and win each glorious prize, Nor fear that a short hammer-shaft his strength might neutralize.”

The friendly Alfer promised all for Lok to intercede: Like doves so white to Valhall’s dome they flew his cause to plead: With folded hands in lengthen’d file entering, they knelt before The Asar, for the culprit Lok forgiveness to implore. All hearts were moved; first Freya smiled; then Frey: ah! who can say “No,” to a prayer for mercy, when such lovely children pray? Now they led forth the criminal, who soft behind them crept, He flatter’d, play’d the hypocrite, fell on his knees, and wept; He tried to kiss Thor’s garment: at this demeanour base The hero blush’d with anger, and struck him on the face. “Avaunt! thou miserable wretch!” said Thor, with fearful cry; “Thy abjectness more wrath excites, than did thy treachery.”

“Dear shalt thou pay for this,” thought Lok, “thy pride one day be cool’d; The bowstring’s pulled so frequently, it snaps at length: but hold. I must refrain from menace, be meek and humble here, And all my schemes of vengeance till fitter time defer.” So now in haste up springing, he loudly shouted! “Peace; Good tidings now I bring ye: all strife and hate shall cease: Giants and gods no longer eternal war shall wage; The bosom melts with kindness, that once throbb’d high with rage. The heart of Thrymur beats with love; the object of his flame Is Freya; to the rocks and woods he sighs out Freya’s name. And when athwart the birch-trees he views her glorious fane, And marks her spindle sparkling with many a yellow skein, The female, thinks the giant, who such a quantity Of flax can spin, must truly a clever housewife be. She’s just the dame for Thrymur’s taste; soft, delicate, and thin Must be the fingers, that can draw the silken thread so fine. Her skin the lily’s hue presents, her cheek the peach’s bloom, Her lips are red as blood, I’m told; the rest all white as foam: With brightest gold in colour her silken tresses vie, And three times can she wind them around her forehead high. They say she’s in affliction, her husband she has lost; Good sense this doth not argue to be so deeply crost: But it denotes fidelity; and that, one may surmise, Supposes that she too upon fidelity relies: For ah! where would the guerdon be of virtue, if one doubted Incessantly? for Freya too, whose beauty is undoubted. The thistle no attention meets, e’en from the butterfly; But the rose ne’er can rest in peace for th’ homage of the bee.”

“Thy sermon on fidelity, I pray thee, spare us now!” Said Freya, laughing: “emblem of fidelity, we know, Is Loptur’s heart: but quickly Thrymur’s demand prefer, And thy remarks on virtue another time we’ll hear.”

“They are not mine, fair lady!” quoth Lok: “I only come, As messenger from Thrymur, to Valhall’s azure dome. Freya the Disa fair he loves with manhood’s fervent fire; His love for her all Jotunheim with softness doth inspire. His father, Lok of Utgard stern, so wrapp’d up in his son, Hath for the ardent lover’s vows a tender pity shown. Brother-in-law of Odin thus should Utgard-Lok become, A mighty change will then forthwith o’er all Heimkringlas come: Henceforth twixt good and evil no diff’rence will appear; All contrasts blend harmonious, when the dark owl shall pair With the white dove: sunshine shall mix with the volcano’s gleam And in Valhalla’s fragrant grove unsavoury vapours steam: Smooth-skinn’d and beardless man become; woman a beard shall wear; Twilight will all the fashion be; day and night disappear: Sweet violets on carrion bloom; a blade of straw a knife, A spit a lily straight become: the warrior and his wife Will change professions; she the javelin, he the distaff hold: Such transformations wonderful our eyes will then behold. But Thrymur is a serious wight, this must not be forgot, He’s somewhat jealous too, and jokes he understandeth not: And Freya must, if she consent to share the giant’s reign, As Thrymur’s spouse, in subterranean gloom for aye remain. True, love will vanish from the earth; but where, I pray, the loss, Since hate no longer will exist our hearts to plague and cross? Heimdaller’s Bifrost then will lose its variegated hue, No more display its gorgeous rays, red, yellow, green, and blue: Those colours will together blend, and form a dingy grey; And toads within their moss-grown pools will sing like thrushes gay.”

At this proposal Freya’s breast with indignation swell’d, And thus with words of bitter scorn Lok’s project she repell’d: “Were Freya to the giant’s land disposed to go with thee, Must Freya terribly, forsooth, in want of husband be.”

But now the Asar, when the sun its earliest rays display’d, Assemble all to hold the Ting beneath Yggdrassil’s shade. There, to avoid temptation, they did not Lok invite: But Lok to visit Heimdal went towards the rainbow bright: Soft in his ear he whisper’d, gave counsel, swore that zeal For Valhall had induced him that mission to fulfil: “The gods,” said he, “I know, ’gainst me a strong aversion have, But the whole thing, as thou perceiv’st, is of importance grave. Thee judgment lacks not; my advice thou’st heard me frankly state; Follow it, if it seem thee good: if not, reject it strait! But whatsoever be resolv’d, let it be quickly done, For execution the design should follow hard upon. Heimdaller who had heard what past ’tween Lok and Thrymur grim At th’ entrance of the grot, and knew, Lok did not lie this time, Approved of the proposal, and took the counsel well: The worm thus often pierceth the nut with hardest shell.”

Then Asa-Heimdal at the Ting thus spake aloud: “’Tis time The giants’ pride to tame, methinks, and vanquish Jotunheim. To raise them to the rank of gods, that oft we’ve done; thereby Our strength we lost not: doth not Niord fierce Skada mollify? And Ægir with his potent arm check Rana’s perfidy? Young Gerda dotes upon her spouse; she’s full of charm and grace; She gave Skidbladner to the gods; she’s of a better race: Women with coal-black hair from her descend, within whose blood The flame of love more ardent glows. Say! were not Lok a god, What mischief might he not effect in regions void of light? And hath not oft the moon bestow’d the power of day on night? But should light’s ray, deserting heaven, descend into th’ abyss, Would not for ever disappear our glory, strength, and bliss? Shall we then Freya cede? ah no! by the great gods, I swear, Valhall a joyless waste would prove, if Freya were not there. Iduna’s fruit of health and youth accords, ’tis true, the power, But Freya ’tis who sows the seed of love’s delightful flower: We all admire her; when the gods she folds in her embrace, The ecstacy that fills their soul what tongue hath power to trace? And shall that lovely Disa depart from us for aye? Shall mist for ever darken Folkvangur’s vivid ray? And must that bosom soft and fair against the hairy breast Of the rough giant throb, and by his rugged hand be prest? Shall lips, which utter tones so mild, and soul unite with soul, Be soil’d by the disgusting kiss of such a goblin foul? Shall eyes, whose soul-subduing rays a power resistless prove, Be doom’d to contemplate a form impossible to love? No! rather let Yggdrassil’s top in Nastrond’s marsh corrode, Or Bifrost sink dissolv’d in dew to Ægir’s deep abode! Myself, who on the brink of heaven must watchful stand in arms, I can but catch a fleeting glimpse of Freya’s matchless charms: But when, each morning, crown’d with flowers she o’er my bridge doth pass, With fecundating smile the realm of mother Earth to grace, With tenfold zeal inspired, in hand my Gialler-horn I take; Its joyous tones to love of life and strength mankind awake: Quitting his nest, then soars the lark towards the celestial height; A thousand carols to the world proclaim with loud delight, That Freya’s soul-enchanting smile hath bless’d Heimdaller’s sight.” Heimdaller’s words find no dissent: the Asars’ hearts they move; And Freya’s eyes rewarded him with such sweet looks of love, He blush’d like morn, when through night’s veil the day begins to break: Tears glisten’d in his radiant eyes, and roll’d adown his cheek.

Heimdaller then Lok’s plan explained, and spoke: “Ye Asar high! His hammer Thor will ne’er regain, unless we mystify The amorous giant: as ye know, he seeks a bride more fair Than those he’s been accustomed to, in his dark mountain lair. Unused to females, who possess grace, beauty, symmetry. To dupe the giant’s senses coarse no arduous task would be. If Thor will but consent to dress in feminine attire, There is a bride at once most fit to cool the giant’s fire! Let Thor like Freya be array’d: to further the deceit She’ll not refuse, I trow, to lend the robes and jewels meet. Odin a lotion too can give of faculty divine To wash off all callosity and roughness from the skin. Thor then, with face as white as meal, and cheek as red as blood, Will lose his shaggy beard, ’tis true, but not his hardihood. Let the famed necklace Brising about his neck be wound; There in exchange for Miölner a bride at once is found! Before his bosom two round stones we’ll fix within his vest, And there, in outward form at least, appears a woman’s breast! And these when wrapp’d in scarlet cloth, at the bare sight will fill With sulphur all the giant’s veins, and cause his blood to thrill. A bonnet with a long white veil to grace his brows were meet; And bunch of keys, tied to his waist, the bridal dress complete. Lok too, as waiting-maid attired, with Thor shall bend his way To Utgard’s realm: he’ll not refuse, I guess, this part to play, Then, when Thor sits upon the couch in the dark giant’s dome, When bearing Miölner in their arms the black dwarfs forward come, When Thrymur, drunk with love, shall place the hammer on Thor’s breast, What then Thor has to do, methinks, I need not here suggest. In Heimdal ’twere presumption great, by words or argument, To teach great Asa-Thor the use of his own instrument.”

With joy the Disar clapp’d their hands, and with each other vied, Delighted with the stratagem, to dress up Thor as bride. The gods indulge in hearty laugh; Yggdrassil flouts the sky; Its branches green wave o’er the roof of Valhall gloriously. Balder, Forsete, Mimer were absent from the Ting, And mightily this favour’d Lok’s project. Drupner ring On Odin’s finger dropp’d, indeed, on the grass others nine, And fain, to its construction true, would warn its lord divine: But the Asynior’s laughter gay banish’d from Odin’s breast All scruples; so that Loptur’s guile he deem’d a harmless jest. Thor did indeed remonstrate: “How? as female, Thor appear? Unheard of! ne’er can I consent the female garb to wear.” But Freya with her lily hand patted his cheek, and lo! All scruples vanished from his breast, all wrinkles from his brow. “’Tis true,” said Freya, “mortal man composed of wretched dust Must by his nature ever be a victim to mistrust; Must ever guard himself against the influence of hate, Which ne’er the most illustrious deeds fails to calumniate; But Thor in Trudvang rules; who dare his acts divine arraign? Surely to aid a humorous freak his godhead cannot slain.”

Young Fulla, bearing Freya’s robes, now enter’d in the hall; But Odin’s hand must widen them; for Thor they were too small: But to give him a slender waist their utmost efforts fail, For he was stout, and would not move without his coat of mail. Now on his breast the two round stones ’twas Hermod’s task to place; At this the fair Valkyrior blush’d, and laugh’d, and hid their face. Now they suspend about his neck the necklace, Brising hight, With many a ruby rich adorn’d, and many a diamond bright. Now to the face and neck of Thor Odin applied his hand; All roughness vanish’d at the touch: white, delicate and bland Became his skin; no hue remain’d, which Thor could designate. Now round his brazen helm a cap with long white veil they plait; He don’d his gloves, and Megingard around his girdle laced, To act with force, when in his hand his Miölner should be placed.

Now red they take to paint his cheek; they cut his nails; when drest, A sprig of whitethorn in full bloom they fasten to his breast. Now round the god travestied thus th’ Asynior young and gay, Like children at a fav’rite game, delighted frisk and play: “O Thrymur! gallant Thrymur!” in chorus loud they chime, “Hast thou ne’er been love’s vassal, thou’lt not escape this time.” To harness now and yoke the goats was Tialf’s peculiar care: Then Thor and Lok in female garb ascend the golden car. Thus down o’er Bifrost’s dizzy height, in Freya’s robes array’d, Drove Asa-Thor; a tinge of rose the vault of heav’n o’erspread. As the car pass’d, Heimdaller blew his horn in glorious style, The virgins nine salute the god with fascinating smile. Seen from the earth, like meteor bright the golden car appear’d; This time no thunder shook the poles; no forked lightnings glared: The car athwart the azure sky swift glided like a swan; Therein sat Tialfe, Asa-Lok, and Thor, the giants’ bane.[100]