SKIRNIR (_sung_).—“Thy sorrows deem not I so great, That thou the tale shouldst not relate. Together sported we in youth, And well may trust each other’s truth.” FREYR (_sung_).—“In Gymer’s court I saw her move, The maid, who fires my breast with love. Her snow-white arms and bosom fair Shone lovely, kindling sea and air. Dear is she to my wishes more, Than ere was maid to youth before: But gods and elfs[102], I wot it well, Forbid that we together dwell.” SKIRNIR (_sung_).—“Give me that horse of wonderous breed To cross the nightly flame[103] with speed; And that self-brandish’d sword to smite The giant race with strange affright.” FREYR (_sung_).—“To thee I give this wond’rous steed, To pass the watchful fire with speed; And this, which borne by valiant wight, Self-brandished will his foemen smite.” SKIRNIR (_addressed to his horse_).—“Dark night is spread; ’tis time, I trow, To climb the mountains hoar with snow. Both shall return, or both remain In durance by the giant ta’en.” Skirnir rode into Jotunheim to the court of Gymer; furious dogs were tied there before the door of the wooden enclosure, which surrounded Gerda’s bower. He rode towards a shepherd, who was sitting on a mound, and addressed him: “Shepherd, who sittest on the mound, And turn’st thy watchful eyes around, How may I lull these bloodhounds, say! How speak unharm’d with Gymer’s may!”[104] THE SHEPHERD (_sung_).—“Whence, and what art thou? doomed to die, Or dead revisitest the sky? For ride by night, or ride by day, Thou ne’er shalt come to Gymer’s may.” SKIRNIR (_sung_).—“I grieve not, I; a better part Fits him, who boasts a ready heart. At hour of birth our lives were shaped; The doom of fate can ne’er be ’scaped.” GERDA (_sung_).—“What sounds unknown mine ears invade, Frighting this mansion’s peaceful shade? The earth’s foundation rocks withal, And trembling shakes all Gymer’s hall.” THE ATTENDANT (_sung_).—“Dismounted stands a warrior sheen; His courser crops the herbage green.” GERDA (_sung_).—“Haste, bid him to my bower with speed, To quaff unmix’d the pleasant mead: And good betide us![105] for I fear My brother’s murderer is near.— What art thou? Elf, or Asian son? Or from the wiser Vanians sung? Alone to visit our abode O’er bickering flames why hast thou rode?”