SKIRNIR (_sung_).—“Nor Elf am I, nor Asian son; Nor from the wiser Vanians sprung: Yet o’er the bickering flames I rode Alone to visit your abode. Eleven apples here I hold, Gerda, for thee, of purest gold; Let this fair gift thy bosom move To grant young Freyr thy precious love.” GERDA (_sung_).—“Eleven apples take not I From man, as price of chastity! While life remains, no tongue shall tell, That Freyr and I together dwell.” SKIRNIR (_sung_).—“Gerda, for thee this wonderous ring Burnt on young Balder’s pile I bring; On each ninth night shall other eight Drop from it, all of equal weight.” GERDA (_sung_).—“I take not, I, that wonderous ring, Though it from Balder’s pile you bring. Gold lack not I in Gymer’s bower; Enough for me my father’s dower.” SKIRNIR (_sung_).—“Behold this bright and slender brand Unsheath’d and glittering in my hand; Deny not, maiden! lest thine head Be sever’d by the trenchant blade.” GERDA (_sung_).—“Gerda will ne’er by force be led To grace a conqueror’s hateful bed: But this, I trow, with main and might Gymer shall meet thy boast in fight.” SKIRNIR (_sung_).—“Behold this bright and slender brand Unsheath’d, and glittering in my hand! Slain by its edge thy sire shall lie; That giant old is doom’d to die. E’en as I list, the magic wand Shall tame thee! Lo, with charmed hand I touch thee, Maid! There shalt thou go, Where never man shall learn thy woe. On some high pointed rock forlorn Like eagle[106] shalt thou sit at morn; Turn from the world’s all-cheering light, And seek the deep abyss of night: Food shall to thee more loathly show, Than slimy serpent[107] creeping slow. When forth thou com’st, a hideous sight, Each wondering eye shall stare with fright. By all observ’d, yet sad and lone; ’Mongst shivering[108] Thursians wider known, Than him, who sits unmoved on high, The Guard of heaven with sleepless eye. ’Mid charms, and chains, and restless woe, Thy tears with double grief shall flow. Now seat thee, Maid, while I declare Thy tide of sorrow and despair. Thy bower shall be some Giant’s cell, Where phantoms pale shall with thee dwell. Each day to the cold Thursian’s hall Comfortless, wretched, shalt thou crawl; Instead of joy and pleasure gay, Sorrow and tears and sad dismay; With some three-headed Thursian wed, Or pine upon a lonely bed. From morn till morn love’s secret fire Shall gnaw thine heart With vain desire;