all the jars they could lay their hands on, which Odin filled by disgorging through his beak the wonder-working liquor he had drunk. He was however so near being caught by Suttung, that he sent some of the mead after him backwards, and as no care was taken of this it fell to the share of poetasters. It is called the drink of silly poets. But the mead discharged into the jars was kept for the gods and for those men who have sufficient wit to make a right use of it. Hence poetry is called Odin’s booty, Odin’s gift, the beverage of the gods, etc. But let us look at this myth in its older and purer form. Thus the Elder Edda, in Hávamál: Oblivion’s heron ’t is called That over potations hovers; He steals the minds of men. With this bird’s pinions I was fettered In Gunlad’s dwelling. Drunk I was, I was over-drunk At that cunning Fjalar’s. It’s the best drunkenness When every one after it Regains his reason. This passage then refers to the effects of the strong drink of poetry, and Odin recommends us to use it with moderation. Would it not be well for some of our poets to heed the advice? Thus Hávamál again: The old giant[47] I sought; Now I am come back; Little got I there by silence; In many words I spoke to my advantage In Suttung’s halls. Gunlad gave me, On her golden seat, A draught of the precious mead; A bad recompense I afterwards made her, For her whole soul, Her fervent love. Rate’s mouth I caused To make a space, And to gnaw the rock; Over and under me Were the giant’s ways: Thus I my head did peril. Of a well-assumed form I made good use: Few things fail the wise; For Odrœrer Is now come up To men’s earthly dwellings. ’Tis to me doubtful That I could have come From the giant’s courts Had not Gunlad aided me That good damsel Over whom I laid my arm.