With it shall no one homeward tread,

Till he bring me Freyia to share my bed."

Away flew Loke; the winged robe sounds,
And soon he has reached the Asgard bounds.
At Midgard Thor met crafty Loke,

And this the first word that he spoke:
"Have you your errand and labor done ?
Tell from aloft the course you run.”

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Loke.

My labor is past, mine errand I bring;
Thrym has thy hammer, the giant king;
With it shall no one homeward tread,
Till he bear him Freyia to share his bed."

Their way to lovely Freyia they took,
And this the first word that he spoke :
"Now, Freyia, busk as a blooming bride;
Together we must to Jotunheim ride."
Wroth waxed Freyia with ireful look;
All Asgard's hall with wonder shook;
Her great bright necklace started wide:
“Well may ye call me a wanton bride,
If I with thee to Jotunheim ride."

The Asi did all to council crowd,

*

The Asiniæ all talked fast and loud;

This they debated, and this they sought,

How the hammer of Thor should home be brought. Up then and spoke Heimdallar free,

Like the Vani wise was he:

"Now busk we Thor as a bride so fair;
Let him that great bright necklace wear;
Round him let ring the spousal keys,
And a maiden kirtle hang to his knees,
And on his bosom jewels rare;

And high and quaintly braid his hair.”
Wroth waxed Thor with godlike pride:
"Well may the Asi me deride,

If I let me be dight as a blooming bride."
Then up spoke Loke, Laufeyia's son:
"Now hush thee, Thor; this must be done;
The giants will straight in Asgard reign
If thou thy hammer dost not regain."
Then busked they Thor as a bride so fair,
And the great bright necklace gave him to wear;
Round him let ring the spousal keys,

And a maiden kirtle hang to his knees,

*Goddesses.

And on his bosom jewels rare;

And high and quaintly braided his hair.
Up then arose the crafty Loke,
Laufeyia's son, and thus he spoke :

"A servant I thy steps will tend;
Together we must to Jotunheim wend."
Now home the goats together hie;
Yoked to the axle they swiftly fly.

The mountains shook, the earth burned red,
As Odin's son to Jotunheim sped.

Then Thrym, the king of the Thursi, said,
"Giants, stand up; let the seats be spread;
They bring Freyia, Niorder's daughter, down
To share my bed, from Noatun."

With horns all gilt, each coal-black beast
Is led to deck the giants' feast.

Betimes at evening they approached,

And the mantling ale the giants broached.
The new-come maiden ate alone

Eight salmons, and an ox full grown,
And all the cates on which women feed,
And drank three firkins of sparkling mead.
Then Thrym, the king of the Thursi, said,
"Where have ye beheld such a hungry maid?
Ne'er saw I a bride so keenly feed,

Nor drink so deep of the sparkling mead."

Then forward leaned the crafty Loke,

And thus the giant he bespoke :

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'Nought has she eaten for eight long nights; So did she long for the nuptial rites."

He stooped beneath her veil to kiss,

But he started the length of the hall, I wis: "Why are the looks of Freyia so dire?

It seems as her eyeballs glistened with fire." Then forward leaned the crafty Loke,

And thus the giant he bespoke :

"Nought has she slept for eight long nights; So did she long for the nuptial rites."

Then in the giant's sister came,

Who dared a bridal gift to claim :

"Those rings of gold from thee I crave,
If thou wilt all my fondness have,
All my love and fondness have."

Then Thrym, the king of the Thursi, said,
"Bear in the hammer to plight the maid;
Upon her lap the bruiser lay,

And firmly plight our hands and fay."

The Thunderer's soul smiled in his breast, When the hammer hard on his lap was placed. Thrym first, the king of the Thursi, he slew, And slaughtered all the giant crew.

He slew that giant's sister old,

Who prayed for bridal gifts so bold;
Instead of money and rings, I wot,
The hammer's bruises were her lot.
Thus Odin's son his hammer got.

HERBERT.

THE DEATH OF BALDUR.

I HEARD a voice that cried,
"Baldur the Beautiful
Is dead, is dead!"

And through the misty air
Passed like the mournful cry
Of sunward sailing cranes.

I saw the pallid corpse
Of the dead sun

Borne through the northern sky.

Blasts from Niffelheim

Lifted the sheeted mists

Around him as he passed.

And the voice forever cried,
"Baldur the Beautiful
Is dead, is dead!"