“Stand up, ye Ogres all,
Strew us our seats;
Fetch me now hither
Freyja to wife,
Njord’s fair daughter
From Noatown.”
XXII.
“Here in the garth graze
Gold-hornèd kine,
Oxen all-swarthy,
The Ogre’s delight;
Rich store of rings have I,
Hoards of red gold;
Freyja alone methinks
Fails to my lot.”
XXIII.
Then down to supper
They speedily sate,
And for the Ogres all
Ale was brought out;
One ox all alone,
Salmons eight, also,
Together with dainties
Dished up for the women—
These—and three butts of mead
Sif’s husband[1] bolted.
XXIV.
Thus then quoth Thrym,
Lord of the Thursa-kin:
“Where saw’st thou bonny burd
Bite more keenly?
Ne’er saw I bride before
Broader in mouth;
No! nor more mead ever
Maiden drain down!”
XXV.
There sat in wait
That waiting-maid witty,
Finding an answer
For all Ogre-talk:
“Nights eight fair Freyja
Ne’er once her fast broke,
So eager was she
For dear Ogreland.”
XXVI.
Under her veil he look’d,
Longing to kiss her,
But back he leapt soon
The length of the hall:
“Why so fierce, pri’thee!
Are fair Freyja’s eyeballs?
Methinks from her eyne flames
Burning flash forth!”
XXVII.
There sat in wait
That waiting-maid witty,
Finding an answer
For all Ogre-talk:
“Nights eight fair Freyja
Ne’er once a wink slept,
So eager was she
For dear Ogreland.”
XXVIII.
In came the ugly
Ogre-lord’s sister,
She that a bride-fee
Dared to beseech:
“Reach from thy fingers
Gold rings so ruddy,
If my own heart’s love
Thou listest to have,
True love so heart-whole,
That all homage pays.”
XXIX.
Thus then quoth Thrym,
Lord of the Thursa-kin:
“Bring here the hammer[2]
To hallow the bride,
Lay now the Mauler
On fair maiden’s knee;
Wed us together
With Var’s[3] holy hand.”
XXX.
Laugh’d then the Hardhitter’s
Heart in his breast,
As hard-hafted hammer
He handled again;
Thrym he slew first of all,
Lord of the Thursa-kin,
Then all that Ogre-band
Batter’d to bits.
XXXI.
Her too he slew there—
That old Ogre’s sister,
She who for bride-fee
Had dared to beseech;
Hard blows she had then
Instead of hard coin,
Maul’s ringing strokes
Instead of red rings—
So came at last
Odin’s son to his hammer.
HEIDELBERG, AT FAIR TIME.
On our homeward route from a tour in the Tyrol, we found ourselves on the 18th of October at Heidelberg. The amphitheatre of hanging wood, which rises immediately behind the grand old castle, was glorious with the many-coloured tints of Autumn. In and about the ruins, the sombre foliage of the dark firs contrasted with trees which appeared transmuted into gold. The walks were illuminated, not shadowed, by overhanging branches assuming all the varied changes of deep brown, ruby, red, and dazzling yellow. The effect of colouring was fascinating beyond measure. The whole combination of castle, river, hills, and wood, decked in their gorgeous hues, might have been a dream of Turner’s. Many woodland scenes had we enjoyed under the bright influence of Autumn skies, but never, we agreed, had we beheld such brilliancy of tints, as at this place and time.
Those who know Heidelberg (and who does not?) will mentally recall the scene when we describe ourselves as standing on the Altan, or Castle Terrace, which immediately overlooks the town. The haste of the tributary Neckar to join the imperial Rhine causes some brawling and chafing, as it