Odin is wroth, and mighty Thor;
E'en Frey shall now your name abhor.
But ere o'er your ill-fated head
The last dread curse of heaven be spread,
Giants and Thurses far and near,
Suttung's sons, and ye asas, hear
How I forbid with fatal ban
This maid the joys, the fruit of man.
Cold Grimner is that giant hight
Who you shall hold in realms of might;
Where slaves in cups of twisted roots
Shall bring foul beverage from the goats;
Nor sweeter draught, nor blither fare
Shall you, sad virgin, ever share.
'Tis done! I wind the mystic charm;
Thus, thus I trace the giant form;
And three fell characters below,
Fury and Lust and restless Woe.
E'en as I wound, I straight unwind
This fatal spell, if you are kind.
GERD:
Now hail, now hail, you warrior bold!
Take, take this cup of crystal cold,
And quaff the pure metheglin old.
Yet deemed I ne'er that love could bind
To vana-youth my hostile mind.
SKIRNER:
I turn not home to bower or hall
Till I have learnt mine errand all;
Where you will yield the night of joy
To brave Njord's, the gallant boy.
GERD:
Bar-isle is hight, the seat of love;
Nine nights elapsed, in that known grove
Shall brave Njord's, the gallant boy,
From Gerd take the kiss of joy.
Then Skirner rode home. Frey stood forth and hailed him and asked what tidings.
