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THRYM.
I the hateful mallet hid,
Late possess’d by Elorrid,
Low in dreary caves profound,
Eight miles underneath the ground:
He the mallet shall retrieve,
That Freya’s hand to me shall give.
I the hateful mallet hid,
Late possess’d by Elorrid,
Low in dreary caves profound,
Eight miles underneath the ground:
He the mallet shall retrieve,
That Freya’s hand to me shall give.
IX.
Lok mounting boyant in the sky,
Shook his sounding pinions high:
The lands he left where giants roam,
And quickly reach’d his distant home.
Thor he met, in thought profound,
Pacing slow his halls around:
Anxious doubts the chief opprest,
Who, thus his words to Lok addrest.
Lok mounting boyant in the sky,
Shook his sounding pinions high:
The lands he left where giants roam,
And quickly reach’d his distant home.
Thor he met, in thought profound,
Pacing slow his halls around:
Anxious doubts the chief opprest,
Who, thus his words to Lok addrest.
THOR.
Lok! in language brief express,
What thy labors—what success,
Lok! in language brief express,
What thy labors—what success,
