THE VANER.[55]
Ere in days of yore the lofty Asar
Schemes of conquest to devise began,
Ruling their ancestral mountain region
Near the plains of bounteous Ginnistan;[56]
Ere they, on proud coursers prancing,
Scorning danger, sallied forth,
Giants quelling,
Dwarfs compelling,
Towards the granite strong-holds of the North.
Oft with friendly mien the peaceful Vaner
With them sought alliance to cement:
’Twas the Vaner taught the race of Odin
Art and science, life’s best blandishment:
Taught them to root out the thistle,
And with flowers to deck the field;
Then to prove
Faith and love,
Niord the horseman swift as hostage yield.
Drought severe oft forest, vale and meadow,
Suffer’d from the ardent solar flame;
But no sooner Niord bestrode his courser,
Fresh and cool the air at once became:
He dispels each noxious vapour,
Paints the sky with azure hue;
Precious arts
He imparts,
Nature to adorn and strengthen too.
By his sister he became the father
First of Frey, and then of Freya fair;
By the Vaner’s law he chose his consort,
Such a tie is not illicit there.
Both were lovely, joy’d to kindle
In man’s breast the amorous flame:
Such a nation
Still keeps station
On Caucasian steeps, with well-earn’d fame.
Now behold the dynasts of Valhalla
Swift their course from Asia’s valleys bend,
Southern fire and Orient’s lofty genius
With the North’s more sober blood to blend!
Naught their earnest wish concealing,
Niord their soft entreaties gain:
Straight doth Niord[57]
Pledge his word,
And with son and daughter join their train.
Odin spake: “Th’ unconquer’d North invites us
With her fir-clad mountains wild and drear!
There the beechen forest waves majestic,
Redolent with Ocean’s healthful air!
Thither will I lead my Asar,
On those rocks my legions spread:
Thou, O Thor!
During war.
During peace shall Odin take the lead,
Planting on each isle and rock their banner,
Shall our bands victorious still advance:
On those rugged cliffs shall oft give battle;
Oft our skiffs on foaming billows dance.
Think! when with the force of iron
Mingles Orient’s genial flame,
What a race,
Full of grace,
Rising there, the world’s applause shall claim!”
Joyful on his winged courser mounted,
Niord for the whole army clear’d the road;
Drying up each marsh, each mist dispelling,[58]
Fearless through impervious wilds he rode.
Never weary, flying, swimming,
Proud his steed pursues his course:
Winds compelling,
Skiffs propelling,
Nature bows to Niord’s resistless force.
Glorious to behold was Niord the hero,
As he pranced along the meadows gay:
Graceful through the sky his courser’s pinions
Floated like a dream i’ th’ morning grey:
Quick he views, and leaves as quickly,
All he finds, both far and near:
With bright beams
Proudly gleams,
Perch’d upon his helm, the morning star.
Of your aid deprived, O skilful Vaner!
What were in the north the Asar’s power?
What would then avail thy wisdom, Odin?
What avail thy boasted strength, O Thor?
Frey midst thorns and brakes and briars
Flax and corn benignant sows:
On mankind,
Ever kind,
Freya offspring beautiful bestows.
She herself obtain’d a handsome bridegroom;
Odur was he call’d on India’s plain:[59]
On the banks of Ganges first she met him,
Tow’ring midst a numerous warlike train:
Crown’d with garlands, hymns reciting,
Swains and maidens round him throng:
With loud crash
Cymbals clash:
Rocks re-echo the triumphal song.
See him on his golden car high seated
Drawn by lions and by tigers strong!
These, compell’d by his heroic valour,
Humbly drag his chariot wheels along:
Laurel wreaths aloft extending,
Nymphs precede the car and sing;
Drum and flute,
Lyre and lute,
To the chaunt their aid harmonious bring.
From the dark recesses of the forest
Started forth the grim ferocious bands!
Ravish’d at the sound of drum and cymbal,
With delight they danced and clapp’d their hands.
Odur by the crystal fountain
Stopp’d them in the shady glen;
There he tamed,
And reclaimed
To the arts of peace those savage men.
Now on every slope and sun-tipp’d mountain
Most exposed to Muspel’s genial heat,
Near the wave, the branches green he planted,
Which produce the raisin’s treasure sweet:
Soon from him the valley’s children
Learn the art to press the vine:
From its blood,
Grateful food,
Love finds nurture for its flame divine.
In the grove the amorous god presented
To the goddess bright the jovial bowl:
Clust’ring grapes and leaves adorn his forehead;
Pleasure-breathing looks reveal his soul:
Smooth his limbs like those of woman,
Still a vigorous male was he:
Yet the fair
Disa’s hair
Bound him fast, and made him bend the knee.
From the trees so green the birds delighted
Mark each fond caress, each amorous freak;
How she with her hands of alabaster
Fondly pats the hero’s sun-burnt cheek:
Like the billows’ foam, her bosom
Proudly swell’d, exposed and bare:
Every flower
Witness bore
To the transports of the beauteous pair.
Freya now became the spouse of Odur;
Seldom could the lovers separate.
When the Asar from their old dominion
Sallied forth to found the northern state,
In his chariot drawn by leopards
Odur seated with his spouse
In his arms,
On her charms
Gazing ever, plights eternal vows.
Much it cost the hero to relinquish
Such a land, the parent of the vine:
But who would not, far beyond the raisin,
Prize a lovely female’s charms divine?
Still he took his vine-plants with him,
Mindful of his precious art:
Oft in glowing
Cups o’erflowing
Odur’s gift refreshes Odin’s heart.
Thus, while all the other gods of Valhall
Drain the goblet fill’d with mead and ale,
Odin with the apple of Iduna,
Or with wine, enjoys his best regale:
And when Odur fled from Freya,
’Scaping from the gelid north,
He bestow’d
On the god
What he deem’d the gift of greatest worth.
How could he forget the lovely Disa
After such enjoyment rich and rare?
How thus tear himself away unfeeling
From a bosom so divinely fair?
Yet he’d oft, in bliss dissolving,
Term his spouse his greatest treasure:
With delight
On that night
Oft he thought entranced, and wept with pleasure.
But when Thiasse carried off Iduna,
Vanish’d every trace of Freya’s bloom;
Old and wrinkled, flabby and repelling
Was the Disa, once so fair, become:
From the couch he leap’d in anger,
Drew his sword in wild alarm:
O confusion!
Curst delusion!
Vainly now he seeks each wonted charm.
“Is it thus thou hast deceiv’d thy lover?
Ugly witch!” disdainful thus he said:
“Grace of birth divine and youth perennial
Didst thou feign to lure me to thy bed?
But the mask hath dropp’d--I find not
Of thy charms one single trace:
Old in mien,
Shrivell’d, lean.
How canst thou unblushing show thy face?”
Naught avail’d the tears of Freya: Odur
Fled disgusted from her nerveless arms.
Where he once such poignant pleasure tasted,
Where he revell’d in celestial charms.
There he left his car and leopards:
Freya sits, to grief a prey,
Sad, despairing,
Wildly staring
At the heaven’s expanse, or dark blue sea.
Never more the Asar race beheld him;
To his Vaner he return’d again.
Golden tears now shed the wretched Freya,
When she gazed upon the stormy main.
Though she found again her beauty,
Odur never more she found:
Tears of woe
Constant flow
From her eyes: the groves her plaint resound.
When the apples of the fair Iduna,
Fruit of health and youth, were found again,
Much it griev’d Valfader’s heart to notice
Beauty sorrowing on her couch in vain:
Straight he sent in search of Odur
Hermod with his magic spear.
Now his fate
I’ll relate,
If my harpings ye will deign to hear.
Odur hied him to the grove of laurel,
Where first Freya met his amorous glance:
Vain the satyrs with their music greet him;
Vain voluptuous damsels round him dance:
Callous now to all about him,
Dwelling on his loss severe,
Much he groan’d,
Wept and moan’d
In the sandy waste, forlorn and drear.
Grapes and vine-leaves from his brow depending,
Now with vacant gaze he fixes heaven:
In the spring of youth thus solitary,
Swim his eyes, with melancholy riven.
Sweet illusion charms his spirit;
Yielding to the frenzy bland,
Lost in dreams
Still he seems,
On his bosom ever press’d his hand.
Hermod, from behind the bush advancing,
Touches Odur with his magic wand:
Straight transform’d e’en to the very marrow
See him now a marble statue stand!
To this day through Asia roving,
Him, ’tis said, the Scald hath found
Thus alone
Changed to stone
In the forest, still with vine-leaves crown’d.
For the death of her beloved Odur
Deeply Freya mourns with grief sincere:
In the ecstacy of melancholy
Down her lovely cheek flows many a tear:
Oft her heart’s profound emotion
Pours she in each lover’s breast;
Pleasing thrill,
Flowing still,
Painful longing! from thy poignant zest.