“All things do I devour, yet naught
Consume; as for thy fruit divine,
Keep it thyself! I need it not!
But come! let us the sport begin!”
Thus said, her arms around her foe
She cast with wondrous force and glee;
Thor, struggling hard the crone to throw,
At length fell breathless on his knee.
His comrades trembled, sore afraid
To view their chieftain’s sad mischance: