Is wreath’d in many a fold her radiant hair;
Straight as the poplar is her shape; her mien,
Her varied grace, no words have power to tell;
While bounding ’neath the silken veil so green
The plump luxuriant snowy hillocks swell.
“A vessel rare of burnish’d gold
That Disa in her hands is wont to hold;
From Asagard ’twas brought, where on the ground
By Odin, Vil, and Ve ’twas found;
Not easy ’tis the images portray’d