That juice gives lustre to the old man’s eye:
But for that drink, youth’s fervid glow
In Odin’s veins long since had ceased to flow:
Did not Iduna mingle every morn
That apple’s juice i’ th’ liquor brew’d for Thor,
The world his boasted strength would laugh to scorn,
Spite of his belt, his gauntlets, and his car.
“No raven’s scream in Idun’s grove is heard;
Nor ever jars the ear the cricket’s cry:
For Asa-Bragur the celestial bard