What wonder Mimer bow’d his laurell’d head,
At such discovery sad, dishearten’d, crost?
What wonder Balder, once serene and meek,
To omens dire should yield himself a prey?
Hear him with quiv’ring lip and hectic cheek,
Grief in his heart, and madness in his eye,
Rave incoherent strains, wild gazing at the sky!
Now at the ash Yggdrassil[53] they alight,
Whose branches o’er the earth their shade extend;
The holy tree, to which the Asar bright