Thus Mimer to the lofty Skulda spoke:
“O thou! who feelest neither joy nor woe,
Hostile to none, friendly to none; whose look,
Like that of falcon ardent, can pierce through
The blackest night, whether the dove doth coo,
Or the sword clash, alike unmoved; my prayer
Do not reject! and O resolve me true
The great enigma! shall Iduna fair
Again, freed from her chains, respire her natal air?”
The virgin breast of Skulda swell’d awhile: