Didst thou feign to lure me to thy bed?
But the mask hath dropp’d—I find not
Of thy charms one single trace:
Old in mien,
Shrivell’d, lean.
How canst thou unblushing show thy face?”
Naught avail’d the tears of Freya: Odur
Fled disgusted from her nerveless arms.
Where he once such poignant pleasure tasted,
Where he revell’d in celestial charms.