Now his fate
I’ll relate,
If my harpings ye will deign to hear.
Odur hied him to the grove of laurel,
Where first Freya met his amorous glance:
Vain the satyrs with their music greet him;
Vain voluptuous damsels round him dance:
Callous now to all about him,
Dwelling on his loss severe,
Much he groan’d,