Next them sat Heimdal; when his eyes Freya and Frey behold,
Smiling he draws his lip aside, and shows his tooth of gold:
So sharp his ears, he hears wool grow and grasses upwards shoot,
And well he knew what in the grove those two had talk’d about.
Next to Heimdaller Gefion sat, the proud shield-bearing maid;
But naught avail’d to gain her heart the courtship that he paid;
Like rose-bud just about to burst blooming and fresh her hue;
Yet with indifference profound doth she love’s pastime view.
All the young maidens who, uncrown’d by Freya and by love,
By death are stricken, refuge find in Gefion’s holy grove: