Ah! what is beauty? (thus she thought) and why should it return,
If from the heart the heart’s beloved remain for ever torn?
While Freya thus indulged in grief, Odin, the mighty lord,
His courier Hermod call’d; he came, and, charged with Odin’s word,
Went out again, but reappear’d, quick as a waterfall,
And Freya’s daughter, little Hnos, he led into the hall.
The little creature smiling stood behind her mother’s chair,
Over her shoulders delicate stream’d down her well comb’d hair:
The mother wept still more; her child close in her arms she prest;
A flood of golden tears humect the lovely Freya’s breast.