See Odin now the god sublime quick from the table rise!
To Hermod whispers he a word with anger in his eyes:[71]
Straight Hermod vanish’d from the hall, arm’d with his magic wand:
Not half so swift the falcon flies, launch’d by the hunter’s hand.
O that Alfader had not mark’d the beauteous Freya’s grief!
Alas! how anger’s haste destroys all prospect of relief!
If Odur could have seen, methinks, his consort fair once more,
Repentance’ sting he would have felt, and lov’d her, as before.
But now to marble statue changed, what can he feel? ’Tis true,
His eyes wide open stand, but naught those eyes have power to view: