Her eyes’ bewitching glance could melt
Each warrior’s heart beneath his belt,
Hearts, which were slow to move before,
Save when the clarion blew for war.
And now the Scald had ceased his lay;
The harp’s last tone had died away:
Gefion arose, her bosom swelling
With conscious dignity, repelling
All hope her favours to obtain:
As when on silv’ry lake the swan