An image of the fairest and the best,
That stamp’d itself for ever in his breast.
Then Skirnir: “Now doth my loved master prove,
I well perceive, the mighty power of love:
Whoe’er of love’s keen arrows feels the smart,
Freya with doubts and fears distracts his heart.
With hand upon his breast, in wayward fits,
Despairing of success, the lover sits:
Yet could he once his soul to action strain,
An easy triumph he, perhaps, might gain.