The vine’s rich juice their cheeks had colour’d high
And gave fresh lustre to each flashing eye;
Such thrilling accents from their pouting lips.
Such melting tones were heard, as might eclipse
The strain of nightingale, when to the grove
He lures his mate with blandishments of love.
“Now to the deepest glen the nymphs withdrew;
The Asar close th’ alluring prey pursue.
Heimdal soon vanish’d; Vidar, too, the grave,
Most taciturn of all the Asar brave,