Laughing the wretched peasant’s plaint to scorn.
When Odin now the thievish giants view’d,
Pity and indignation fired his blood;
He took out from his pouch a polished stone,[79]
Than which for sharp’ning scythes a better one
Could not be found; then call’d out loud and blythe:
’Which of ye needs a stone to wet his scythe?’
He threw it high in air, but as it fell,
The greedy giants had with rancour fell,
Disputing for the stone, each other slain,