She to her lover’s lips the mystic vessel rais’d.
Right lustily he drank; then with his prize
Triumphant he regain’d his native skies.”
Now Skirnir ceas’d his story, and awhile
Gazed on his master with an artful smile;
Then Frey his silence broke: “So! thus doth love
An Asa! sensual joys alone their passion move!
The sweeter fruit of sentiment, I trow,
The race of Bor and Bure do not know.
O Skirnir! did the Fates to Frey accord