Gerda alone absorb’d his ev’ry thought.
CANTO XXII.
FREY’S PLAINT AT THE FOUNTAIN.
O Swain! who sighest sad with cheek so pale,
And to the gentle Freya dost complain,
Because thy vows and ardour naught avail
The love of a proud maiden’s heart to gain:
Because to thee no joys the vernal gale
Affords: Ah! blame not Freya! she thy pain