Their portion scant of the celestial flame:
In Finnmark and in Greenland such a race
May still be found, devoid of soul or grace.
“Now help me, Thor!” quoth Skirnir, in despite:
“Hath my good master lost his senses quite?
Is then his love a witch like one of these,
Whose aspect bare the warmest blood would freeze?
Love’s blind, they say, but madness ’twere, forsooth,
For such a hero in the bloom of youth
To pair off with a damsel so uncouth.”