Wherein the maid, before she went to rest,
Was wont to lave her face, her arms, her breast:
’Twas fill’d with water: with his project pleas’d,
In haste his horn the gallant Skirnir seiz’d;
Within the vase all its contents he pour’d.
And charged it with the image of his lord.
This done, he left the bower of Gerda strait,
And his own chamber sought with mind elate.
But now the mountain damsel, when her guest
And all her menials had retired to rest,