His daughter stood near him with witching look;
(On the flow’rets the dew-drops shine)
As the ivy around the gnarled oak,
Thus did Gerda her sire entwine.
A cup of drink for Skirnir he bore;
(The sunbeams redden the sky)
“Before,” quoth he, “thou leavest my door,
Hear, and take with thee my reply!
“Young Frey loves dearly my daughter bright;
(The birds on the trees sing sweet)