No pleasure would such feat afford:
But if by magic spell ’twere made,
Then foully were the wolf betray’d.”
Heimdaller blush’d: but Asa-Tyr,
The youthful page devoid of fear,
When Heimdal’s cheek so red he view’d,
In anger bit his lips to blood.
He griev’d to see an Asa droop,
Unable with the wolf to cope,
And from the contest forced to fly