In ransom for that weapon, all the wealth thou canst conceive;
Whate’er thou chusest to exact, the god will freely give.”
“What ransom?” cried the giant harsh and rough: “doth Thor possess
Gold, silver, copper, as I do within my deep recess?
Such gifts small value have for me; for riches naught I care;
But much of Freya have I heard, and of her beauty rare:
They say, she doth in form and grace all other dames eclipse;
Ivory her limbs, of gold her hair, of coral are her lips:
Her voice sweet music; plump well-rounded arms; a laughing mien;
A mouth that is for kissing made, and loves it too, I ween.