Crown’d with white flowers: from Lok’s black art such bitter fruits ensue!
“Ye friendly little Alfs!” said Lok in soft cajoling strain,
“D’ye wish to know the reason why I join your sportive train?
Ye’re call’d Valhalla’s children; the Asar hold ye dear;
Poor Lok needs your assistance, and therefore comes he here.
I have been sadly indiscreet; too free hath been my tongue;
But Ægir’s banquet is to blame; his liquor was too strong,
My head too weak: I’ve mock’d the gods; my crime I frankly own:
But if great Odin will once more admit me near his throne,
If Thor for what I’ve said or sung will grant his pardon too,