But Freya with her lily hand patted his cheek, and lo!
All scruples vanished from his breast, all wrinkles from his brow.
“’Tis true,” said Freya, “mortal man composed of wretched dust
Must by his nature ever be a victim to mistrust;
Must ever guard himself against the influence of hate,
Which ne’er the most illustrious deeds fails to calumniate;
But Thor in Trudvang rules; who dare his acts divine arraign?
Surely to aid a humorous freak his godhead cannot slain.”
Young Fulla, bearing Freya’s robes, now enter’d in the hall;
But Odin’s hand must widen them; for Thor they were too small: