Graciously his beauteous bride.
At the porch as his life-guards six monarchs behold!
One glitt’ring in Silver; one flaming in Gold;
One in Iron dark blue; one in Copper bright red;
White in Tin was this chieftain; that, sable in Lead.
From the car the gods descend:
Thrymur see! his hand extend
To conduct his fancied spouse:
High his blood with passion glows.
Many a gloomy corridor