“Her thoughts ever dwelling on Thrymur and love,
Poor Freya eight nights without sleeping hath past,
Hence her eyes are so red, and her brow overcast.”
Then a female black as coal,
With short frizzled hair like wool,
Enter’d in the festive hall;
Young was she, smooth skinn’d, and tall:
On her brows a crown she wore,
Emblem of her regal power:
While around her waist a zone