Night’s son was driving His golden-haired horses up. Over the Eastern firths High flashed their manes. Smiled from the cloud-eaves out Allfather Odin, Waiting the battle-sport: Freya stood by him. ‘Who are these heroes tall— Lusty-limbed Longbeards? Over the swans’ bath Why cry they to me? Bones should be crashing fast, Wolves should be full-fed, Where’er such, mad-hearted, Swing hands in the sword-play.’
Sweetly laughed Freya— ‘A name thou hast given them— Shames neither thee nor them, Well can they wear it. Give them the victory, First have they greeted thee; Give them the victory, Yokefellow mine! Maidens and wives are these— Wives of the Winils; Few are their heroes And far on the war-road, So over the swans’ bath They cry unto thee.’
Royally laughed he then; Dear was that craft to him, Odin Allfather, Shaking the clouds. ‘Cunning are women all, Bold and importunate! Longbeards their name shall be, Ravens shall thank them: Where the women are heroes, What must the men be like? Theirs is the victory; No need of me!’
[Footnote: This punning legend may be seen in Paul Warnefrid’s Gesta Langobardorum. The metre and language are intended as imitations of those of the earlier Eddaic poems.]
‘There!’ said Wulf, when the song was ended; ‘is that cool enough for you?’
‘Rather too cool; eh, Pelagia?’ said the Amal, laughing.
‘Ay,’ went on the old man, bitterly enough, ‘such were your mothers; and such were your sisters; and such your wives must be, if you intend to last much longer on the face of the earth—women who care for something better than good eating, strong drinking, and soft lying.’
‘All very true, Prince Wulf,’ said Agilmund, ‘but I don’t like the saga after all. It was a great deal too like what Pelagia here says those philosophers talk about—right and wrong, and that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘Now I like a really good saga, about gods and giants, and the fire kingdoms and the snow kingdoms, and the Aesir making men and women out of two sticks, and all that.’