Fair tho’ she be, to Freya ne’er
Can stately Sif in form compare.
Not her’s the clear eye’s speaking glance,
Age-frozen blood might make to dance:
Or heart which passion ne’er had felt
Like snow ’neath mid-day sun to melt.
* * * * * * * * *
Sif seems some Amazon to be,
Her look replete with dignity,
Her eye beams no impassioned glance,