“Give up Freya, and all is yours.”
There in the citadel fancy built
Are the riches of ages heaped and spilt;
Diamonds glitter and rubies gleam,
And moon-like pearls front the pale moonbeam.
Golden the roof and gold the floor;
The glittering splendor woos and lures;
And the tempting voice repeats once more:
“Give up Freya, and all is yours.”
What! give up hope with its rainbow sheen,