As the frost giants scowled down from their icy castles, and saw the little flowers turn up their happy faces to drink in the sparkling drops, and heard the birds trill their happy songs, and smelled the rich fragrance of the damp firs and pines, they roared with anger and vexation.
“Let us revenge ourselves upon this insolent Thor who robs us of our rights,” they bellowed to each other across the great valleys that separated their giant peaks.
“We can do nothing so long as he holds the magic hammer,” growled one.
“We must steal the hammer from him,” shouted another.
“Steal the hammer! Steal the hammer!” shouted all the giants until the very skies echoed with the words.
“And I will be the one to steal it,” bellowed Thrym, the strongest and greatest giant of them all.
“And, moreover, I will go at once to the city of Asgard. The gods are asleep. With my great eye, I can see even now the hammer lying beside the sleeping Thor. Guard my castle. I am gone.”
THE THEFT OF THE HAMMER.
And putting on the guise of a great bird, Thrym spread his wings and flew across the black night to Asgard. The gods shivered in their sleep as he entered and breathed his breath upon the summer air of heaven, but knew not what had chilled them.