Canto XI Conversation between Lok and Sif
Lok
Pardon the lowly slave of love,
Whom thy enchanting form inspires
Once more to plead in amorous strain!
O that thy heart would deign to prove
The fervour that my bosom fires,
And urge thy will to soothe my pain!
SIF.
With cautious step draws near the thief,
And dextrously he opes the door;
The cunning mouse creeps through the hole:
While Lok, the dark insidious chief,
Steals to my couch at midnight hour,
For never rests his lustful soul.
Lok.
To catch the fish the worm is held;
The trap ensnares the artful fox:
All to some tempting bait must yield;
Lok is allured by female locks.
SIF.
To thy own wife, to Sigyn hie!
In flowing locks descends her raven hair:
Or Angurbod with fond caresses ply!
She will not, sure, refuse thy couch to share.
Lok.
Whene’er with thirst we languish,
And no delicious fruit is nigh,
The sourest apple to assuage our anguish
We pluck, and swallow greedily:
But when such charms as thine, O Disa dear!
Before our ravish’d eyes appear,
Who would not?—but while thou in sleep
Indulgest, Thor goes fishing on the deep:
Thoughtless of home he braves the gale,
And with the giant bobs for whale.
While he that wild career pursues,
Do thou a softer pastime chuse!
With foliage soft is fill’d thy bower—
Love points—propitious smiles the hour.
SIF.
Hast thou forgot in Mimer’s fane
The banquet held? with amorous pray’r
My heart thou strovest to ensnare;
What was my answer? cold disdain.
I am not changed; and Sif bestows
Once more contempt on all thy vows.
But be advised, and quickly flee!
Thor may return, and on a tree
He’d quick suspend thy odious form,
To dangle in the midnight storm.
The Disa spoke: indignant pride
Inflamed her look; she turn’d aside.
And reckless of her suitor’s pain
To sleep address’d herself again.
Her golden tresses in profusion
From the bedside hung streaming down,
While Lok with anger and confusion
Beheld all chance of conquest flown.
But when her forehead’s grove appears
In sight, by vengeance fired, the shears
He takes, and with malignant pleasure
Lops from her head its golden treasure.
Aloft the caitiff bears away
With outspread wings his gorgeous prey!
How meteor-like the tresses gleam,
As through the murky heavens they stream!
And falling down, where’er he flew,
Give to the corn its golden hue!
Where’er he flew, down fell the hair
In flakes, and tinged with colour fair
The peasant-maidens’ locks, who dwell
On Hertha’s isle or Guldbrand’s dale.
Their locks of yore were black as jet,
As Finnish women bear them yet:
But now their tresses’ golden die
May well with Freya’s, or with Gefion’s vie.
Canto XI — Lok’s Conversation With Sif
An attempt to translate the 11th canto in the alliterative metre of the Icelandic or ancient Scandinavian poetry, something in the style of the original.
Lok.
Forgive love’s lowly
Liegeman, O Sifia!
Again thy beauty
His bosom burns.
O that my passion,
Pleading for pity,
Could chafe thy fainter
Feelings to flame!
SIF.
Through holes creep rats
Restless roving;
The thief undoeth
Dextrous the door;
Sleep is not safe from
The snares of Loki,
Who with lust leering
Lurks in my bower.
Lok.
With hooks bait-blinded
Beguiled are fishes;
In traps fallacious
Oft foxes fall;
By locks luxuriant
Of lovely females
Seduced, e’en subtle
Loki succumbs.
SIF.
Go seek thy own spouse
Soft-hearted Sigyn,
Wreathing in raven
Ringlets her hair!
Or to thy jet-black
Giantess hie thee!
She to thy wanton
Wishes will yield.
Lok.
By hunger harass’d
Haws must content us,
When no well-flavour’d
Fruit we can find.
Be not disdainful,
Delicate Disa!
Hear with complacent
Pity my prayer!
On the high seas with
Hymir, thy husband
Sits in the wherry,
Wheedling the whale:
Or, of home reckless,
Roves by the rivers,
Intent the silv’ry
Salmon to snare.
While he his own way
Wilfully wanders,
Do thou more pleasing
Pastime pursue!
Thy blooming bower is
Bestrew’d with foliage;
The hour so long’d for
Lures us to love.
SIF.
Of Mimer’s bounteous
Banquet bethink thee,
When thou to Sifia
Sigh’dst forth thy suit!
This time again fate
Frowns on thy frolic;
Vain are thy vows to
Vanquish my heart.
Get thee hence, heartless
Hater of Asar!
Thund’ring terrific,
Thor travels home:
To loftiest larch-tree
Lash’d, he’ll suspend thee
Mournful to moulder
In midnight storms.
Thus the disdainful
Disa derided
Her lustful lover’s
Languishing suit:
Turning away from
The fiend false-hearted,
Sinks the fair Sifia
Softly to sleep.
But now the fraudful
Felon’s eye fixes
From the bedside her
Hair hanging down:
From the head of Sifia
(Seizing her scissors)
Clips he its golden
Glittering grove.
Through airy regions
Rapidly rising,
Loptur licentious
Launches his flight:
Proud of his precious
Prey, he deploys it;
Like shooting star, he
Scuds through the sky.
Thus shone the recreant
Ravisher roaming,
Vaulting thro’ veering
Vapours of night:
For though in murky
Mists mourn’d the heavens,
Sifia’s locks dismal
Darkness dispell’d.
Where’er he flew, in
Flakes fell the hair down
O’er Hertha’s fertile
Flower-crown’d fields;
Stiff’ning the wheat-stalks
Wide-around waving,
Yarely with yellow
Gilding the green.
Where’er he flew, in
Flakes fell the hair down.
Gleaming on Guldbrand’s
Grain-cover’d vale:
Now on each lively
Lassie it lowers,42
Tinging with topaz
Tresses of jet.
Of yore in ringlets
Raven-hued rolling,
Their hair o’ershadowed
Shoulders of snow:
Now they display their
Tresses triumphant,
Golden, like Gefion’s,
Like Freya’s, fair.