171 they were met by Tyr’s grandmother, who had nine hundred heads, in company with whom was his beautiful, fair-haired mother, who offered to her son and to Thor a welcome cup. She told them that Hymir was from home, and advised them to hide themselves under some kettles, for that he was at times inhospitable, and prone to sudden fits of anger. Late in the evening he came back from hunting in bad humour; his wife received him with great gentleness, and informed him of the arrival of their son Tyr, whom they had so long expected, adding that Veor,1 their enemy, and the friend of man was with him, and that they were both at that moment under the kettles, and had scarcely the courage to come forth. Hymir, whose beard, covered with hoar-frost, resembled a frozen forest, cast such a fierce look at the kettles, that the beams and uprights on which they stood split before it, and eight kettles fell down, only one of which remained whole. Tyr and Thor upon this advanced towards their host, who did not seem very well pleased to see the latter. He ordered, however, three oxen to be roasted 1 The giants and gods spake different languages, in that of the giants, Veor was the name given to the Thunderer.

172 for their supper, of which Thor for his single share ate two, which made Hymir remark that the next evening they must sup on what they could catch for themselves. Thor proposed to go to fish, and asked for bait. Hymir told him he might go amongst the cattle and search for some. He accordingly went, and seizing a coal-black bull by the horns, tore off its head, they then rowed out to sea. Hymir took on his hook two whales at once: Thor having baited his with the bull’s head, hooked the great Midgard’s serpent, and dragging its head to the edge of the boat, struck it with his hammer, when it sank again. On their return home, Hymir told Thor that if he wished to give good proof of his strength, he might break a cup, which the giant put into his hands. Thor dashed it against several stone pillars, but to no purpose. At length Hymir’s wife whispered to him to throw it against her husband’s head, which he did, and the cup split into pieces, and the giant bitterly deplored its loss. At last, as a decisive proof of the strength of his guests, Hymir challenged them to lift his large kettle. Tyr endeavoured to do so in vain. Thor took it up with ease, placed it upon his head, and walked away with it. Hymir and a troop of

173 giants followed in order to recover it by force, but Thor, as usual, slew them all, and carried off the kettle in triumph to the place where the gods were assembled, so that ever since Ægir, at the flax harvest, has been able to give them a good drinking bout. Such is the account of Thor’s visit to Hymir, as given in the “Hymis-quida,”2 or “Song about Hymir,” in the Elder Edda. The Prose Edda, which Oehlenschläger has chiefly followed, gives a different account both of its motives, and of its Result. Thor could not sit down patiently under the affront which had been put on him by Utgardelok, and fearing lest his reputation might suffer from the circumstance of his having been out-witted by the giants, he resolved to repair to Jotunheim a second time. He presented himself therefore before Odin, and acquainting him with his purpose, begged his assistance. Odin told him that force would be of but little avail against the giants, unless it was joined with foresight, and by his magic art, Seid, lie prepared an ointment by means of which Thor acquired the power of changing his form. Having good reason to suspect Asa-Loke’s honesty, 2 Hymisquida.

174 he resolved this time to undertake the adventure alone, and leaving behind him his car and goats, he proceeded on his journey on foot. O’er Dovre’s ridge3 he strode, For cliff nor torrent slack’d; The tall pines, where he trode, Like field of stubble crack’d. Sneehattan’s peak of snow, And Jotunfieldt he past, Then sought the plains below, And the sea reach’d at last; He mark’d in curling wreath, The dull wave roll away, And saw where, far beneath, The serpent, brooding, lay. His heart with hope beat high, His voice shook as he spake, Turning to Heaven his eye, “No more, accursed snake,” Quoth he: “in giant bend Earth prison’d shalt thou keep, Nor struggling sea-man send To fell Ran’s cavern deep.” But being now resolved to proceed with caution, he began by changing his fonn. Throwing his 3 The Dovre-fieldt is one of the loftiest parts of the great Scandinavian chain of mountains, and Sneehattan its highest peak.

175 ponderous helmet on the ground, it became a rock ered with pines. Next, from his cloven chin, He tore the bushy beard; Which, cast in the ravine, A thorny copse appear’d. A smooth-faced peasant boy He stood, in wadmel4 blue, White Heimdall5 smiled for joy The cunning wile to view. Now straight to Hymir’s grot He hies, a simple hind, His flaxen ringlets float Wild in the morning wind; His belt, by magic cheat, A woollen girdle seem’d, Art with like art to meet, No shame the Aser deem’d. Miölner, as woodman’s axe, Athwart his arm he bare, His courage high ’gan wax At thought of vengeance near. In moss-lined cavern deep, Lull’d by a torrent’s play, 4 Wadmel is a kind of coarse cloth made in Iceland, and worn universally by the peasants in Norway and Denmark. 5 Nothing that passed on earth could escape the watchful eye of Heimdall, the warder of the gods, who never quitted his post, on the summit of Bifrost.

176 Taking his morning sleep, At length the giant lay. The poet in describing Hymir’s residence gives a vivid picture of Norwegian scenery, black rugged rocks crowned with pines, a waterfall, a river white with foam dashing through thick brushwood down the ravine, and hard by a verdant dell filled with cattle. On hearing a stranger’s step, Hymir sprang up, and demanded of the stripling how he dared unbidden to venture into his wood. Thor replied that he felt no apprehension: “My pulse beats steadily,” The youth replied: “for ne’er Hath Nornies stern decree Been changed, I trow, by fear— One of a form so good, Of generous soul should be; My little drop of blood What would it profit thee?” He finishes a long speech by saying, that his object was to obtain the giant’s permission to accompany him when he went out to fish. The grisly giant grinn’d So wide, that either ear His mouth appear’d behind, Ne’er yet was seen such leer; The earth shook all around, He laugh’d so heartily,

177 “One with a heart so sound I’ll never harm,” quoth he. He then granted the request, and invited Thor to take shelter in his cave from the keen morning wind, adding tauntingly, “When many a league from shore The kraken’s6 snort we hear, And whirling Maelstrom’s roar, ’Tis then we’ll talk of fear. 6 In a work like the present, a description of this much celebrated monster ought not to be omitted, and we insert, therefore, the account given of it in the Natural History of Norway, by Bishop Pontoppidan, in his own words:— “I now come to the third, and, without doubt, the greatest marine monster in the world, called the kraken or kraxen, or, as some have it, the crab, which name seems to answer best to the appearance of this round, flat animal, full of arms and branches. Our fishermen relate (all with one story and without the slightest contradiction), that when in warm summer days they have rowed out a number of leagues to sea, where usually there is a depth of from eighty to one hundred fathoms, they sometimes find only thirty, twenty, or less, and are then certain of taking fish in the greatest abundance. This is a sign that the krakén is under them, and they lose no time to profit by the circumstance, so that sometimes a score or more boats are assembled together, within a moderate circumference.    They have only to take the precaution of ascertaining, by means of their leads, whether the depth remains the same or diminishes. In the latter case not a moment must be lost. They give over fishing, and row away with all their might, until they get into the usual depth. There, resting on their oars, in a short time they see this unparalleled monster rise to the surface, that is, not its whole body, (which probably no human eye ever yet beheld, except in its young,) but merely the upper portion of it which, according to eye-witnesses, is about a mile and a half in circumference, many say more, but I take the least for surety. This, at first, has the appearance of a reef of low rocks covered with something which resembles floating sea-weed. At length appear a number of shining points and jags, which are thicker the higher they are seen above the surface. Sometimes they are as high as a moderate ship’s mast, but strong enough to drag down the largest ship of war. After a short time the kraken begins to sink, when the danger is as great as before, for the whirlpool caused by the descent of its body is so powerful that it draws in every thing near it, like the Maelstrom. From the long observation of fishermen, it appears that this animal feeds for several months together, and during the succeeding months evacuates its food in a substance resembling mud, which discolours the water, and attracts immense shoals of fish of every species, and when a sufficient number are assembled over him, he swallows up his thoughtless guests, who in their turn serve as a trap for others of a similar taste.”—The Bishop continues:—“As it is not to be expected that an occasion should speedily occur of examining this terrible monster alive, it is the more to be regretted that no one profited by one rare opportunity. In the year 1684, a kraken (probably young and heedless) came into Ulvangen Fjord, in the province of Bergen, and stretching out its feelers, which it seems to employ as a snail does its horns, they got entangled in some trees near the Fjord, and in the crevices of the rocks, so that it could not get loose again but died and rotted, the stench arising from it being so great, that for a long time after a part of Ulvangen’s Fjord could not be passed by persons of delicate smell.” The fishermen in the north of Norway still believe in the existence of the kraken, and a story somewhat similar to the above was related to the author at Dronthem a few years ago. The Maelstrom is scarcely less celebrated than the kraken. It was a terrific whirlpool in the Lofodden islands, the noise of which was said to be heard at a great distance, and its strength so great as to engulph everything which approached it. It was supposed to be caused by a vast hole which went through the earth. Many have denied the existence of any whirlpool at all in these islands, but Von Buch (no mean authority) maintains the affirmative, and explains the phenomenon as follows.—“In all the streights between the Lofodden islands, the current runs with great rapidity, on which account they bear for the most part such names as Grim-ström, Nass-ström, Sundström, &c. and in the long canals, where the influence of the tide reaches but partially, a bona fide waterfall is produced, similar to that under the old London bridge, only in a much greater degree. Such is the celebrated Maelström near the islands Moskoe and Veroe. These currents change their direction with the ebb and flow four times a day, but the Maelstrom is only dangerous when the north-west wind blows violently in a contrary direction to the ebb. Then the conflict of the meeting waters is truly terrific, whatever approaches the whirlpool, whether boat or fish, is engulphed, and its roar is heard at sea at a great distance. The expectation of mariners is almost always disappointed, for these violent winds are rare in summer, the only time at which they visit these seas.”

178 Thor asked only to be put to the proof, and now begged to be allowed to take with him what he might want for his fishing. Hymir assented, telling him that for bait he would find a grub amongst the cows. Thor went into the field, and a wild bull rushing towards him, he seized it by the horns and brake off its head, and then throwing it over his shoulders leaped the enclosure, and hastened to Hymir, who was getting the boat ready.

179 When Hymir the bull’s head On the youth’s shoulders saw, He laugh’d, and own’d the deed Was good for one so raw. Then shoved the boat from shore, Swift through the waves it flew, Hymir plied well his oar, And Thor row’d stoutly too. The god now became elated at the near prospect

180 of measuring himself with the serpent, and gave full liberty to his thoughts. If he could succeed in slaying it, “By Yggdrasill,7 the feat Would glad me more, by far, In Valhall than to beat Ten score Einheriar. What fruitful seeds of ill To mar man’s mortal state, 7 The name of the great Ash.

181 And earth with woes to fill, From the worm emanate! His pestilential breath Fevers and plagues doth cause, And each disease to death Which man untimely draws. When one in manhood’s prime Feels his approaching end, And ere yet lapsed his time, To Hela’s power must bend; When his heart-broken spouse Sees hope’s last promise fail, Then his fell might he’ll rouse To mock the widow’s wail. Her babe, which will not rest When the pale mother clasps, And gives in vain the breast, Struggling for life it gasps. Poor babe, as early rose Late fresh—she sees its eye In death for ever close— Nor weeps for agony: When one, who purely bums, Absent for many a year, To his true love returns And finds her on her bier. When from a mourning realm Some virtuous prince is ta’en, Or chief has bow’d his helm; Then sure the foul snake’s seen

182 Writhing for joy. Their birth All serpents, which infest Man’s central spot of earth, Draw from his nostril’s blast. The great snake, whose wide jowl, (To th’ southwards, far away) Will gulp a raging bull, Through him first saw the day. Its tail wound round an oak It watcheth long its prey, Which from th’ affrighted flock Struggling it drags away. Others, with diamond eyes, To Askur’s mortal race, Death-doom’d! though less in size, Alas! not fatal less. Fair sight their forms to view Basking in new-donn’d sheen, To theirs the violet’s blue Must yield, or emerald’s green: They know, by wizard gaze, Coil’d ‘neath some leafy bower, Their prey with fear to glaze, And charm him to their power. Gaunt Fenris, Loptur’s son, Who loves to prowl the night, Bewilder’d travellers down Hurling trom rocky height: When bloody treason’s rife, When for some murder foul

183 The bandit whets his knife, The wolf for joy doth howl. All who delight in blood From him beginning have, From him the tiger brood Th’ hyaena’s traitor laugh; The like each robber beast, Which from the fair light shrinks, Fitchet of plunderers least, Marten, and fox, and lynx. For nought hath Fenris ruth, When midnight winds blow hoarse, His sacrilegious tooth Tears from its grave the corse— Still ‘twere my chiefest joy The foul worm and his brood Of reptiles to destroy. Grieves me that man the food Of crawling worms should be— This slain his life should pass, From loathsome sickness free, In years of happiness. And, when th’ o’er-peopled earth No more her sons could feed, The bravest should stand forth, And like good warriors bleed. “Not hatred should unsheathe Their swords, nor lust of power, But a soul-warming wrath Gone, when the fight was o’er;

184 From some dark cloud the fray I’d watch, my bolts in hand The boldest on their way To Odin’s hall to send.” Thus mused the Aser Thor, And pull’d with all his might, Each time he struck his oar The dark-green wave turn’d white. The more his anger burn’d The huge boat sped the more, Seem’d as the waves it spurn’d Skimming like Dolphin o’er— So swiftly on it flew, The sides began to split, The sea so fast came through, The twain in water sit. Quick Hymir sprang to bale It out, and loud to roar, (His giant-heart ’gan fail) “Avast there! back your oar. “An you keep on this rate We soon to Ran shall go”— Quoth Thor: “Take heart, must yet A score good leagues or so.” “Score leagues!” cried Hymir: “why, Art mad! mark’st not the storm! E’en now I can descry Where lies fell Midgard’s worm.” “And what care I for worm!” Cried Thor, the fisher good:

185 “The bleak north’s bitterest storm But fans ray heated blood— I love the tempest’s roar— Ha! there the foul worm struck. Now I’ll take in mine oar, And try with line my luck.” Then, rising to full height, The iron kedge he took, Which, though it seem’d him light, Must serve him for a hook. The gory bullock’s head He took him for a bait— The giant, pale with dread, In the stern, trembling, sate. For line he next made loose His belt, and one end pass’d Twice round his waist, with noose Well bound to th’ other fast The baited hook he tied, And in the ocean threw: O’er the boat’s yielding side The girdle, hissing, flew.                             Oehlenschläger. “It must be confessed,” says the Prose Edda, “that Thor here made quite as great a fool of Jormungandur as Utgard’s-Lok did of him, when the giant king caused him to lift up the worm believing it was a cat. The worm gulped down the ox’s head so ravenously, that the hook stuck deep” in his jaws. As soon as he perceived this, he

186 plunged with such violence, that both Thor’s fists struck against the sides of the boat, on which the god’s anger got up and his strength at the same time, and he pulled so furiously against the snake, that both his legs went through the boat, and he remained standing on the bottom of the sea. He now pulled up the serpent to the edge of the boat, and, to say the truth, it was a terrible sight to see Thor look so grim at the serpent, and the serpent all the while gaping and spewing out poison against Thor. It is reported also that the giant Hymir changed colour, and became white with fear, when he saw the snake, and the dark blue sea breaking through the sides of the boat. In the same moment Thor seized hold of his hammer and swung it round in the air, but the giant fumbled about for his knife, and scored Thor’s knot over, by which means the snake got loose and sank down to the bottom of the sea. Thor threw his hammer after it, and it has been asserted that he thus knocked its head off against the breakers. But I think that it is pretty certain that the Midgard’s worm still lives and lies in the sea. Thor then lifted his arm and gave Hymir such a cuff on the side of the head that he fell overboard, and the soles of his feet were turned up in the air, but Thor waded to shore.

187 THOR’S FISHING. On the dark bottom of the great salt lake Emprison’d lay the giant snake, With nought his sullen sleep to break. Huge whales disported amorous o’er his neck, Little their sports the worm did reck, Nor his dark, vengeful thoughts would check. To move his iron fins he hath no power, Nor yet to harm the trembling shore, With scaly rings he’s cover’d o’er. His head he seeks mid coral rocks to hide, Nor e’er hath man his eye espied, Nor could its deadly glare abide. His eye-lids half in drowsy stupor close, But short and troubled his repose. As his quick, heavy breathing shows: Muscles and crabs, and all the shelly race, In spacious banks still crowd for place, A grisly beard, around his face. When Midgard’s worm his fetters strives to break, Riseth the sea, the mountains quake; The fiends in Nastrond8 merry make. Rejoicing flames from Hecla’s cauldron flash, Huge molten stones, with deafening crash Fly out—its scathed sides fire-streams wash. The affrighted sons of Askur feel the shock As the worm doth lie and rock, And, sullen, waiteth Ragnarok. 8 Nastrond, the Scandinavian hell.

188 To his foul craving maw nought e’er came ill, It never he doth cease to fill, Nath’-more his hungry pain can still. Upwards by chance he turns his sleepy eye, And over him suspended, nigh, The gory head he doth espy. The serpent, taken with his own deceit, Suspecting nought the daring cheat, Ravenous, gulps down the bait. His leathern jaws the barbed steel compress, His pond’rous head must leave th’ abyss, Dire was Jormungandur’s hiss. In giant coils he writhes his length about, Poisonous streams he speweth out, But his struggles help him nought: The mighty Thor knoweth no peer in fight: The loathsome worm, his strength despite, Now o’er-matched, must yield the fight. His grisly head Thor heaveth o’er the tide, No mortal eye the sight may bide, The scared waves haste i’ th’ sands to hide. As when accursed Nastrond yawns and bums, His impious throat ’gainst heaven he turns, And with his tail the ocean spurns. The parched sky droops, darkness enwraps the sun, Now the matchless strength is shown Of the god whom warriors own. Around his loins he draws his girdle tight, His eye with triumph flashes bright, The frail boat splits aneath his weight;

189 The frail boat splits—but on the ocean’s ground Thor again hath footing found; Within his arms the worm is bound:— Hymir, who in the strife no part had took, But like a trembling aspen shook, Rouseth him t’ avert the stroke. “In the last night, the Vala9 hath decreed Thor, in Odin’s utmost need, To the worm shall bow the head.” Thus in sunk voice the craven Giant spoke, Whilst from his belt a knife he took, Forged by dwarfs aneath the rock: Upon the magic belt straight ’gan to file; Thor in bitter scom to smile; Miölner swang in air the while. In the worm’s front full two-score leagues it fell, From Gimle to the realms of hell, Echoed Jormungandur’s yell. The ocean yawn’d, Thor’s lightnings rent the sky, Through the storm, the great Sun’s eye, Look’d out on the fight from high. Bifrost10 i’ th’east shone forth in brightest green, On its top, in snow-white sheen, Heimdal, at his post, was seen. 9 The Vala or prophetess, whose celebrated song, the Voluspa, is one of the most curious relics of Scandinavian Mythology. 10 Bifrost, the rainbow, the bridge of the gods, the preponderance of the green indicated the hope of the Aser that their most formidable enemy was about to be overcome.

190 On the charm’d belt die dagger hath no power, The star of Jotunheim ’gan lour; But now in Asgard’s evil hour, When all his efforts foil’d tall Hymir saw, Wading to the serpent’s maw, On the kedge he ’gan to saw. The sun, dismay’d, hasten’d in clouds to hide, Heimdall turnM his head aside; Thor was humbled in his pride. The knife prevails, far down beneath the main The serpent, spent with toil and pain, To the bottom sank again. The giant fled his head mid rocks to save, Fearfully the God did rave, With his lightnings tore the wave: To madness stung to think his conquest vain, His ire no longer could contain, Dared the worm to rise again: His radiant form to its full height he drew, And Miölner through the billows blue Swifter than the fire-bolt flew. Hoped, yet, the worm had fallen beneath the stroke, But the wily child of Loke Waits her turn at Ragnarok.11 His hammer lost, back wends the giant-bane, Wasted his strength, his prowess vain; And Miölner must with Ran remain. Oehlenschläger, 11 At the great battle of Ragnarokur, Thor and the serpent destroy each other.