Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/49



not thine hand upon me; let me go; Take off thine eyes that put the gods to shame; What, wilt thou turn my loathing to thy death?

Nay, I will never loosen hold nor breathe Till thou have slain me; godlike for great brows Thou art, and thewed as gods are, with clear hair: Draw now thy sword and smite me as thou art god, For verily I am smitten of other gods, Why not of thee?

O queen, take heed of words; Why wilt thou eat the husk of evil speech? Wear wisdom for that veil about thy head And goodness for the binding of thy brows.