Classic Illustrations from Norse Mythology

On the bosom fair, what resteth there,
On the bosom softly rising?
Upon Freyja's breast, what there doth rest,
But the golden necklace, Brising?

From the hearth-stone has her Odur gone,
And for him she is ever pining;
And every tear turned a golden sphere,
Is amid her necklace shining.

She travels west, and she takes no rest,
But towards the south is speeding;
She travels east, and will make no feast,
Till northward her husband leading.

And with every stop her tears down drop,
And change into beads all golden;
Until larger grows and brighter glows
The string on her bosom folden.

And never a dame had jewelled flame
With a light more brightly glowing,
Than Freyja bore, when 'twas thus she wore
The tears with her heart's-gold flowing.

No jewels rare can ever compare
With gems from the heart's fount rising;
And 'tis Fate's award, who mourns her lord
Shall wear Freyja's necklace, Brising.

The Beautiful Freyja
1909 John P. Edmison