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and gathers in a brightly luminous belt of mist stretch- 

 ing towards the southwest, with only a few patches of 

 luminous haze visible here and there. After a while 

 scattered rays suddenly shoot up from the fiery mist, 

 almost reaching to the zenith ; then more ; they plav 

 over the belt in a wild chase from east to west. They 

 seem to be always darting nearer from a long, long way 

 off. But suddenly a perfect veil of rays showers from 

 the zenith out over the northern sky ; they are so fine 

 and bright, like the finest of glittering silver threads. 

 Is it the fire-giant Surt himself, striking his mighty 

 silver harp, so that the strings tremble and sparkle in 

 the glow of the fiames of Muspellsheim ? Yes, it is harp 

 music, wildly storming in the darkness ; it is the riotous 

 war-dance of Surt s sons. And again at times it is like 

 softly playing, gently rocking, silvery waves, on which 

 dreams travel into unknown worlds. 



" The winter solstice has come, and the sun is at its 

 lowest; but still at midday we can just see a faint glim- 

 mer of it over the ridsies in the south. Now it is ao^ain 

 beginning to mount northward ; day by day it will grow 

 lighter and lighter, and the time will pass rapidly. Oh, 

 how well I can now understand our forefathers' old cus- 

 tom of holding an uproarious sacrificial banquet in the 

 middle of winter, when the power of the winter dark- 

 ness was broken. We would hold an uproarious feast 

 here if we had anything to feast with ; but we have 

 nothing. What need is there, either.? We shall hold 



