Through the shady forest once strode a powerful young Huntsman. His eyes beamed with the fire of his soul and his strong manly frame was clad in a light hunting dress, decked with the eagle's feathers; his broad trusty sword clanked in its sheath as he went, and in his right hand he bore a spear.

Several attendants followed him, and two large greyhounds sprang round him with mighty bounds. Suddenly they stopped, threw back their heads and began barking loudly, then disappeared in the dense bushes hard by.

Aloud, fearful roar came out from where the hounds had entered the underwood, and the bushes creaked and groaned, as though trampled under the foot of some enormous giant, and a monstrous wild ox of untold proportions rushed out, chasing the hounds.

As soon as it reached the open space where the Huntsman and his followers stood, it lowered its monstrous head, and, catching one of the dogs round the neck in its rounded horns, hurled it high into the sky. But at the same moment the Huntsman’s spear hissed through the air, and entered deep into the ox's fleshy neck.

The monster turned fiercely towards its new opponent, but the Huntsman did not budge from his place. All would have thought him lost, so unequal did the chances seen, so terrible did the giant ox appear.

Calm and collected, the bold youth awaited the onslaught of the monster, then seized it by the horns, and, straining his whole strength into his shoulders, with superhuman power, overthrew it on its back. Before it could rise again the Huntsman's foot pressed heavily upon its throat, and soon his trusty sword put an end to the battle, a stifled roar telling that the life flame of the monstrous ox had at length gone out.

The Huntsman's followers had not shared in the fight, for they knew their master and his mighty strength, and had no fear for the results. They now went silently to their work, took off the wild ox's skin from his steaming carcass, and pour it to their master's castle. He, however, laid himself down under the shade of an oak tree close by, and sank into a deep reverie.

A rustling sound in the neighboring ferns woke him from his dreams, and, when he looked up, the tall figure of a woman stood before him, encircled by an unearthly shimmering light.

A snowy, trailing garment, bound by a golden girdle, draped her wondrous limbs; her flaxen locks shone through the transparent web that covered her head, and rich golden ornaments decked her neck and shoulders.

The young noble gazed in wonderment at his unknown visitor; he knew not where he was awake or whether he still slept, or whether the figure was but a creation of his own unconscious mind. But the more he looked at it the clearer did it become. It did not vanish; it was full of life.

"Hero of the Volsungs," Freya began, and her voice sounded not of the earth, but rang clear as a silver bell: "offspring of the Volsung race, why dost thou discolor thy blade with mere ox blood? Rather should it be tinged with Dragon's blood. He that lurks in Asgard's holy groves, and drains the mind and marrow of mankind was eager jaws. Dost thou not hear his coils rattle? Dost thou not see the ramparts he has erected? Go thou, brave youth, and slay with my strong arm the bane of Asgard that defies the holy gods. Odin ensures thee victory. A life ended in glory is a life lived long enough."

The noble youth hearkened to her words in silent rapture, for she gave utterance to what he had long craved to accomplish. He looked up to the eagle as it hovered above his head on out spread wings; but turned his eyes again to the vision of the fair woman, Lo! She had vanished out of sight!

No longer did he doubt, Freya herself or one of her maidens had brought to him great Odin's behest.

He forthwith sped through the wood to the Meeting of the Wise Men, and related all that he had heard and seen, and the task that had been set him. The men struck their shields in token of approval, and the quiet wood resounded again with the clash.

The crowd dispersed; each man returned to his native hamlet, and gathered together all the youths fit for war. In the third night they assembled, and, led by the youthful hero, fell upon the host of the Roman intruders, who were defeated in a bloody struggles that lasted three days.

Thus was the Roman Dragon, the bane of Asgard, slain, and the people delivered by the hero, Arminius.

Such was the concept of Freya among the Teutonic tribes. She was the mighty goddess who sat by the side of Odin on the high throne above the worlds, ruling over heaven and earth, guiding the fate of nations, allotting the issue of battles. Together with the Valkyries, or at their head, she hovered over the battlefield, and bestowed victory or a glorious death on the heroes. She shared the fallen warriors with her spouse, great Odin, and led those of her portion to Folkvang (folk-meadow) and to her radiant Hall, Sessrumnir (room of seats), where she dealt out to them the inspiring mead.

It seems also that she was more especially worshiped as Mother Earth, being identical with Nerthus, the Jord (Earth) of Scandinavia, who drove among the people in her sacred chariot, adorning the earth with fresh green, with blossoms and blades, making the seeds to thrive, and blessing the fruits of the field.

The Scandinavian myths made a decided distinction between Freya and Frigg. They held Frigg to be the highest amongst the goddesses, whilst to Freya the second place was given; Norway she looked upon as the wife of Odin. She was the daughter of the Wane-god Niorder, and sister of loving Freyer, who each year marries fair Gerda. As goddess of beauty and love, she blesses all lovers who turned to her with prayers and sacrifices; but when marriage was solemnized it was great Frigg whom the husband and wife were bound to invoke.

The South German races knew of no such distinction between the goddesses; so they regarded Friday, the day dedicated to Freya, as the fittest for a wedding, and this custom was not given up until the Christian priests convinced the people that the day on which the Savior was crucified must necessarily be an unlucky one. Yet they could not change the name of Friday, which still remains to this day.

At the time of King Hara’d lived Rerir, son of Thorkill the Redbeard. In all his warlike strength he strove against the king; but the battle went against him, and he sought shelter on a lonely isle.

Helga was his love; but her father, the King's chief warrior and his faithful vassal, despised the poor houseless outcast.

Rerir, full of longing to behold once more his loved Helga, built a small, strong boat, and boldly landed near the castle where she dwelt with her father.

She stood upon the beach, wistfully looking over the bounding billows, which suddenly tossed at her feet a tiny craft; Rerir leapt upon the shore, and stood by her side.

Tearfully she told him how her cruel father was about to force her into a marriage with a noble of the court, yet he vowed to him that none but he should ever have her love.

"Helga!" He cried, "a lonely isle
There lies beyond the foaming sea --
Bold rovers know the safe retreat --
O be thou mine, and fly with me!"

Trembling, yet half willing, she refused to go with him. Rerir, full of grief and deadly pale, sank brokenhearted to her feet, entreating her again in passionate words.

No longer could she bear to look upon the anguish that she gave her loved one, no longer could she withstand his glowing words that spake of rapture shared by each:

Down she steppeth with the hero
To the foaming wave-washed strand;
"Where thou wendest, my beloved,
Is alone my home, my land!"

And the gaily-colored vessel
Screens the youthful, loving pair;
Swelling sails and guiding rudder
Save the hero and his fair.

Hastening after them the vessels
Of her father quick pursue;
Far beyond them speed the lovers,
And the land is lost to view.

On the ocean's stormy bosom
Cast about, they fain would die;
And they wither like the blossom
That has met the Evil Eye.

Suddenly the piercing sunbeams
Burst the clouds, illuming all;
Lo! From out the heating billows
Rises Freya's blessed Hall.

Peacefully, without a struggle,
Enter the twain lovers in,
Quitting earth and life's hard battle;
Blessed day who Freya's Hall win!

Freya always bears the radiant necklace Brisingamen, the sparkling jewels of the heavens, the gaily-colored flowers of spring, when regarded as the goddess of nature and ruler of the world, or as Mother Earth. When the skalds dethroned her from her lofty height, humanizing her nature and her attributes, the myth arose which told how the necklace was gained.

Four skillful dwarves made it, according to the legend, in their underground smithy, and worked into it the most costly jewels that the earth produced, so that it glanced and glittered like the Sun herself. But Freya chanced to see it, and her eyes were almost blinded by its wondrous splendor. In exchange for it the dwarves asked nothing but her grace, which she extended to them, and thus gained the necklace.

The goddess of beauty and love was described as a maiden in the Northern poems; yet there is a myth according to which she was married to Odur, a scion of divine ancestry. She lived happily with him, and several lovely daughters blessed their union.

But Freya was to learn that happiness is not eternal; for Odur left her, and with him all joy and gladness passed out of her life.

All Nature's sorrowed for her; the flowers withered and faded, the leaves fell from the trees, the earth looked waste and gloomy. Freya moaned and wept day and night; her tears shone like golden drops of dew in the autumn sunshine. And so she spent the long winter miserable and alone in her deserted hall.

Then she could bear it no longer; she set out in search of her lost spouse, and wandered far and wide through distant lands and amongst strange nations. She sought her lover diligently, and found him at last in the evergreen fields where the golden fruit ripens in the myrtle blooms. She clasped him lovingly in her arms, and tears of joy, golden as the blaze of the new spring sun, fell from her eyes when he returned her love with love.

On their arrival home again on their native earth, they were received with the thousand-voiced song of birds; and the many-colored flowers and leafy trees whispered of love and of summertime.

The beautiful goddess strove with all the force of love to keep her husband by her side, that he should never leave her again; but all in vain, for when Virgo sank after the autumnal equinox, he once more left her and again wandered to the far country in the unknown distance.

In the Fiolswinn Lay the same idea underlies the whole poem.

Menglada (Jewel-gladness) awaits her bridegroom in her castle, which is guarded by grim Wolf-hounds and encircled by a wall of fire.

A watchman,Fiolswider (much-knower), stands at the entrance, and sees a stranger coming in the distance. He approaches, and seeks admittance. The watchman cries --

"This is no place for beggars; seek thou the damp and foggy highway, and begone."

To which the wanderer makes answer --

"What monster art thou, that guards the entrance; of what race canst thou be, who refuset hospitality to the weary traveler?"

"Fiolswider is my name, in that I am wise in cautious counsel. Therefore canst thou not enter this castle."

The wanderer cast a longing look towards the castle window, and replied --

"Unwillingly do I turn my eyes away, having once seen what I seek. Here, were glowing belt girds golden halls, could I find peace."

Then the watchman demands of him his name and race, and hears that he is Windkald (wind-cold), son of Warkald (spring-cold). The stranger asks who is the owner of the castle, and is informed that it belongs to Menglada; he asks what is the girdle that surrounds the castle like a wall of flame, and whether there is no way to tame the grim wolf-dogs that sit on guard; he asks, too, of the mountain on which the castle stands, of the nine maidens who sit before Menglada’s knee, and whether no man can enter the golden hall and go to her.

To all his questions he receives enigmatic replies, but to the last the watchman says that none can ever cross the threshold but young Swipdager, the expected bridegroom.

Thereupon he cries out --

"Throw open the gates, make way for the expected one! Swipdager has arrived, and seeks admittance!"

The watchman hastens to the Hall of Menglada, and tells her that a man has come calls himself Swipdager, whom the wolf dogs have joyfully greeted, before whom the castle gates have flung themselves wide open.

"May shining ravens tear out thine eyes if thou hast lied to me that my long-awaited lover has at last returned!" Cries the maiden joyously, and hurries towards the entrance. As soon as her eyes alight upon the stranger, she knows him as her lover, and flings her arms around him.

"Whither hast thou been? Whence hast thou come? What art thou called out there?"

He tells her that he has come upon the wind-cold (Windkald) way, that the unalterable word of the Norns had taken him thither and borne him hence.

And she responded --

"Welcome art thou back again! My wish is fulfilled. Long have I sat on the high hill, looking for thee by day, looking for thee by night. All that I longed for has at length come to pass, for thou art here again at my side."