xicating perfume.

On these small islands which lie round about the great western island
of Hibernia, the air is always mild; the snow seldom there remains
lying on the land, and only slightly, and for a short time are the
streams frozen.

And the singing birds which elsewhere retreat before the frost, rest
for the winter in these retreats, where meadows, shrubs, and trees,
remain green even in the severest seasons. For it rains often there,
and moist is the breath of the billows rolling around.

And the heathen people, therefore, call these islands "Baldur's
Islands," for Baldur they name the God of the spring dawning.

And as Halfred climbed up the hill from the shore, all the underwood
and sweet-springing thorns were in full bloom; white thorn and red
thorn and black thorn and the wild roses.

And also the many splendid fruit trees which the Roman heroes had
brought with them from the south and the east, were in full bloom.

And from every shrub and tree resounded the sweet tones of the grey
brown singing bird, which the Latins call "Luscinia," the Greeks
"Philomela," but we, the "Nightingale."

And Halfred strode upwards and inland, by the side of a clear rapid
stream, which flowed over white pebbles, through light green copsewood.
On the height he came to a transparent copse of alders, young beeches,
and slender white birches. There lovely broad-winged butterflies
flitted over the beautiful flowers in the sunny glades. Deep in the
thicket sang the thrush. The tops and pliant boughs of the birches
nodded and waved.

And then there came to him, borne on the morning wind, yet other sounds
than the song of the nightingale, far clearer and softer, as from the
lightly-touched strings of a harp; but which sounded far more beautiful
than any harp playing, either of his own or any other Skald, which he
had ever heard.

And from high above, as if from heaven, the tones appeared to come.
Halfred followed the sounds, which powerfully moved and allured him.

No sound since the last dying shriek of his harp had reached his soul
through his ears. These harp tones aroused his soul. He believed that
elves or Bragi, the song God, were harping in the air.

He wished not to scare the singer, but to listen. Softly he passed on,
choosing his steps; the wood-grass betrayed him not, for it was soft,
long, and thick.

He had now come quite near to the sound, yet still he saw not the
singer. Cautiously he parted the thick whi