"Better take your Apples with you, to compare them with the others,"
said the wily god, as she prepared to go.
Idun gathered up the golden Apples and went out of Asgard, carrying with
her all that made it heaven. No sooner was she beyond the gates than a
mighty rushing sound was heard, like the coming of a tempest, and before
she could think or act, the giant Thjasse, in his eagle plumage, was
bearing her swiftly away through the air to his desolate, icy home in
Thrymheim, where, after vainly trying to persuade her to let him eat the
Apples and be forever young like the gods, he kept her a lonely
prisoner.
Loki, after keeping his promise and delivering Idun into the hands of
the giant, strayed back into Asgard as if nothing had happened. The next
morning, when the gods assembled for their feast, there was no Idun. Day
after day went past, and still the beautiful goddess did not come.
Little by little the light of youth and beauty faded from the home of
the gods, and they themselves became old and haggard. Their strong,
young faces were lined with care and furrowed by age, their raven locks
passed from gray to white, and their flashing eyes became dim and
hollow. Brage, the god of poetry, could make no music while his
beautiful wife was gone he knew not whither.
Morning after morning the faded light broke on paler and ever paler
faces, until even in heaven the eternal light of youth seemed to be
going out forever.
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