Oðinn’s attempts to woo Rindr fail three times 
though her royal father approves. 
Rindr  — of yellow hair, pert chin, eyes the blue of old ice, 
and womanly form — feels no desire for dalliance with this deity.  
His brash masculinity, coarse manners, offend. 
Often drunk, always ego-driven,
and with the juice of goat meat, breadcrumbs, 
and mead festooning his beard,
he disgusts her. 
She rebuffs his rough advances,
dances aside when he lunges, 
turns her face when he tries to apply sloppy lips 
to her pristine and comely face. She knows,  
he only wants a son to replace the slain Balder,
and she won’t be his brood mare.  

So Oðinn resorts to magic… 
He begs Frejya for spells and incantations  to weaken a woman’s will.  
To make him cease wedeling, Frejya,  
Goddess of Love, Divination and Magic,  
relents — only to later regret.  
Poor Rindr falls prey,
so sick, dizzy, and unable to eat
she takes to her bed. 
Vekka, an old woman and healer petitions King Billing —
“I can help her, but my cure is bitter.”   

Oðinn lies in both words appearance.
Rindr’s father binds her to her bed  
so she’ll swallow the bitter draught, 
then leaves Vekka to her frightful work.  
Lifting his robe shows Rindr Oðinn’s deceit.  
Her father ignores Rindr’s shrikes and pleadings; 
he thinks she fights Vekka’s dosing. 
Indeed, she does!  

No love suffuses Oðinn’s treatment 
as he forces himself upon his bound victim.  
No gentle wooing accompanies his approach.  
This bitter dose leaves Rindz with nightmares 
of Vekka’s medicine, of pain and humiliation.  
Worse yet, when her menses cease and her breasts ache 
she knows the full nature of the draught.
Oðinn will have his new son.    

But Frejya sees Oðinn’s work, his deception.  
The court of Gods and Goddesses condemns.
Despite achieving his goal,
Oðinn is cast out, shunned for ten years, 
a grievous sentence.  
Even so, valid grudges remain.    

Oðinn’s honor suffers
and repugnance of his crime
makes him outcast,
but justice is only partly served.