Who wounds and glorious death eschew,
And basely from the combat fly.”
Then Thor: “We’ve reach’d th’ abode, I ween,
Of Hela, unforgiving queen;
O Lok! we now shall soon behold
Thy pale-blue daughter stern and cold.”
Then Lok grew pale, and trembling said:
“Let us return! I bitter rue
My grievous fault: O! how I dread
My frightful offspring’s face to view!”