In fetters Lok of Utgard lay.
But vain the giant monarch’s doom,
Naught can his stubborn hate control;
Here in the midst of cold and gloom
Fresh thoughts of vengeance fire his soul.
Like singed threads his chains he rends,
Bursts through the surface of the earth,
To Upsala his course he bends,
Of Northern gods the sacred hearth;
He there extinguishes the fire,