When they, upon love’s pinions, were wafted from the vale
Of bitter care and sorrow to bright Gladheimasal.
While Valaskialf is shrouded by mists and noisome dews,
In th’ absence of the apple, that youth and strength renews,
The giants, wild rejoicing, in arms all ready stand
To lay waste proud Valhalla with vengeful sword and brand.
The first who thought on vengeance with helm and buckler bright
Was giant Thiasse’s daughter, mischievous Skada hight:
Clad in her brazen armour, to Valhall’s gate she came,
And knew not that her father had perish’d in the flame.