My helm unbruised in fight remains:
And, be he dwarf or giant fell,
Whom Miölner strikes, it ends his pains.”
Now to the earth they swift descend;
The birds sing gaily in the wood,
And every flower its head doth bend,
Owning the presence of a god.
The sun now sinks beneath the main,
The night obscures its parting rays;
Rolling athwart the starry plain,