That rock, by stormy billows lash’d, doth stand
In the mid ocean, distant far from land.
As a still further punishment, he left
The traitors life, of all its joys bereft:
There haunts them still the ghost of Qvaser slain,
And hunger gnaws them with eternal pain.”
Frey sigh’d, young Skirnir smiled, and still his tale
Continued sprightly: “Suttung did not fail
To seize the vase fill’d with the precious juice,
For well he knew its value and its use;