The pregnant sow be pleased to slay
That stands by yonder trough, I pray!”
The sow was slain; such was her doom;
They counted the pigs in the mother’s womb:
Skirnir, in troth, had guess’d aright,
For lo! nine farrow appear’d in sight.
The news threw Gestur into fits;
Too great for him was this mental shock:
Changed to a statue there he sits
For aye, upon that fatal rock!