When Skirnir met them, he bared his sword,
(On the flow’rets the dew-drops shine)
And thus address’d them with threat’ning word:
“Hear me, little masters mine!
“By Odin’s order I crave your aid
(The sunbeams redden the sky)
For Fenris wolf a fetter to braid;
This instant your labours ply!
“If not, I will slay ye both, I swear.”
(The birds on the trees sing sweet)