The sport, alas! hath cost him dear,
For, bitten from the wrist, his hand
In Fenris’ bloody jaws remain’d!
But the youth, still undaunted, thrust
The stump into a heap of dust,
And stretching out his arm on high,
He shouts with voice that rends the sky:
“Now first my strength innate I feel;
Hard was the trial, yet ’tis well.
Now to Vaulunder’s forge I’ll go,