Sprinkled with Finnafenger’s blood,
He sat him down by Ægir’s gate,
Preparing for the stern debate
With shameless front and accent rude.
Spite of his visage blood-besmear’d,
He rose and enter’d the saloon;
Around him insolent he stared,
And thus he spoke in jeering tone.
“Now hail to ye, ye Disar all!
Hail to ye, gods! Valhalla’s powers!