Now over hill and dale he flew, quite joyous at the thought,
And passing through the hard-wood grove, soon reach’d the mountain grot:
There at the entrance of a cave sat Thrymur, giant-king,
Around a bunch of arrows sharp twining a golden string:
Red ribbands in his courser’s mane then did he interlace,
While the full moon pour’d streams of light adown his dusky face.
Into the field the giant look’d, and seeing Lok, cried out:
“Ha! welcome here! thou smallest toe in mighty Odin’s foot!
To visit us poor folks below doth Loptur condescend?
What pleasure can an Asa find in our dark goblin-land?