Ye’ve exiled me from Valaskialf; asylum ye refuse;
But means of vengeance still I hold, and such I mean to use.
Like tree rubbing ’gainst tree in fell collision shall ye come,
Until a flame arise, and all your hated brood consume:
Then shall ye when too late, I trow, do honour to my skill:”
Thus did the traitor Lok the air with groans and curses fill.
“With force unmanageable works the purblind mountain race;
The Asar boast their virtue pure, combined with strength and grace:
If to an act of treachery I once could Thor incline,
Then cunning overreaches strength; the triumph then were mine;