Staggers nine paces; and sinks down in death!
So heart-appalling is thy dying look,
O Thor! th’ Asynior all expire of grief:
They feel it like a dagger in their heart.
Garm destroys Tyr; but Tyr in dying pierces
The monster’s heart: now from his lurking-place,
Like cat, springs Lok, and brandishes on high
A sulfurous torch from Nastrond; on his brow
Glitters a brazen helm: Heimdaller moves
’Gainst him with sword uplifted, one blow strikes,