Shall lend their industry:
For us the sons of light ’tis they
That forge the weapons good,
And those same weapons shall one day
Be colour’d with your blood.
“Behold this hammer! from its blow
The tide of death bursts forth:
’Twas a dwarf’s gift; this girdle too!
I’ve prov’d, methinks, its worth.”
Thus said, the hero brandish’d high