In hearts of skalds, where small they dwell,
As Aslög[H] in King Heimer’s harp,
Till summoned they come forth as she,
Betraying god-like pedigree
In dazzling raiment, gestures high,
And golden hair, and kingly eye.
Ah! full with golden lyres is hung
The heaven of our childhood’s hours,
And all that skalds may since have sung,
As great as heroes, small as flowers,