I must fare to my steeds of the sea;
Gay and glad is my heart in me.
Son of a king, I reck not at all
How my children hereafter strive and brawl!
Angantheow:
Long shalt thou hold and enjoy thy gain;
But keep in the scabbard Hjalmar’s bane.
Touch not the edges, with venom dight,
Worse than a plague to living wight.
Daughter, farewell! The power and pith
Fain would I endue thee with
Of us twelve men, the life and breath
The sons of Arngrim lost in death!
Herwor:
All is accomplished; I must not stay.
Hail, ye in the howe! I will away.
. . . . .
’Twixt life and death, methought, I found me,
When the flaming fire was all around me!
THE LAY OF THRYM
When Thor awoke, his wrath was grim
To find his hammer gone from him.
He shook his beard, he tossed his hair,
The Son of Earth sought here and there.
And first of all he spake this word:
“Listen, Loki! never was heard
In earth or heaven what now I say—
The Thunderer’s hammer is stolen away!”
To Freyja the fair their way they take,
And this is the word that first he spake:
“Lend me thy feather-fell, I pray,
To seek my hammer, that’s stolen away.”
“Were it of silver, or were it of gold,
That would I give thee, that should’st thou hold.”