Hjalmgunnar the Old, of the Gothic nation,
Great chief, on the pathway to Hell did I speed;
And victory granted to Auth's young brother;
Then Othin's dread fury was roused at my deed.
Then a phalanx of bucklers did Othin set round me
On Skatalund's heights, shields crimson and white,—
Bade only that prince break the slumber that bound me
Who knew naught of terror, nor shrank from the fight.
And flames high towering and fiercely raging
Round my Southern hall did he set in a ring: