The noblest man and of greatest fame
Of all under Heaven's light.
Hervör:
On all you dead this curse I cry:—
Mouldering and rotting shall ye lie
With the spirits in the tomb!
Out of the barrow, Angantyr,
Give me the keen-edged Tyrfing here,
The sword called 'Hjalmar's Doom'!
Angantyr: