In mischief’s busy work the first,
In dust and ashes mouldering rot?
Are ye all mute? For Hervor’s sake,
Herwarder, Herwarder, awake!
So may you, then, dishonoured lie,
Till rank corruption putrefy,
Unless ye give the belt and blade
By dwarfs for Swafurlami made.
[Here the tomb opens, the inside of which is all fire, and the following dialogue is chaunted:—]
Angantyr.