How the whole wealth of the world lieth waste,
How through the earth the lone walls are still standing,
Blown by the wind and despoiled and defaced.
Covered with frost, the proud dwellings are ruined,
Crumbled the wine-halls--the king lieth low,
Robbed of his pride--and his troop have all fallen
Proud by the wall--some, the spoil of the foe,
War took away--and some the fierce sea-fowl
Over the ocean--and some the wolf gray
Tore after death--and yet others the hero