Whither, alas, are my kinspeople gone?
Where is my giver of treasure and feasting?
Where are the joys of the hall I have known?
Ah, the bright cup--and the corseleted warrior--
Ah, the bright joy of a king's happy lot!
How the glad time has forever departed,
Swallowed in darkness, as though it were not!
Standeth, instead of the troop of young warriors,
Stained with the bodies of dragons, a wall--
The men were cut down in their pride by the spearpoints--