Old is the gate, | but few there are
Who can tell how it tightly is locked.
[23]. Five hundred doors | and forty there are,
I ween, in Valhall’s walls;
Eight hundred fighters | through one door fare
When to war with the wolf they go.
[24]. Five hundred rooms | and forty there are
I ween, in Bilskirnir built; [[94]]
Of all the homes | whose roofs I beheld,
My son’s the greatest meseemed.