The son of Othin, | once more to see;
From their caves in the east | beheld he coming
With Hymir the throng | of the many-headed.
[37]. He stood and cast | from his back the kettle,
And Mjollnir, the lover | of murder, he wielded;
. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
So all the whales | of the waste he slew.
[38]. Not long had they fared | ere one there lay
Of Hlorrithi’s goats | half-dead on the ground;
In his leg the pole-horse | there was lame;