168
PROSE EDDA
- 'Thou shalt not hold
- The stead of Hleidr,
- The red gold rings
- Nor the gods' holy altar;
- We grasp the handle,
- Maiden, more hardly,—
- We were not warmer
- In the wound-gore of corpses.
- 'My father's maid
- Mightily ground
- For she saw the feyness
- Of men full many;
- The sturdy posts
- From the flour-box started,
- Made staunch with iron.
- Grind we yet swifter.
- 'Grind we yet swifter!
- The son of Yrsa,
- Hálfdanr's kinsman,
- Shall come with vengeance
- On Fródi's head:
- Him shall men call
- Yrsa's son and brother.
- We both know that.'
