Skáldskaparmál

The Chariot-God, who swiftly
Wrought grief to the Giant's bench-thanes.

He to whom hosts make offering
Hewed down the dolt-like dwellers
Of the cloud-abyss of Elf-Home,
Crushing them with the fragment
Of Grídr's Rod: the litter
Of hawks, the race of Listi
Could not harm the help-strong
Queller of Ella's Stone-Folk.]

How shall I make voice-payment
Meetly for the shield-bridge

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Of the war-wall Thórleifr gave me?
I survey the truceless faring
Of the three gods strife-foremost,
And Thjatsi's, on the shining
Cheek of the shield of battle.

The Spoiler of the Lady
Swiftly flew with tumult
To meet the high god-rulers
Long hence in eagle-plumage;
The erne in old days lighted
Where the Æsir meat were bearing
To the fire-pit; the Giant
Of the rocks was called no faint-heart.

The skilful god-deceiver
To the gods proved a stern sharer
Of bones: the high Instructor
Of Æsir, helmet-hooded,
Saw some power checked the seething;
The sea-mew, very crafty,

Spake from the ancient tree-trunk;
Loki was ill-willed toward him.

The wolfish monster ordered
Meili's Sire to deal him
Food from the holy trencher:
The friend of Him of Ravens
To blow the fire was chosen;
The Giant-King, flesh-greedy,
Sank down, where the guileless
Craft-sparing gods were gathered.

The comely Lord of All Things
Commanded Loki swiftly
To part the bull's-meat, slaughtered
By Skadi's ringing bow-string,
Among the folk, but straightway
The cunning food-defiler
Of the Æsir filched the quarters,
All four, from the broad table.

And the hungry Sire of Giants
Savagely ate the yoke-beast
From the oak-tree's sheltering branches,-
That was in ancient ages,-
Ere the wise-minded Loki,
Warder of war-spoil, smote him,
Boldest of foes of Earth-Folk,
With a pole betwixt the shoulders.

The Arm-Burden then of Sigyn,
Whom all the gods in bonds see,

Firmly forthwith was fastened
To the Fosterer of Skadi;
To Jötunheim's Strong Dweller
The pole stuck, and the fingers
Of Loki too, companion
Of Hoenir, clung to the pole's end.

The Bird of Blood flew upward
(Blithesome in his quarry)
A long way off with Loki,
The lither God, that almost
Wolf's Sire was rent asunder;
Thor's friend must sue for mercy,
Such peace as he might purchase
To pray: nigh slain was Loptr.

Then Hymir's Kinsman ordered
The crafty god, pain-maddened,
To wile to him the Maiden
Who warded the Æsir's age-cure;
Ere long the necklace-robber,
Brísinga's thief, lured slyly
The Dame of Brunnakr's brooklet
Into the Base One's dwelling.

At that the steep slope-dwellers
No sorrow felt; then Idunn
Was from the south, by giants
New-stolen, come among them.
All Ingvi-Freyr's high kindred,
Hoary and old, to council