Fragment of “The Short Voluspo”

Eleven in number | the gods were known, When Baldr o’er the hill | of death was bowed; And this to avenge | was Vali swift, When his brother’s slayer | soon he slew.

The father of Baldr | was the heir of Bur, . . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .

Freyr’s wife was Gerth, | the daughter of Gymir, Of the giants’ brood, | and Aurbotha bore her; To these as well | was Thjazi kin, The dark-loving giant; | his daughter was Skathi.

Much have I told thee, | and further will tell; There is much that I know;— | wilt thou hear yet more?

Heith and Hrossthjof, | the children of Hrimnir. . . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .

The sybils arose | from Vitholf’s race, From Vilmeith all | the seers are, And the workers of charms | are Svarthofthi’s children, And from Ymir sprang | the giants all.

Much have I told thee, | and further will tell; There is much that I know;— | wilt thou hear yet more?

One there was born | in the bygone days, Of the race of the gods, | and great was his might; Nine giant women, | at the world’s edge, Once bore the man | so mighty in arms.

Gjolp there bore him, | Greip there bore him, Eistla bore him, | and Eyrgjafa, Ulfrun bore him, | and Angeyja, Imth and Atla, | and Jarnsaxa.

Strong was he made | with the strength of earth, With the ice-cold sea, | and the blood of swine.

One there was born, | the best of all, And strong was he made | with the strength of earth; The proudest is called | the kinsman of men Of the rulers all | throughout the world.

Much have I told thee, | and further will tell; There is much that I know;— | wilt thou hear yet more?

The wolf did Loki | with Angrbotha win, And Sleipnir bore he | to Svathilfari; The worst of marvels | seemed the one That sprang from the brother | of Byleist then.

A heart ate Loki,— | in the embers it lay, And half-cooked found he | the woman’s heart;— With child from the woman | Lopt soon was, And thence among men | came the monsters all.

The sea, storm-driven, | seeks heaven itself, O’er the earth it flows, | the air grows sterile; Then follow the snows | and the furious winds, For the gods are doomed, | and the end is death.

Then comes another, | a greater than all, Though never I dare | his name to speak; Few are they now | that farther can see Than the moment when Othin | shall meet the wolf.