2.

’Forth it flows but hardly;

For within my breast

Heaving sobbing stifles

Hindered stream of song

Blessed boon to mortals

Brought from Odin’s kin,

Goodly treasure, stolen

From Giant-land of yore.

3.

’He, who so blameless

Bore him in life,

O’erborne by billows

With boat was whelmed.

Sea-wavesflood that whilom

Welled from giant’s wound

Smite upon the grave-gate

Of my sire and son.

4.

’Dwindling now my kindred

Draw near to their end,

Ev’n as forest-saplings

Felled or tempest-strown.

Not gay or gladsome

Goes he who beareth

Body of kinsman

On funeral bier.