8.

’Sure, if sword could venge

Such cruel wrong,

Evil times would wait gir, ocean-god.

That wind-giant’s brother

Were I strong to slay,

’Gainst him and his sea-brood

Battling would I go.

9.

’But I in no wise

Boast, as I ween,

Strength that may strive

With the stout ships’ Bane.

For to eyes of all

Easy now ’tis seen

How the old man’s lot

Helpless is and lone.

10.

’Me hath the main

Of much bereaved;

Dire is the tale,

The deaths of kin:

Since he the shelter

And shield of my house

Hied him from life

To heaven’s glad realm.