previous next

[280] She sang: “The winds from Alfheim
     Bring never sound of strife;
The gifts for Frey the meetest
     Are not of death, but life.

“He loves the grass-green meadows,
     The grazing kine's sweet breath;
He loathes your bloody Horg-stones,
     Your gifts that smell of death.

“No wrong by wrong is righted,
     No pain is cured by pain;
The blood that smokes from Doom-rings
     Falls back in redder rain.

“The gods are what you make them,
     As earth shall Asgard prove;
And hate will come of hating,
     And love will come of love.

“Make dole of skyr and black bread
     That old and young may live;
And look to Frey for favor
     When first like Frey you give.

“Even now o'er Njord's sea-meadows
     The summer dawn begins:
The tun shall have its harvest,
     The fiord its glancing fins.”

Then up and swore Jarl Thorkell:
     “By Gimli and by Hel,
O Vala of Thingvalla,
     Thou singest wise and well!

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.

hide Places (automatically extracted)

View a map of the most frequently mentioned places in this document.

Download Pleiades ancient places geospacial dataset for this text.

hide People (automatically extracted)
Sort people alphabetically, as they appear on the page, by frequency
Click on a person to search for him/her in this document.
Frey (3)
Vala (1)
hide Display Preferences
Greek Display:
Arabic Display:
View by Default:
Browse Bar: