On a hill there sat, | and smote on his harp,
Eggther the joyous, | the giants’ warder;
Above him the cock | in the bird-wood crowed,
Fair and red | did Fjalar stand.
Then to the gods | crowed Gollinkambi,
He wakes the heroes | in Othin’s hall;
And beneath the earth | does another crow,
The rust-red bird | at the bars of Hel.
