The Hall of Ydalir had stood
Among the yews of Autumn Wood.
The winter season
Forsook its reason
With treason,
Paid in blood.

Before the skill of Eitri’s hand
The Vatlings had been forced to stand
Against a hammer
Of lightning clamor
And glamor
Gold and grand.

But Vate’s three sons were quick to smith
A sword and cup for Odin's kith,
Of richer stuff
Than hammer rough --
Enough
To counter with.

O, Vate was felled by Odin's malice
'Gainst the Vatling sword and chalice,
And Aesír's greed
For Kvasir’s mead
Did bleed
The Autumn Palace.

And from the Keepers of the Ford
The Skjoldungs stole the Mighty Sword,
Good Weyland's pride.
They vainly tried
To hide
The alfr's hoard.

The future of that Eldritch Blade
That Horvendil and Weyland made,
Of Mjollnir's might,
Will hide from sight
And fight
When it is bade.