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Go ye to greet the Prince;
For a king who seemeth
A champion cometh
To the hall hither.

Thus sang Kormakr:

The Giver of Lands, who bindeth
The sail to the top, with gold-lace
Honors him who pours god's verse-mead;
Odin wrought charms on Rindr.

Thus sang Steinthorr:

Much have I to laud

The ancient-made (though little)

Liquor of the valiant

Load of Gunnlod's arm-clasp.

Thus sang Olfr Uggason:

There I think the Valkyrs follow,
And ravens, Victorious Odin
To the blood of holy Baldr.
With old tales the hall was painted.

Thus sang Egill Skallagrimsson:

No victims for this
To Vili's brother,
The High-God, I offer,
Glad to behold him;

Yet has Mimir's friend °J - "uo

On me bestowed / / --

Amends of evil ""}"/'

Which I account better. *••*

He has given me the art—
He, the Wolf's Opposer,
Accustomed to battle,—
Of blemish blameless.

Here he is called High God, and Friend of Mimir, and
Adversary of the Wolf.
Thus sang Refr:

Swift God of Slain, that wieldeth
The snowy billow's wave-hawks,
The ships that drive the sea-road,
To thee we owe the dwarves' drink.

Thus sang Einarr Tinkling-Scale:

'T is mine to pour the liquor
Of the Host-God's mead-cask freely
Before the ships' swift Speeder:
For this I win no scorning.

Thus sang Ulfr Uggason:

His steed the lordly Heimdallr
Spurs to the pyre gods builded
For the fallen son of Odin,
The All-Wise Raven-Ruler.

This is saii'irT'/ftrilstnal:

-Cf' What dream is that? quoth Odin,-
I thought to rise ere day-break
To make Valhall ready
For troops of slain;
I roused the champions,
Bade them rise swiftly
Benches to strew,
To wash beer-flagons;
The Valkyrs to pour wine,
As a Prince were coming.

Kormakr sang this:

I pray the precious Ruler
Of Yngvi's people, o'er me
To hold his hand, bow-shaking.
Hroptr bore with him Gungnir.

Thoralfr sang this:

The Mighty One of Hlidskjalf
Spake his mind unto them
Where the hosts of fearless
Harekr were slaughtered.

Thus sang Eyvindr:

The mead which forth
From Surtr's sunk dales
The Strong-through-spells
Swift-flying bore.

So sang Bragi:

'Tis seen, on my shield's surface,
How the Son of the Father of Peoples
Craved to try his strength full swiftly
'Gainst the rain-beat Snake earth-circling.

Thus sang Einarr:

Since less with Bestla's Offspring
Prevail most lordly princes
Than thou, my task is singing
Thy praise in songs of battle.

Thus sang Thorvaldr Blending-Skald:

Now have I much
In the middle grasped
Of the son of Borr,
Of Burt's heir.

III. "Now you shall hear how the skalds have termed the art of poesy in these metaphorical phrases which have been recorded before: for example, by calling it Kvasir's Gore and Ship of the Dwarves, Dwarves' Mead, Mead of the iEsir, Giants' Father-Ransom, Liquor of Odrerir and of Bodn and of Son, and Fullness of these, Liquor of Hnitbjorg, Booty and Find and Gift of Odin, even as has been sung in these verses which Einarr Tinkling-Scalewrought:

I pray the high-souled Warder
Of earth to hear the Ocean
Of the Cliff of Dwarves, my verses:
Hear, Earl, the Gore of Kvasir.

And as Einarr Tinkling-Scale sang further:

The Dwarves' Crag's Song-wave rushes

O'er all the dauntless shield-host

Of him who speeds the fury

Of the shield-wall's piercing sword-bane.

Even as Ormr Steinthorsson sang:

The body of the dame
And my dead be borne
Into one hall; the Drink
Of Dvalinn, Franklins, hear.

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I reveal the Thought's Drink
Of the Rock-Folk to Thorsteinn;
The Billow of the Dwarf-Crag
Plashes; I bid men hearken.

Even as Egill sang:

The Prince requires my lore,
And bound his praise to pour,
Odin's Mead I bore
To English shore.

And as Glumr Geirason sang:

Let the Princely Giver hearken:
I hold the God-King's liquor;

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