So slung we

The whirling stone,
The mighty boulder,
Till men took it.

'And soon after
In Sweden's realm,
We twain fore-knowing
Strode to the fighting;

Bears we hunted,

And shields we broke;
We strode through

The gray-mailed spear-host.

'We cast down a king,

We crowned another;

To Gotthormr good
We gave assistance;
No quiet was there
Ere Knúi fell.

This course we held
Those years continuous,
That we were known
For warriors mighty;
There with sharp spears
Wounds we scored,
Let blood from wounds,
And reddened the brand.

Now are we come
To the king's abode

Of mercy bereft

And held as bond-maids;
Clay eats our foot-soles,

Cold chills us above;

We turn the Peace-Grinder: 'T is gloomy at Fródi's.

'Hands must rest,

The stone must halt;
Enough have I turned,
My toil ceases:
Now may the hands
Have no remission

Till Fródi hold

The meal ground fully.

'The hands should hold

The hard shafts,

The weapons gore-stained,Wake thou, Fródi!

Wake thou, Fródi,

If thou wouldst hearken

To the songs of us twain
And to ancient stories.

Fire I see burning
East of the burg,
War-tidings waken,
A beacon of warning:
A host shall come

Hither, with swiftness,

And fire the dwellings
Above King Fródi.

'Thou shalt not hold
The stead of Hleidr,
The red gold rings
Nor the gods' holy altar;
We grasp the handle,
Maiden, more hardly,-

We were not warmer

In the wound-gore of corpses.

'My father's maid

Mightily ground

For she saw the feyness

Of men full many;

The sturdy posts

From the flour-box started,

Made staunch with iron.

Grind we yet swifter.

'Grind we yet swifter! The son of Yrsa, Hálfdanr's kinsman,

Shall come with vengeance

On Fródi's head:

Him shall men call

Yrsa's son and brother.

We both know that.'

The maidens ground,
Their might they tested,

Young and fresh

In giant-frenzy:

The bin-poles trembled,

And burst the flour-box;

In sunder burst

The heavy boulder.

And the sturdy bride
Of Hill-Giants spake:
'We have ground, O Fródi!
Soon we cease from grinding;
The women have labored
O'er long at the grist.'

Thus sang Einarr Skúlason:

So sang Egill:

I have heard that Fródi's hand-maids
Ground in the mill full gladly

The Serpent's Couch; with gold-meal
The king lets peace be broken:
The fair cheeks of my axe-head,
Fitted with maple, show forth
Fenja's Grist; exalted

Is the skald with the good king's riches.

Glad are full many men
In Fródi's meal.]

XLIII. "Why is gold called Kraki's Seed? In Denmark there was a king called Hrólfr Kraki: he was most re