The wine-halls molder, the wielder lies down
deprived of rejoicing, warband all fallen,
proud by the wall.
Thus the Shaper of men destroyed this earth-yard
until, lacking the cries, the revels of men,
old giants' work stood worthless.
Where is the horse? Where the young warrior? Where now the gift-giver?
Where are the feast-seats? Where all the hall-joys?
Alas for the bright cup! Alas byrnied warrior!
Alas the lord's glory! How this time hastens,
grows dark under night-helm, as it were not!