The icy teeth of the frost giant
Clamp cruelly down on the mead hall.
Hothur has us in his thrall.
House-Karls, quick, fetch fir logs!
Stir up the fire in the hearth!
We’ll pour full measures of strong mead
Into our drinking horns and sing sagas
Of bold heroes outfacing past winters
Until the giant relents and ice turns to rain.
