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Old Norse
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Sal sér hon standa
sólu fegra,
gulli þakðan
á Gimlé:
Þar skulu dyggvar
dróttir byggja
ok um aldrdaga
ynðis njóta.
Það man hon fólkvíg
fyrst í heimi
er Gullveig
geirum studdu
ok í höll Hárs
hana brenndu.
Þrysvar brenndu
þrysvar borna,
oft, ósjaldan;
þó hon enn lifir.
Surtr ferr sunnan
með sviga lævi,
skínn af sverði
sól valtíva;
grjótbjörg gnata
en gífr rata,
troða halir helveg
en himinn klofnar.
Þar kjömr inn dimmi
dreki fljúgandi,
naðr fránn, neðan
frá Niðafjöllum;
berr sér í fjöðrum,
flýgr völl yfir,
Níðhöggr nái,
nú mun hon sökkvaz.
Darkens
More fair than the sun,
a hall I see,
Roofed with gold,
on Gimlé it stands;
There shall the righteous
rulers dwell,
And happiness ever
there shall they have.
The war I remember,
the first in the world,
When the gods with spears
had smitten Gullveig,
And in the hall
of Hár had burned her,
Three times burned,
and three times born,
Oft and again,
yet ever she lives.
Surtr fares from the south
with the scourge of branches,
The sun of the battle-gods
shone from his sword;
The crags are sundered,
the giant-women sink,
The dead throng Hel-way,
and heaven is cloven.
From below the dragon
dark comes forth,
Níðhögg flying
from Niðafjöll;
The bodies of men on
his wings he bears,
The serpent bright:
but now must I sink.
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