The Younger Edda; Also called Snorre's Edda, or The Prose...

Now are come To the house of the king The prescient two, Fenja and Menja. There must the mighty Maidens toil For King Frode, Fridleif’s son.

Brought to the mill Soon they were; The gray stones They had to turn. Nor rest nor peace He gave to them: He would hear the maidens Turn the mill.

They turned the mill, The prattling stones The mill ever rattling. What a noise it made! Lay the planks! Lift the stones!98 But he99 bade the maids Yet more to grind.

They sang and swung The swift mill-stone, So that Frode’s folk Fell asleep. Then, when she came To the mill to grind, With a hard heart And with loud voice Did Menja sing:

We grind for Frode Wealth and happiness, And gold abundant On the mill of luck. Dance on roses! Sleep on down! Wake when you please! That is well ground.

Here shall no one Hurt the other, Nor in ambush lie, Nor seek to kill; Nor shall any one With sharp sword hew, Though bound he should find His brother’s bane.

They stood in the hall, Their hands were resting; Then was it the first Word that he spoke: Sleep not longer Than the cuckoo on the hall, Or only while A song I sing:

Frode! you were not Wary enough,— You friend of men,— When maids you bought! At their strength you looked, And at their fair faces, But you asked no questions About their descent.

Hard was Hrungner And his father; Yet was Thjasse Stronger than they, And Ide and Orner, Our friends, and The mountain-giants’ brothers, Who fostered us two.

Not would Grotte have come From the mountain gray, Nor this hard stone Out from the earth; The maids of the mountain-giants Would not thus be grinding If we two knew Nothing of the mill.

Through winters nine Our strength increased, While below the sod We played together. Great deeds were the maids Able to perform; Mountains they From their places moved.

The stone we rolled From the giants’ dwelling, So that all the earth Did rock and quake. So we hurled The rattling stone, The heavy block, That men caught it.

In Svithjod’s land Afterward we Fire-wise women, Fared to the battle, Byrnies we burst, Shields we cleaved, Made our way Through gray-clad hosts.

One chief we slew, Another we aided,— To Guthorm the Good Help we gave. Ere Knue had fallen Nor rest we got. Then bound we were And taken prisoners.

Such were our deeds In former days, That we heroes brave Were thought to be. With spears sharp Heroes we pierced, So the gore did run And our swords grew red.

Now we are come To the house of the king, No one us pities. Bond-women are we. Dirt eats our feet, Our limbs are cold, The peace-giver100 we turn. Hard it is at Frode’s.

The hands shall stop, The stone shall stand; Now have I ground For my part enough. Yet to the hands No rest must be given, ’Till Frode thinks Enough has been ground.

Now hold shall the hands The lances hard, The weapons bloody,— Wake now, Frode! Wake now, Frode! If you would listen To our songs,— To sayings old.

Fire I see burn East of the burg,— The warnews are awake. That is called warning. A host hither Hastily approaches To burn the king’s Lofty dwelling.

No longer you will sit On the throne of Hleidra And rule o’er red Rings and the mill. Now must we grind With all our might, No warmth will we get From the blood of the slain.

Now my father’s daughter Bravely turns the mill. The death of many Men she sees. Now broke the large Braces ’neath the mill,— The iron-bound braces. Let us yet grind!

Let us yet grind! Yrsa’s son Shall on Frode revenge Halfdan’s death. He shall Yrsa’s Offspring be named, And yet Yrsa’s brother. Both of us know it.

The mill turned the maidens,— Their might they tested; Young they were, And giantesses wild. The braces trembled. Then fell the mill,— In twain was broken The heavy stone.

All the old world Shook and trembled, But the giant’s maid Speedily said: We have turned the mill, Frode! Now we may stop. By the mill long enough The maidens have stood.