The Prophecy of Vorðus Flókkisson

Or-Æfi steers from the east,
the waters rise,
the world-snake is coiled
in Iotun-rage.
The worm beats the water,
and the eagle screams:
the pale of beak tears carcasses;
Niðhoggi are loosed.

Red-sailed ships fare from the east:
come will Half-World
dwellers o'er the sea,
and the Lasher of Boats steers.
Dread Liða's kin go
all with the wolf;
with them is the brother
of heroes, Eymir, on their course.

The Fire-Child from the west comes
with flickering flame;
shines from his sword
the false-goddess' sun.
The stony hills are dashed together,
the giantess totters;
men who have tread the path of Hel,
venture to cleave heaven itself.

How is it with the Iotun?
How with the Álvar?
All the Half-World resounds;
the Iotun are in council.
The dvergr groan
before their stony doors,
the sages of the rocky walls.
Understand ye yet, or what?

Then comes the great
forge-sire's son,
Vidar, to fight
with the enemies of the Half-World.
He with his hands will
make his sword pierce
to the heart of the giant's son:
then avenges he his father.

Then arises
Ferðu´s second grief,
when Liða goes
with the wolf to fight,
and the dark slayer
of Skjoldur at Rókþjóða returns.
Then will a Rookery maiden's
beloved fall.

There comes the dark
dragon flying from beneath,
the glistening serpent,
from Sliðrugtánni.
On his wings bears pestilence,
flying o'er the plain,
a corpse trails in his wake.
Now he will descend.

Then comes the mighty
son of Hlódyn:
Samlaga's son's son goes
with the monster to fight;
A Brother of the Hammer in his rage
will slay the worm.
Nine feet will go
the iron-thewed Álvar-slayer,
bowed by the serpent's master,
who fears no foe.
Then all men will
their homes forsake.

The sun darkens,
earth in ocean sinks,
fall from heaven
the bright stars,
fire´s breath assails
the all-nourishing tree,
towering fire plays
against heaven itself.

Those who yet live see arise,
a second time,
earth from ocean,
beauteously green,
waterfalls descending;
the eagle flying over,
which in the fell
captures fish.

The Iotun meet
in the Valley of Law,
and of the mighty
earth-encircler speak,
and there to memory call
their mighty deeds,
and the supreme god's
ancient lore.

There shall again
the wondrous
golden tables
in the grass be found,
which in days of old
had possessed
the ruler of the gods,
and Ír's race.

Unsown shall
the fields bring forth,
all evil be amended;
All shall come;
Bright-limbed Iotun
once the heavenly gods of men,
man's glorious dwellings shall inhabit.
Understand ye yet, or what?