Even as bees upon roses; the poet was thinking of Brage,*

*(Bra'-gay)

Brage with silver beard flowing, and tongue clothed in wisdom the choicest,
Sitting 'neath shadowy birches, telling a story by Mimer's
Unceasingly murmuring fountain, he too a saga unending.
Covered with straw was the floor, and upon a walled hearth in the center,
Constantly burned, warm and cheerful, a fire, while down the wide chimney
Twinkling stars, heavenly friends, glanced upon guest and hall, quite
unforbidden.

Studded with nails were the walls, and upon them were hanging
Helmets and coats-of-mail closely together; also between them
Here and there flashed down a sword, like a meteor shooting at evening.
Brighter than helmet or sword were the sparkling shields ranged round the
chamber;
Bright as the time of the sun were they, clear as the moon's disc of silver.
Oft as the horns needed filling, there passed round the table a maiden;
Modestly blushing she cast down her eyes, her beautiful image
Mirrored appeared in the shields, and gladdened the heart of each warrior.

Rich was the house, and the eye of the stranger, whichever way gazing,
Rested on cellar well filled, or on pantry or press overflowing.
Jewels the rarest, trophies of conquest, gleamed in profusion;
Gold carved in runes with great skill, and wonderful things wrought in silver.
Chief in this limitless treasure three things were most of all valued.

First of the three was a sword, which from sire and from grandsire descended.
Called Angervadil, or grief-wader, sometimes, too, brother of lightning.