Surtr fares from the south with switch-eating flame, On his sword shimmers the sun of the War-Gods; The rock-crags crash; the fiends are reeling; Heroes tread Hel-way; Heaven is cloven.
On their backs they let beam, sore battered with stones, Odin's hall-shingles, the shrewd sea-farers.
Of Ymir's flesh the earth was fashioned, And of his sweat the sea; Crags of his bones, trees of his hair, And of his skull the sky. Then of his brows the blithe gods made Midgard for sons of men; And of his brain the bitter-mooded Clouds were all created.
Untold ages ere earth was shapen, Then was Bergelmir born; That first I recall, how the famous wise giant On the deck of the ship was laid down.