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Are the sons of Andgrym, who delighted in mischief, now become dust and ashes? Can none of Eyvor’s sons now speak with me out of the habitations of the dead? Hervardur, Hiorvardur!
So may you all be, within your ribs, as a thing that is hanged up to putrefy among infects, unless you deliver me the sword, which the dwarfs made, * * * and the glorious belt.
[Here the tomb opens, the inside of which appears all on fire, and the following words are sung out of the tomb.]
Angantyr.
Daughter Hervor, full of spells to raise the dead, why doest thou call so?
