here's little need for me to say
The course of birth at last was run.
Young Grimhild bore a boy one day
And named him Signar Grimhildsson¹.

Now let me tell you how those three
Survived within that far-flung place.
It's not so strange, for as you see,
Upon that isle there lived a race

Of hearty deer both tall and strong,
A thousand thousand, seemingly.
And guarding this enormous throng
Of does, a stag. Immense was he,

Full eight feet tall, with antlers like
A pair of elms atop his head
That were, in turn, arrayed with spikes --
Each tipped a threat'ning, bloody red.

There also lived, 'mid Iceland's crags,
A wolf pack of ferocious bent.
Though they could not defeat the stag,
Their stomachs were not uncontent.

Whene'er that stag would fall to sleep
The wolves would know 'twas time to go.
They'd stalk up to the herd and leap
Upon an unsuspecting doe.

Both wolves and deer were in designs
Set down to help sustain that pair
Of people Odin had consigned
Unto the giantess's care.

Arrangements for their food were made
Ere Grimhild's waking day was near;
Jarnsaxa met the pack and bade
Them swear to also bring her deer.

So oft, when morning's nascent light
Shone down upon their wilderness,
Jarnsaxa'd greet the welcome sight
Of new-killed deer that she would dress.

The years passed by, as they will do,
And Signar was an oak, indeed.
Resemblance to his father grew
Both women, mutely, would concede.

His eyes were blue, like sapphires bright,
His hair a crown of reddest flame.
But most impressive was the sight
Of Signar's massive, stalwart frame.

No man could match his strength or size
When he was but of fifteen years.
His godlike shoulders, tree-trunk thighs,
And hulking arms surpassed his peers.

Above, where Aesir² watched the earth,
One saw the boy and was afraid.
For Loki³ knew, from Signar's birth,
He'd threaten all the plans he'd laid.

No warrior ever could contend
Against a full-grown son of Thor⁴.
So thoughts of bringing Signar's end
Brought Loki down to Iceland's shore.

He met the wolves upon that isle
And spoke to them these wily words:
"For all your strength and all your bile,
You're thralls of one mere boy. Absurd!

"Have you no shame or just no pride?
Or do you just enjoy the chore?"
"It's not our choice," the wolves replied,
"Jarnsaxa bade us, and we swore

"To give them food until the day
That both of them were gone from here."
So Loki answered, "But, I pray,
Do you not toil for just one deer?

"Is braving death for only that
Enough for any wolf to face?
But now, because of one mere brat,
The work is doubled for your race.

"You've suffered much for no good cause.
For Signar could learn hunting skills.
You've teeth like blades and rending claws
Designed to cure these pointless ills."

"We've promises to keep as yet;
We'll keep them well," the wolves all said.
But Loki said, "Your oath is met,
For they've been well and truly fed.

"But now, I ask you, did you swear
You'd do no harm to either one?
For, thus, your oath will still be there
And contracts will not be undone."

The wolves agreed this was quite true,
They did not swear to spare their lives.
Their plot was set, but Loki knew
A larger force must be contrived.

The stag was likewise brought to bear
By talk of losses to his herd.
And so an army was prepared
Through Loki's convoluted words.

Outside the glowing firelight
Of one small house upon that isle,
They met upon a moonless night,
The stag and wolves as rank and file.

The stag struck once, the door was riven,
The silence burst by battle's din.
Then, through the breach that they'd been given,
The wolves attacked the host within.

Straight to the bed where Grimhild slept,
A she-wolf ran with frightful haste.
She reached the sleeping form and leapt,
Desirous of sweet lifeblood's taste.

A hand ensnared that she-wolf's fur
When she had nearly gained her prize.
The last she saw of life on earth
Were Signar's flashing, hate-filled eyes.

He smashed her skull upon the floor
As though it were a nut's thin shell.
And as the rest rushed through the door,
They all were, likewise, quickly felled.

He snapped their jaws, he broke their backs,
He strangled, crushed and tore in twain.
He happ'ly laughed at their attacks,
As though it was some gleeful game.

The wolves lay dead. They were no more.
Young Signar killed them all that night.
And then he ran out through the door,
To find more enemies to fight.

The stag hit Signar on the run,
His forehead battered Signar's breast.
But Signar's battle was not done,
Despite the crackings in his chest.

The boy was in most baleful strife,
He seemed as one to soon be mourned.
Yet Signar clung for dearest life
With arms wrapped 'round the deer's great horns.

Those antlers kept that stag from harm.
Those antlers tipped their bloody red.
Those antlers grasped by Signar's arms.
Those antlers torn from off his head!

The stag erupted with lament.
He rolled down on his side and yielded.
Defenses gone, his life was spent,
For Signar was the one who wielded

Those mighty antlers, like two spears.
Triumphantly, he swung them 'round,
Then plunged them straight into the deer.
The stag expired without a sound.