Hér hefk hávan reistan
harðgeðjuðum varða
Dolls í døkkum helli
draug; leitak svá bauga.
Eigi veitk, hverr ýta
unnskíða ferr síðan
langa braut ok ljóta
leið of vatn it breiða.

I shape heaped-up shingle
to house thought-threats rising
from Doll’s sea-dark soul-cave.
I’ll dare death for treasure –
will you? Who’ll – grim-purposed
wave-swimmer – launch himself
into ill-starred eel-pools,
hunt my stilled wake, quaking?