Sunday night, twelve weeks before winter,
the world is in a smoky haze.
Suddenly there appears a rider in the East,
brandishing flame.
"I ride an icy stallion, fire at each end
and poison at the centre;
you won't hear my words as I scream into the darkness:
his plans are like a firebrand,
his plans are like a firebrand."
His steed strains as he reaches out over the reins
and hurls his flame at the West.
The mountains dissolve in fire
and he races through them, screaming:
"I ride an icy stallion, fire at each end
and poison at the centre;
you won't hear my words as I scream into the darkness:
his plans are like a firebrand,
his plans are like a firebrand."
He rides on into the further darkness
brandishing his flame like a spear
and below him there races his ghost steed
draping the night in fear
"I ride an icy stallion, fire at each end
and poison at the centre;
you won't hear my words as I scream into the darkness:
his plans are like a firebrand,
his plans are like a firebrand."
Njal, beware and heed the words
which emanate from Hildiglum.