“But Odin spake in answer, and his voice was awful and cold: 
    ‘Give righteous doom, O Reidmar! say what ye will of the Gold!’

    “Then Reidmar laughed in his heart, and his wrath and his wisdom fled,
    And nought but his greed abided; and he spake from his throne and said: 

    “’Now hearken the doom I shall speak!  Ye stranger-folk shall be free
    When ye give me the Flame of the Waters, the gathered Gold of the Sea,
    That Andvari hideth rejoicing in the wan realm pale as the grave;
    And the Master of Sleight shall fetch it, and the hand that never gave,
    And the heart that begrudgeth for ever shall gather and give and rue. 
    —­Lo this is the doom of the wise, and no doom shall be spoken anew.’

    “Then Odin spake:  ’It is well; the Curser shall seek for the curse;
    And the Greedy shall cherish the evil—­and the seed of the Great they
      shall nurse.’

    “No word spake Reidmar the great, for the eyes of his heart were turned
    To the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned. 
    But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his way abroad;
    And the heart of Odin he knoweth, and where he shall seek the Hoard.

    “There is a desert of dread in the uttermost part of the world,
    Where over a wall of mountains is a mighty water hurled,
    Whose hidden head none knoweth, nor where it meeteth the sea;
    And that force is the Force of Andvari, and an Elf of the Dark is he. 
    In the cloud and the desert he dwelleth amid that land alone;
    And his work is the storing of treasure within his house of stone. 
    Time was when he knew of wisdom, and had many a tale to tell
    Of the days before the Dwarf-age, and of what in that world befell: 
    And he knew of the stars and the sun, and the worlds that come and go
    On the nether rim of heaven, and whence the wind doth blow,
    And how the sea hangs balanced betwixt the curving lands,
    And how all drew together for the first Gods’ fashioning hands. 
    But now is all gone from him, save the craft of gathering gold,
    And he heedeth nought of the summer, nor knoweth the winter cold,
    Nor looks to the sun nor the snowfall, nor ever dreams of the sea,
    Nor hath heard of the making of men-folk, nor of where the high Gods be
    But ever he gripeth and gathereth, and he toileth hour by hour,
    Nor knoweth the noon from the midnight as he looks on his stony bower,
    And saith:  ’It is short, it is narrow for all I shall gather and get;
    For the world is but newly fashioned, and long shall its years be yet.’