“There Loki fareth, and seeth in a land of nothing good,
    Far off o’er the empty desert, the reek of the falling flood
    Go up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feet
    As he weaveth the unseen meshes and the snare of strong deceit;
    So he cometh his ways to the water, where the glittering foam-bow
      glows,
    And the huge flood leaps the rock-wall and a green arch over it throws. 
    There under the roof of water he treads the quivering floor,
    And the hush of the desert is felt amid the water’s roar,
    And the bleak sun lighteth the wave-vault, and tells of the fruitless
      plain,
    And the showers that nourish nothing, and the summer come in vain.

    “There did the great Guile-master his toils and his tangles set,
    And as wide as was the water, so wide was woven the net;
    And as dim as the Elf’s remembrance did the meshes of it show;
    And he had no thought of sorrow, nor spared to come and go
    On his errands of griping and getting till he felt himself tangled
      and caught: 
    Then back to his blinded soul was his ancient wisdom brought,
    And he saw his fall and his ruin, as a man by the lightning’s flame
    Sees the garth all flooded by foemen; and again he remembered his name;
    And e’en as a book well written the tale of the Gods he knew,
    And the tale of the making of men, and much of the deeds they should
      do.

    “But Loki took his man-shape, and laughed aloud and cried: 
    ’What fish of the ends of the earth is so strong and so feeble-eyed,
    That he draweth the pouch of my net on his road to the dwelling of
      Hell? 
    What Elf that hath heard the gold growing, but hath heard not the
      light winds tell
    That the Gods with the world have been dealing and have fashioned men
      for the earth? 
    Where is he that hath ridden the cloud-horse and measured the ocean’s
      girth,
    But seen nought of the building of God-home nor the forging of the
      sword: 
    Where then is the maker of nothing, the earless and eyeless lord? 
    In the pouch of my net he lieth, with his head on the threshold of
      Hell!’

    “Then the Elf lamented, and said:  ’Thou knowst of my name full well: 
    Andvari begotten of Oinn, whom the Dwarf-kind called the Wise,
    By the worst of the Gods is taken, the forge and the father of lies.’

    “Said Loki:  ’How of the Elf-kind, do they love their latter life,
    When their weal is all departed, and they lie alow in the strife?’

    “Then Andvari groaned and answered:  ’I know what thou wouldst have,
    The wealth mine own hands gathered, the gold that no man gave.’

    “‘Come forth,’ said Loki, ’and give it, and dwell in peace henceforth—­
    Or die in the toils if thou listest, if thy life be nothing worth.’