A son had Mother,                                          
wrapped in silk.
poured with water,
Jarl she named him;
fair was the hair,
flushed his cheeks,
grim were his eyes
as the brood of a snake's.

Tall there he grew
Jarl in the house,
shields he brandished,
bowstrings strung,
bows he drew,
shafts fashioned,
spears he flung,
lances he wielded,
horses rode,
hounds unleashed,
Swords swung,
and sounds he swam.
 

-Rígsþula