Volund

Svanhvit was the second, she a swan's plumage bore; but the third, their sister, the white neck clasped of Volund.

Came then from the chase the ardent hunter, Volund, gliding on the long way.

Soon blazed the brushwood, and the arid fir, the wind-dried wood, before Volund.

That bright blade forever is taken from me: never shall I see it borne into Volund's smithy.

Then did Bodvild praise the ring: to Volund brought it, when she had broken it: "I dare to no tell it, save alone to thee."