Sunday night, twelve weeks before winter
The world is in a smoky haze
Suddenly there appears a rider in the East
Brandishing flame

He rides on into the wintry darkness
And brandishes his flame like a spear;
Below him there races his ghost steed
Draping the night in fear

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!'

Njal, beware!
Heed the words which emanate from Hildiglum