The Prose Edda

by Snorri Sturluson

There sits Sigurd, Stained with blood. On the fire is roasting Fafner’s heart. Wise seemed to me The ring-destroyer, If he the shining Heart would eat. Another eagle sang: There lies Regin, Contemplating How to deceive the man Who trusts him; Thinks in his wrath Of false accusations. The evil smith plots Revenge ’gainst the brother.