This little bird, so very small, hath swallowed all thy poison up.
She will not die, nor shall we die: his path is far: he whom Bay Horses bear hath turned thee to sweet meath.


The three-times-seven bright sparks of fire have swallowed up the poison's strength.
They will not die, nor shall we die: his path is far: he whom Bay Horses bear hath turned thee to sweet meath.


Of ninety rivers and of nine with power to stay the venom's course,—
The names of all I have secured: his path is far: he whom Bay Horses bear hath turned thee to sweet meath.