Niðavellir, a corpse-white moon shines
Dwarf-cave, your magical view deceives
The daughters of Sindri, the sons and all the children,
(on) winter’s nights, they warm themselves in the stony mountains.
Others build house and halls, castles and cabins
Come into the cave, for here, here it’s good to sleep.
Magic staves, buried in a huge stone,
dwarf-graves, cairns, and old bones
Hell’s power, man’s power, in a deep valley
Murky darkness, nourished in a golden hall.
Lie down, my children, yes, grand is our hall.
The stone floor is quite clean and here, here it’s good to sleep.
Enthroned by flintglass (?)
Peaks from high mountains,
Sindri and Hergill take a nap;
here sleep the gray dwarves.
Hear, my dear woman of fame,
Here it’s good to sleep (here it's good to sleep).
Now they take their rest,
the dark couple and the three children.
When the thunderclap is heard,
We shall praise Thor.
In our warm halls,
here it’s good to sleep.
The intimate night-poem is sung,
and now the dwarf-folk sleep.