"I desire my death now.
The disir call me home,
whom Herjan hastens onward
from his hall, to take me.
On the high bench, boldly,
beer I'll drink with the Gods;
hope of life is lost now—
laughing shall I die!"
The disir call me home,
whom Herjan hastens onward
from his hall, to take me.
On the high bench, boldly,
beer I'll drink with the Gods;
hope of life is lost now—
laughing shall I die!"
—Ragnarr Loðbrók, "Krákumál" (last stanza)
"He was a man of his time — the kind who would laugh in the face of death even after his throat had been ripped out."
