Written in Drottkvaett by Magnús hvalmagi.
Ill the Aesir and the Elves fared - their games yielded a grim result: The brother of Thor by thrown sprig was pierced in the breast - bane of Oðin’s son sticking in his stone of life.
Then hied to Hel Hermoðr the Bold, to craft a deal with the cairn-god: return to life the light-bringer; the world would bleed the water of eyes.
All of the world wept for Baldr. the men and beasts, burning fires, trees and stones and the track of men - wept as if brought to warmth from frost.
All but for one wept as the rest. The Aesir found a frost giant - lone - in a cave; she was called "Tokk." Then spoke Tyr of the spear Gungnir:
"You! Weep for Baldr, as the world now does! You are the last one; jotun-tears we need."
The giant sang - joyless her voice:
"You come to me carrying grief in your eyes - a sorrowful sight - asking a torrent of tears to restore to life the light of Asgarðr.
You come to me carrying grief in your hearts - bitter the blood but cold is mine - I mean to sleep as long as the world weeps.
You come to me carrying grief on your tongues - words of woe; no joy or pleasure was poured for me from the horn of Baldr’s bounty.
Tokk will water no weeds with sorrow. Go! Leave me alone! Go! Leave him to lie!
Is blame my burden to bear? Shame makes no mark on my heart! I was made glad - gleeful the tale of Loki’s clever craft!
Foolish Hoðr felled his twin with a hurled errant arrow. The truth was hidden - his hand the willing tool of the Aesir’s enemy!
Leave me alone! I long to be rid of moaning, mewling gods. Never have I wished well for Baldr - no sorrow I hold in my heart!
Tokk will water the world with hate. Let Hel hold her hoard. Let Surtr sear his soul.
You come to me but cannot behold the truth of Loki's lies. Hoðr is blind, but the high ones see the same as he!
You come to me but cannot believe the words I speak and spin. Beloved of Aesir loved no giants; giants loved him less.
You come to me but cannot remain - my speech I've spent on you. All these tears to Tokk are nothing! Go! and leave me alone!"
The Aesir knew the name of Tokk; Loki's final falsehood was plain. None but he could know of malice or spite enough to spurn Baldr.
When tired of tricks and deceit, the high hunted the harm of truth. Bound by his sons, burned by venom, Loki awaits to lead the dead, to damn the world - the doom of gods.