Surtur

Surtur with the bane of branches comes,
from the south, on his sword the sun of the Valgods,
crags topple, the crone falls headlong,
men tread Hel's road, the Heavens split open.
Earth sinks in the sea, the sun turns black,
cast down from Heaven are the hot stars,
fumes reek, into flames burst,
the sky itself is scorched with fire.

Völuspá