“He then granted the request, and invited Thor to take shelter in his cave from the keen morning wind, adding tauntingly,
‘When many a league from shore The kraken’s snort we hear, And whirling Maelström’s roar, ’Tis then we’ll talk of fear.’”
“Thor asked only to be put to the proof, and now begged to be allowed to take with him what he might want for his fishing. Hymir assented, telling him that for bait he would find a grub amongst the cows. Thor went into the field, and a wild bull rushing towards him, he seized it by the horns and brake off its head, and then throwing it over his shoulders leaped the enclosure, and hastened to Hymir, who was getting the boat ready.
When Hymir the bull’s head On the youth’s shoulders saw, He laugh’d, and own’d the deed Was good for one so raw.
Then shoved the boat from shore, Swift through the waves it flew. Hymir plied well his oar, And Thor row’d stoutly too.”
“The god now became elated at the near prospect of measuring himself with the serpent, and gave full liberty to his thoughts. If he could succeed in slaying it,
‘By Yggdrasil[79], the feat Would glad me more, by far, In Valhall than to beat Ten score Einheriar.
What fruitful seeds of ill To mar man’s mortal state, And earth with woes to fill, From the worm emanate! His pestilential breath Fevers and plagues doth cause, And each disease to death Which man untimely draws.
When one in manhood’s prime Feels his approaching end, And ere yet lapsed his time, To Hela’s power must bend; When his heart-broken spouse Sees hope’s last promise fail, Then his fell might he’ll rouse To mock the widow’s wail.
Her babe, which will not rest When the pale mother clasps, And gives in vain the breast, Struggling for life it gasps. Poor babe, as early rose Late fresh—she sees its eye In death for ever close— Nor weeps for agony:
When one, who purely burns, Absent for many a year, To his true love returns And finds her on her bier. When from a mourning realm Some virtuous prince is ta’en, Or chief has bow’d his helm; Then sure the foul snake’s seen
Writhing for joy. Their birth All serpents, which infest Man’s central spot of earth, Draw from his nostril’s blast. The great snake, whose wide jowl, (To th’ southwards, far away) Will gulp a raging bull, Through him first saw the day.