“Begone from hence! depart! away!
Ye’ll soon arrive where giants sway;
The rosy hues that stain your cheek
My eye-balls sear to look upon;
Of health, and youth, and strength they speak;
Such sights I loathe: avaunt! begone!”
Now Thor a sign impatient made
Behind him, which his troop obey’d.
Lok ventur’d not to raise his eye,
As he stern Hela’s throne past by;