Yet spite of the long draught he took,
It seem’d as full as ’twas before.
But Thor’s high courage never fails;
He leans upon his hammer bright:
Again the beaker he assails,
And quaffs with all his soul and might.
In furrows deep his forehead rolls;
His veins swell at the effort rude:
He drank, as do the clefts and holes
Of the ravine drink in the flood.