Deprived of Mimer’s fount, how mean and low
Were man’s existence, by vile cares opprest!
Dark Surtur chaunts the song of triumph loud,
To see the lov’d Iduna captive borne:
While Lok, of his successful mischief proud,
Joys in his heart to see the Asar mourn,
And Valhall’s glories fled, and Valaskialf forlorn.
Now when the sun arose, by vapours foul
Obscured, it fill’d no bosom with delight:
When the dull moon slow climb’d from pole to pole,