To crush the Lord of Jotunheim.
To rove in search of glorious war
This Asa chief finds much delight,
High seated in his golden car
Drawn by two goats of colour white.
Earth well may tremble with dismay,
When through the skies this chariot rolls,
For clouds then veil the face of day,
And awful thunders shake the poles.
But ’mongst the Asar one call’d Lok