Then I, on skaits, o’er Finnmark with bow and arrow fly,
And through fog, sleet and snow-storm my course unseen I ply.
“With cricket on thy shoulder, with beechen branch in hand,
While nightingales sweet singing upon thy helmet stand,
Thou ridest on thy courser, o’er forest, hill and dale,
With rays of light proceeding from his long mane and tail.
“Short mane and tail hath Hrimfax; he’s black and small in size:
Hoar frost clings to his nostrils; his breathings chill the skies:
But fearful are his neighings; and when he rears, then mark!
Unroof’d becomes each dwelling, unmasted every bark.