But longer now the mists prevail, so doth the grim east-wind;
For no one boasts the power to tame Skada’s malignant mind.
While Skada slumbers in her cave, ’tis Niord’s peculiar care
In arches o’er the verdant earth to mould the light-blue air;
And where are more delightful woods and meadows to be found,
Than those of Denmark, when the lays of nightingales resound?
Niord weeps with rage, while Skada fell lays waste his rich domain,
But changed his precious tears become to fecundating rain;
When rain descends, it never fails to damp the tempest’s wings;
Thus ever ’gainst his consort’s spells some antidote he brings.