The shaggy beard of Harbard froze,
And icicles his ringlets deck’d:
But naught could Skirnir discompose;
On him the cold had no effect.
’Twas day: a torrent rustling through
A drear and sandy desert flow’d;
The wind like breath from furnace blew;
The sun was veil’d by sultry cloud;
A thirsty buffalo its snout
Protruded from the tepid wave: