Her bosom now is cased in steel,
A golden helmet crowns her hair.
Thor towers aloft in plates of brass,
With Miölner in his right hand gleaming:
Lok trips along in light cuirass,
His dark locks o’er his shoulders streaming.
Now marching on, the tedious way
They oft beguile with gay discourse;
Sudden a wild tempestuous sea
Appears in sight, and checks their course!