With coral, decks his temples grave,
And sea-weed forms his shaggy beard.
On Hlesey you may find his throne
Of muscle-shell: this monarch sage
Can by a frown or wink alone
The billows’ utmost wrath assuage.
’Twixt him and Niord a pact holds good,[18]
And when Niord rides across the deep,
On coal-black courser mounted proud,
The winds are hush’d, the billows sleep.