At our command the fierce volcano groans:
We need but nod, as the proud courser shakes
His mane, earth with a fev’rish motion quakes:
Walls, castles, towns are levell’d with the ground,
And forests sink in wat’ry wastes profound.
Though Odin in Valhalla boast his might,
Lok hath an elder and superior right,
And earth still owns him lord: but think! O think!
The time will come when all your power shall shrink:
Your race expire; Valhall in flames be hurl’d;