As he gallop’d once more o’er the flow’ry mead,
(The sunbeams redden the sky)
He thought, by the rustling his falchion made,
Of Odin the lord so high.
The magic fetter came o’er his mind
(The birds on the trees sing sweet)
That was destin’d Fenris the wolf to bind:
Then he jump’d from his courser fleet,
And began to climb up on Elver-hoy:
(On the flow’rets the dew-drops shine)