But not the battle’s shock to bear
Was pious Balder’s vessel made.
In time of peace this bark behold
Glide swiftly from its haven gay,
And towards the mart pursue its way
With a rich cargo in its hold!
Of horn is built its lofty prow
With sable shining crooked rings;
And when it flies, each swelling bow
Aside in foam the billow flings.