Aye! spite of all thy godlike vigour,
Oft didst thou, Thor, my pity move;
I laugh’d to see the silly figure
Thou mad’st in Skrymur’s sweaty glove.[97]
THOR.
Be silent, thou pestiferous cloud,
That striv’st to damp celestial fire!
Thou’lt find, no hammer I require
To punish thee and all thy brood.
Behold that pine on yon high rock!