At length his shape resuming, upon a reef of rock
He seats himself, like goatherd who watches o’er his flock.
“What have I done? Ah! woe is me! from Valaskialf’s abode
Thus exiled, what is Loptur now? a giant, or a god?
Am I thus amongst monsters condemn’d my time to pass?”
Where’s now my fav’rite pastime, the zest of life? alas!
Must I ’midst stupid giants dwell in the realms of night,
Who dose like sleepy dragons o’er gold and silver bright?
For them no sunshine blazes, no spring brings with it joy,
The art the blockheads know not existence to enjoy: