The gift; more dim doth Mimer’s sight become.
The vaults wide gaping of the rocks present
The aspect of a coffin! Nastrond’s gulf
Opes its tremendous jaws, where serpents foul
Hiss and exhale their poison all around,
Mix’d with the flame of sulphur burning blue!
Into that gulf fall headlong down the men
Who never felt repentance; round their limbs
The speckled serpents coil, intent to bite:
Huge as an ox, with formidable spring