To Thor such language proud?
Foul pismire thou in earth’s black mould!
Vile slug with torpid blood!
Thinkst thou to damp my courage high,
Because thou tower’st above
These brambles? I thy arms defy;
Thy arts my pity move.
“I tell ye plain, ye giant brood!
Were ye in number more
Than snakes in Nastrond’s marshy flood,