Oft to visit yon loved shore
I will come.
The song hath ceased, and Thorsteing brave
Is sleeping now in Odin’s cave.
Athwart the sky the lightnings flash,
While down the Fiords the thunders crash,
And sullen waves in fury lash
The fretted shore.
Where is that Raven, grim and lone?—
Uprooted is the old grey stone.