Crashing it speeds along; its noise is thunder.
Touching the sky, it goes on causing lightnings;
Scattering the dust of earth it hurries forward.
In air upon his pathways hastening onward,
Never on any day he tarries resting.
The first-born order-loving friend of waters,
Where, pray, was he born? say, whence came he hither?
The soul of gods, and of the world the offspring,
This god according to his liking wanders.
His sound is heard, but ne’er is seen his figure.