"Come, buckle thy sharp spear again to thy breast!
"Thy galley hurl forth from the seas of the West.
"With thy long, hissing oars, beat loud the north sea.
"The sharp gaze of day give the eagles and me.
"No cunning mists shrouding the sea and the sky,
"Or the brows of the great Gods, bold wind, love I!
"As Gylfag, my hound, lays his fangs in the flank
"Of a grey wolf, shadowy, leather-thew'd, lank.
"Bold wind, chase the blue mist, thy prow in its hair,
"Sun, speed thy keen shafts thro' the breast of the air!
* * * * *
PART III.
The shouting of Gisli, the chieftain,
Rock'd the blue hazes, and cloven
In twain by sharp prow of the west wind,
To north and to south fled the thick mist.
As in burnish'd walls of Valhalla,
In cleft of the mist stood the chieftain,
And up to the blue shield of Heaven,
Flung the load shaft of his laughter.
Smote the mist, with shrill spear the swift wind.
Grey shapes fled like ghosts on the Hell way;
Bay'd after their long locks hoarse Gylfag,
Stared at them, triumphant, the eagles.