Which, for past centuries, fast props thy mass up?
Who uptowered, high in the vault of ether,
Mighty and bold, thy beaming countenance?
“Who poured you from on high, out of eternal Winter’s realm,
O jagged streams, downward with thunder-noise?
And who bade aloud, with the Almighty Voice,
‘Here shall rest the stiffening billows?’
“Who marks out there the path for the Morning Star?
Who wreathes with blossoms the skirt of eternal Frost?
To whom, wild Arveiron, in terrible harmonies,