Till the caves of the ocean re-bellowed and storm on their battling burst.
And they fought; in the flying and drifting and silence of covering snow,
Till the wounded that lay with the dead, with the dead were stiff frozen in woe.
And they fought; and the mystical flakes that were clutched by the maniac wind
Drave sharp on the eyes of the kings, made the sight of their warriors blind.
Still they fought; and with leonine wrath were they met, till the battle-god, Thor,
In his thunder-wheeled chariot rolled, making end of destruction and war.
And they fell—like twin rocks of the mountains, or pines, that rush, hurricane-hurled,
From their world-rooted crags to the ocean below with the wreck of the world.
But, lo! not in vain their loud vows! on the black iron altars of War