The storm-clouds spread their wings for rain;
They rush in column over the plain.
The mouth of the demon vomits flame—
A besom-stroke to wooded Kai-mú.
Destruction follows before and behind;
What terror smites a-far and a-near!
A brooding horror wraps my soul
As the fine rain covers the plain.
A spectacle this for the eye of Day!
An offering’s laid—a pig? a man!