Riseth the sea, the mountains quake;
The fiends in Naastrand merry make
Rejoicing flames from Hecla’s caldron flash,
Huge molten stones with deafening crash
Fly out,—its scathed sides fire-streams wash.
The affrighted sons of Ask do feel the shock,
As the worm doth lie and rock,
And sullen waiteth Ragnarok.
To his foul craving maw naught e’er came ill;
It never he doth cease to fill;