His impious throat ’gainst heaven he turns
And with his tail the ocean spurns.
The parched sky droops, darkness enwraps the sun;
Now the matchless strength is shown
Of the god whom warriors own.
Around his loins he draws his girdle tight,
His eye with triumph flashes bright,
The frail boat splits aneath his weight;
The frail boat splits,—but on the ocean’s ground
Thor again hath footing found;