Thy horrent lava spreading o’er
The fertile, grazing meads of yore.
O land of geysers! Land of snow!
May Vulcan stay the powers below.
O isle of poets! Isle of song!
Whose lines thy early deeds prolong,
Thy Sagas filled with pagan strife,
With blood for blood and life for life,
’Till came the Cross with Christian sway
To rule the isle in gentler way.