row cave, where crushing my back
Sits the weight of the world. No way of escape
Can I find from the torment; so I tumble about
The homes of heroes. The halls with their gables,
The tribe-dwellings tremble; the trusty walls shake,
10 Steep over the head. Still seems the air
Over all the country and calm the waters,
Till I press in my fury from my prison below,
Obeying His bidding who bound me fast
In fetters at first when he fashioned the world,
15 In bonds and in chains, with no chance of escape
From his power who points out the paths I must follow.
Downward at times I drive the waves,
Stir up the streams; to the strand I press
The flint-gray flood: the foamy wave
20 Lashes the wall. A lurid mountain
Rises on the deep; dark in its trail
Stirred up with the sea a second one comes,
And close to the coast it clashes and strikes
On the lofty hills. Loud soundeth the boat,
25 The shouting of shipmen. Unshaken abide
The stone cliffs steep through the strife of the waters,
The dashing of waves, when the deadly tumult
Crowds to the coast. Of cruel strife
The sailors are certain if the sea drive their craft
30 With its terrified guests on the grim rolling tide;
They are sure that the ship will be shorn of its power,
Be deprived of its rule, and will ride foam-covered
On the ridge of the waves. Then ariseth a panic,
Fear among folk of the force that commands me,
35 Strong on my storm-track. Who shall still that power?
At times I drive through the dark wave-vessels
That ride on my back, and wrench them asunder
And lash them with sea-streams; or I let them again
Glide back together. It is the greatest of noises,
40 Of clamoring crowds, of crashes the loudest,
When clouds as they strive in their courses shall strike
Edge against edge; inky of hue
In flight o'er the folk bright fire they sweat,
A stream of flame; destruction they carry
45 Dark over men with a mighty din.
Fighting they fare. They let fall from their bosom
A deafening rain of rattling liquid,
Of storm from their bellies. In battle they strive,
The aw