In this lonely brooding place br The old gods still have power, still reign. br Here the rough-hewn hills around the lake br Stand out like ramparts, built by them, br Lurid lit as the fleeting sun slips out br From behind the rain black clouds, br Then disappear in mist again. br br Between them the wind sighs, br Sadly keening br Like the Swan Maidens br Searching for their wings, br And stirs the grey lake waters br Drumming softly on the rocks br As wave after wave rhythmically rolls br Towards the pebbled shore. br br Larch, birch, ash and pine, br Ancient, magic trees, br Sweep low in unison, rustling br To the music of water and wind. br Somewhere among them br Hidden from the eye, br Deer uneasily graze, stamp quietly br And silent wolves slip softly by. br br Thunder echoes from Thor's dark hammer, br Lightning sparks from Wayland's forge, br Dark clashings as of gods at war. br Shrouding all in fog, cascades the rain br Like the torrents of tears shed br By Freyja weeping for Balder slain. br br The storm abates, moves on. br The sun, freed, paints in fresh-tint tone br Glorious colours upon mountain and lake. br The trees stretch heavenwards br Straight, tall and bold. br And way above in a cerulean sky, br Formations of home-bound geese fly high, br Heralding Spring triumphantly.