fisc flodu ahof on fergenberig
warþ gasric grorn þær he on greut giswom
The flood carried fish onto Fir Mountain;
The ghost-king was sorrowful when he swam onto the gravel.
When the heavy sea rushed apart
And a white form glided
Between his scattered tiny subjects,
They were proud of his muscled tail
And hundred-mile songs.
But when the sea came up
Above the mountains,
Above the trees,
The phantom found himself drifting
Outside his rightful kingdom.
And when the sea came down,
And the lesser fish escaped,
The stones broke his long silence
As they grated beneath him.
He felt his own weight as he dried.