"To yonder fatal ground,
Where savage Jutts, {5} and wicked elves,
And demon sprites, abound."

St. Oluf climb'd the vessel's side;
His courage nought could tame!
"Heave up, heave up the anchor straight;
Let's go in Jesu's name.

"The cross shall be my faulchion now -
The book of God my shield;
And, arm'd with them, I hope and trust
To make the demons yield."

And swift, as eagle cleaves the sky,
The gallant vessel flew;
Direct for Hornelummer's rock,
Through ocean's wavy blue.

'T was early in the morning tide
When she cast anchor there;
And, lo! the Jutt stood on the cliff,
To breathe the morning air:

His eyes were like the burning beal -
His mouth was all awry;
The truth I tell, and say he stood
Full twenty cubits high:

His beard was like a horse's mane,