uproar over houses, and loudest of crashes,
when fiercely comes cloud against cloud
like sword against sword. Darkling spirits,
swift over mortals, sweat with fire,
with gleaming flame and fearful noises.
Above mankind with dreadful din10
they fare fighting; they let fall then
swart rattling streams from out their bosom,
water from within. Fighting moves on
the terrible host; panic arises,
a mighty fear in the hearts of mankind;
horror in towns when gleaming shoots
the gliding demon with sharp weapons.
He is dull who dreads not these arrows of death;
he dies nonetheless if the true Lord
down through the rain, straight from above20
lets fly the darts of the fiery storm,
its swift arrows. Few escape this
who are reached by the darts of the hostile rain.
I stand in the van of this battlefront
when on I press the column of cloud,
push through the strife in masterful might
on the breast of the burns. Crowding in battle
the high storm bursts. Then down I bend
under the helm of the sky close to the ground,
bearing on my back the burden I carry30
by the command of him, the all-powerful Lord.
K-D 3, 67–74
sometimes under ground; sometimes I must deep
undermine the waves; sometimes from on high
I arouse the waters, or rising aloft
stir up the clouds. Widely I pass,
swift and violent. Tell me my name,
