Rotherham(i)
8 And, with the blast of thy nostrils, heaped up are the waters, Upreared like a mound, are the flowing waves,––Roaring deeps are congealed, in the heart of the sea.
9 Said the foe––I will pursue–overtake, divide spoil,––Take her fill of them––shall my soul, I will bare my sword, root them out––shall my hand.
10 Thou didst blow with thy wind, they were covered by the sea,––They rolled like lead, into the waters so wide.