Beside The Blaze Of Forty Fires Giant Grim Doth Sit, Roasting A Thick-Woolled Mountain Sheep Upon An Iron Spit. Above Him Wheels The Winter Sky, Beneath Him, Fathoms Deep, Lies Hidden In The Valley Mists A Village Fast Asleep - - Save For One Restive Hungry Dog That, Snuffing Towards The Height, Smells Grim'S Broiled Supper-Meat, And Spies His Watch-Fire Twinkling Bright.