For snipping needle-yarn; or try it again.

THORBRAND (_raising his sword_)
I must be getting back ere the snow thickens:
So here's my message to the end--or farther.
Gunnar, this night it is time to start your journey
And get you out of Iceland....

GUNNAR (_thrusting at THORBRAND with the bill_)
I think it is:
So you shall go before me in the dark.
Wait for me when you find a quiet shelter.

(THORBRAND _sinks backward from the wall and is heard to fall
farther. Immediately_ ASBRAND THORLEIKSSON _starts up in his
place._)

ASBRAND (_striking repeatedly with a sword_)
Oh, down, down, down!

GUNNAR (_parrying the blows with the bill_)
Ay, Asbrand, thou as well?
Thy brother Thorbrand was up here but now:
He has gone back the other way, maybe--
Be hasty, or you'll not come up with him.

(_He thrusts with the bill_: ASBRAND _lifts a shield before the
blow._)

Here's the first shield that I have seen to-night.

(_The bill pierces the shield_: ASBRAND _disappears and is heard to
fall._ GUNNAR _turns from the casement._)

Hallgerd, my harp that had but one long string,
But one low song, but one brief wingy flight,
Is voiceless, for my bowstring is cut off.
Sever two locks of hair for my sake now,
Spoil those bright coils of power, give me your hair,
And with my mother twist those locks together
Into a bowstring for me. Fierce small head,
Thy stinging tresses shall scourge men forth by me.

HALLGERD
Does ought lie on it?

GUNNAR
Nought but my life lies on it;
For they will never dare to close on me
If I can keep my bow bended and singing.

HALLGERD (_tossing back her hair_)
Then now I call to your mind that bygone blow
You gave my face; and never a whit do I care
If you hold out a long time or a short.

GUNNAR
Every man who has trod a warship's deck,
And borne a weapon of pride, has a proud heart
And asks not twice for any little thing.
Hallgerd, I'll ask no more from you, no more.

RANNVEIG (_tearing off her wimple_)
She will not mar her honour of widowhood.
Oh, widows' manes are priceless.... Off, mean wimple--
I am a finished widow, why do you hide me?
Son, son who knew my bosom before hers,
Look down and curse for an unreverend thing
An o