the Hartings, no longer shalt thou bide
In any house of the Markmen than to speak the word and wend,
Till all men know the tidings and thine errand hath an end.'
Behold, O Wolves, the token and say if it be true!
I bear the shaft of battle that is four-wise cloven through,
And its each end dipped in the blood-stream, both the iron and the
horn,
And its midmost scathed with the fire; and the word that I have borne
Along with this war-token is, 'Wolfings of the Mark
Whenso ye see the war-shaft, by the daylight or the dark,
Busk ye to battle faring, and leave all work undone
Save the gathering for the handplay at the rising of the sun.
Three days hence is the hosting, and thither bear along
Your wains and your kine for the slaughter lest the journey should be
long.
For great is the Folk, saith the tidings, that against the Markmen
come;
In a far off land is their dwelling, whenso they sit at home,
And Welsh {1} is their tongue, and we wot not of the word that is in
their mouth,
As they march a many together from the cities of the South.'"

Therewith he held up yet for a minute the token of the war-arrow ragged
and burnt and bloody; and turning about with it in his hand went his ways
through the open door, none hindering; and when he was gone, it was as if
the token were still in the air there against the heads of the living
men, and the heads of the woven warriors, so intently had all gazed at
it; and none doubted the tidings or the token. Then said Thiodolf:

"Forth will we Wolfing children, and cast a sound abroad:
The mouth of the sea-beast's weapon shall speak the battle-word;
And ye warriors hearken and hasten, and dight the weed of war,
And then to acre and meadow wend ye adown no more,
For this work shall be for the women to drive our neat from the mead,
And to yoke the wains, and to load them as the men of war have need."

Out then they streamed from the hall, and no man was left therein save
the fair Hall-Sun sitting under the lamp whose name she bore. But to the
highest of the slope they went, where was a mound made higher by man's
handiwork; thereon stood Thiodolf and handled the horn, turning his face
toward the downward course of Mirkwood-water; and he set the horn to his
lips, and blew a long blast, and then again, and yet again the third
time; and all the sounds of the gathering night were hushed under the
sound of the roar