swift gaping beaks speed onward in the front:
be ye like that bird in mien, shrinking from no stroke, but with body
facing the foe.

"See how the enemy, furious and confident overduly, his limbs defended
by the steel, and his face with a gilded helmet, charges the thick
of the battle-wedges, as though sure of victory, fearless of rout and
invincible by any endeavour. Ah, misery! Swedish assurance spurns the
Danes. Behold, the Goths with savage eyes and grim aspect advance with
crested helms and clanging spears: wreaking heavy slaughter in our
blood, they wield their swords and their battle-axes hone-sharpened.

"Why name thee, Hiartuar, whom Skulde hath filled with guilty purpose,
and hath suffered thus to harden in sin? Why sing of thee, villain, who
hast caused our peril, betrayer of a noble king? Furious lust of sway
hath driven thee to attempt an abomination, and, stung with frenzy, to
screen thyself behind thy wife's everlasting guilt. What error hath
made thee to hurt the Danes and thy lord, and hurled thee into such foul
crime as this? Whence entered thy heart the treason framed with such
careful guile?

"Why do I linger? Now we have swallowed our last morsel. Our king
perishes, and utter doom overtakes our hapless city. Our last dawn has
risen, unless perchance there be one here so soft that he fears to offer
himself to the blows, or so unwarlike that he dares not avenge his lord,
and disowns all honours worthy of his valour.

"Thou, Ruta, rise and put forth thy snow-white head, come forth from
thy hiding into the battle. The carnage that is being done without calls
thee. By now the council-chamber is shaken with warfare, and the gates
creak with the dreadful fray. Steel rends the mail-coats, the woven mesh
is torn apart, and the midriff gives under the rain of spears. By now
the huge axes have hacked small the shield of the king; by now the long
swords clash, and the battle-axe clatters its blows upon the shoulders
of men, and cleaves their breasts. Why are your hearts afraid? Why is
your sword faint and blunted? The gate is cleared of our people, and is
filled with the press of the strangers."

And when Hjalte had wrought very great carnage and stained the battle
with blood, he stumbled for the third time on Bjarke's berth, and
thinking he desired to keep quiet because he was afraid, made trial of
him with such taunts at his cowardice as these:

"Bjarke, why art thou absent? Doth deep sleep hold thee? I