our of his doom is beautiful, and that he graced the years of his life
with manliness. For while he lived his glowing valour prevailed over all
things, and he was allotted might worthy of his lofty stature. He was
as swift to war as a torrent tearing down to sea, and as speedy to begin
battle as a stag is to fly with cleft foot upon his fleet way.

"See now, among the pools dripping with human blood, the teeth struck
out of the slain are carried on by the full torrent of gore, and are
polished on the rough sands. Dashed on the slime they glitter, and the
torrent of blood bears along splintered bones and flows above lopped
limbs. The blood of the Danes is wet, and the gory flow stagnates far
around, and the stream pressed out of the steaming veins rolls back the
scattered bodies. Tirelessly against the Danes advances Hiartuar, lover
of battle, and challenges the fighters with outstretched spear. Yet
here, amid the dangers and dooms of war, I see Frode's grandson smiling
joyously, who once sowed the fields of Fyriswald with gold. Let us also
be exalted with an honourable show of joy, following in death the doom
of our noble father. Be we therefore cheery in voice and bold in daring;
for it is right to spurn all fear with words of courage, and to meet our
death in deeds of glory. Let fear quit heart and face; in both let us
avow our dauntless endeavours, that no sign anywhere may show us to
betray faltering fear. Let our drawn sword measure the weight of our
service. Fame follows us in death, and glory shall outlive our crumbling
ashes! And that which perfect valour hath achieved during its span shall
not fade for ever and ever. What want we with closed floors? Why doth
the locked bolt close the folding-gates? For it is now the third cry,
Bjarke, that calls thee, and bids thee come forth from the barred room."

Bjarke rejoined: "Warlike Hjalte, why dost thou call me so loud? I am
the son-in-law of Rolf. He who boasts loud and with big words challenges
other men to battle, is bound to be venturous and act up to his words,
that his deed may avouch his vaunt. But stay till I am armed and have
girded on the dread attire of war.

"And now I tie my sword to my side, now first I get my body guarded with
mail-coat and headpiece, the helm keeping my brows and the stout
iron shrouding my breast. None shrinks more than I from being burnt a
prisoner inside, and made a pyre together with my own house: though an
island brought me forth