While our prince in the power of his warriors
Is proud of me foremost in battle.
But the glimpse of a glory comes o'er me
Like the gleam of the moon on the skerry,
And I faint and I fail for my longing,
For the fair one at home in the North."

"Ye never get into danger," said Thorgils, "but ye think of Steingerd!"

"Nay," answered Cormac, "but it's not often I forget her."

Well: this was a great battle, and king Harald won a glorious victory.
While his men drove the rout before him, the brothers were shoulder to
shoulder; and they fell upon nine men at once and fought them. And while
they were at it, Cormac sang:--

(54)
"Fight on, arrow-driver, undaunted,
And down with the foemen of Harald!
What are nine? they are nought! Thou and I, lad,
Are enough;--they are ours!--we have won them!
But--at home,--in the arms of an outlaw
That all the gods loathe for a monster,
So white and so winsome she nestles
--Yet once she was loving to me!"

"It always comes down to that!" said Thorgils. When the fight was over,
the brothers had got the victory, and the nine men had fallen before
them; for which they won great praise from the king, and many honours
beside.

But while they were ever with the king in his warfarings, Thorgils was
aware that Cormac was used to sleep but little; and he asked why this
might be. This was the song Cormac made in answer:--

(55)
"Surf on a rock-bound shore of the sea-king's blue domain--
Look how it lashes the crags, hark how it thunders again!
But all the din of the isles that the Delver heaves in foam
In the draught of the undertow glides out to the sea-gods'
home.
Now, which of us two should test? Is it thou, with thy
heart at ease,
Or I that am surf on the shore in the tumult of angry seas?
--Drawn, if I sleep, to her that shines with the ocean-
gleam,
--Dashed, when I wake, to woe, for the want of my
glittering dream."

"And now let me tell you this, brother," he went on. "Hereby I give out
that I am going back to Iceland."

Said Thorgils, "There is many a snare set for thy feet, brother, to drag
thee down, I know not whither."

But when the king heard of his longing to begone, he sent for Cormac