ful army; anguish arises,
50 Terror of mind to the tribes of men,
Distress in the strongholds, when the stalking goblins,
The pale ghosts shoot with their sharp weapons.
The fool alone fears not their fatal spears;
But he perishes too if the true God send
55 Straight from above in streams of rain,
Whizzing and whistling the whirlwind's arrows,
The flying death. Few shall survive
Whom that violent guest in his grimness shall visit.
I always stir up that strife and commotion;
60 Then I bear my course to the battle of clouds,
Powerfully strive and press through the tumult,
Over the bosom of the billows; bursteth loudly
The gathering of elements. Then again I descend
In my helmet of air and hover near the land,
65 And lift on my back the load I must bear,
Minding the mandates of the mighty Lord.
So I, a tried servant, sometimes contend:
Now under the earth; now from over the waves
I drive to the depths; now dropping from heaven,
70 I stir up the streams, or strive to the skies,
Where I war with the welkin. Wide do I travel,
Swift and noisily. Say now my name,
Or who raises me up when rest is denied me,
Or who stays my course when stillness comes to me?

V. A Shield

A lonely warrior, I am wounded with iron,
Scarred with sword-points, sated with battle-play,
Weary of weapons. I have witnessed much fighting,
Much stubborn strife. From the strokes of war
5 I have no hope for help or release
Ere I pass from the world with the proud warrior band.
With brands and billies they beat upon me;
The hard edges hack me; the handwork of smiths
In crowds I encounter; with courage I endure
10 Ever bitterer battles. No balm may I find,
And no doctor to heal me in the whole field of battle,
To bind me with ointments and bring me to health,
But my grievous gashes grow ever sorer
Through death-dealing strokes by day and night.

VII. A Swan

My robe is noiseless when I roam the earth,
Or stay in my home, or stir up the water.
At times I am lifted o'er the lodgings of men