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rising of the sun Valdiofur fell before our swords.
We fought with swords, at Bardafyrda. A shower of blood rained from our weapons. Headlong fell the palid corpse a prey for the hawks. The bow gave a twanging sound. The blade sharply bit the coats of mail: it bit the helmet in the fight. The arrow sharp with poison and all besprinkled with bloody sweat ran to the wound.
We fought with swords, before the bay of Hiadning. We held aloft magic shields in the play of battle. Then
piratical expeditions into the southern countries had given them some notion of it, but by no means a favourable one: they considered it as the religion of cowards, because it would have corrected their savage manners.
