may be here quoted as illustrating the spirit of the poem.
"Ay, we have struck with the sword!
Each of us follows his fate;
None can escape the Nornes.[1]
But never had I believed
That Ella should take my life
When, to sate the falcons of blood,
We launched our ships on the waves,
And far in the Scottish gulfs
Gave to the wolves their prey.
"Ay, we have struck with the sword!
Ever I joy as I think
How tables are ready for feasting
In the hall of Balder's father;[2]
Soon shall we drink of the beer
From the branching, bending horns.
In Fiölner's[3] splendid palace
No hero groans for death;
Nor ever with cries of anguish
Shall I reach the hall of Vidrer.[3]
"Ay, we have struck with the sword!
The latest moment comes;
The raging serpents tear me;
In my heart the viper coils.
Soon shall the dart of Vidrer[3]
In Ella's heart be buried.
My sons shall rage for their father's death,
Warriors brave they shall never rest."
Ah! all Asloga's[4]sons would fight to the death if they only knew their father's tortures. Has he not fought battles, fifty and one, "by the messenger-arrow announced"? "But the Ases come to call me—my death is not for weeping. Yea, would I die! The Dises, Odin's messengers, invite me to the Heroes' Hall. Gladly I go to drink on a throne by the Ases' side;
'The hours of my life are finished—
I die with a smile on my lips!'"
The sensual pleasures of Lodbrok's rude paradise are
