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We hew'd with our Swords!
2. Blooming was my youth when east at Eyra’s straits opposing bands we gash'd for the insulting wolves, and golden-footed king of birds — there, while our temper’d steel sung on the high-seam’d helm, they found a rich repast. Gore distain’d the deep. The raven waded through the blood of the slain.
We hew’d with our Swords!
3. High I bore my lance, & wide I carried my ensanguin’d blade before I number’d twenty years. Eight Earls grac’d my triumphs at the Dwina's mouth — there we the falcon entertain’d with plenteous meals. The crimson sweat of death poured on the sullen sea. Warriors lost their lives.
