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Till me they begrudged, Those my brethren, The fate to have him, Who was first of all men; Nor might they sleep, Nor sit a-dooming, Ere they let slay My well-loved Sigurd. Grani ran to the Thing, There was clatter to hear, But never came Sigurd Himself thereunto; All the saddle-girt beasts With blood were besprinkled, As faint with the way Neath the slayers they went.
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