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Such heaping of horrors the hater of men, lonely roamer, wrought unceasing, harassings heavy. Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend, heart-rending misery. Many nobles sat assembled, and searched out counsel how it were best for bold-hearted men against harassing terror to try their hand. Their practice this, their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought of in mood of their mind.
Me for this struggle the Scyldings'-friend paid in plenty with plates of gold, with many a treasure, when morn had come and we all at the banquet-board sat down. Then was song and glee. The gray-haired Scylding, much tested, told of the times of yore.
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