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His feet fell he to moving, Fell to speak to himself The waster of men, Still turned in his mind What on the bough Those twain would be saying, The raven and erne, As they rode their ways homeward. But Brynhild awoke, Budli's daughter, May of the shield-folk, A little ere morning: "Thrust ye on, hold ye back, Now all harm is wrought, To tell of my sorrow, Or to let all slip by me?"
Then hastened the sweet-faced Delight of the shield-folk, Bright in the fair hall, Wine to bear to them: The dreadful woman Gave dainties withal To the lords pale with fate, Laid strange word upon Atli: "The hearts of thy sons Hast thou eaten, sword-dealer, All bloody with death And drenched with honey: In most heavy mood Brood o'er venison of men!
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