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Updated: May 17, 2025
Now his feet are they hearkening, and now is he come, With his battle-wounds darkening the door of his home, Unbyrnied, unshielded, and lonely he stands, And the sword that he wielded is gone from his hands Hands outstretched and bearing no spoil of the fight, As speechless, unfearing, he stands in their sight.
"So there we abided a while moving nought, and Thiodolf stood with Throng- plough on his shoulder, unhelmed, unbyrnied, as though he trusted to the kindred for all defence. Nor for their part did the Romans dare to leave their vantage-ground, when they beheld what grim countenance we made them.
I see the ancient fallen, and the young man smitten dead, And yet I see the War-duke shake Throng-plough o'er his head, And stand unhelmed, unbyrnied before the alien host, And the hurt men rise around him to win back battle lost; And the wood yield up her warriors, and the whole host rushing on, And the swaying lines of battle until the lost is won.
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