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All night lay a-hiding, Our anger abiding, Dark down in the wood The sharp seekers of blood; But ere red grew the heaven we bore them all bare, For against us undriven the foemen must fare; They sought and they found us, and sorrowed to find, For the tree-boles around us the story shall mind, How fast from the glooming they fled to the light, Yeasaying the dooming of Tyr of the fight.
Such are the redes of wise men when they go a-warring. But we have no will to go back home again made rich with your wealth; this hath been far from our thought in this matter. And there went up a murmur from all the Burgdalers yeasaying his word.
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