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Updated: August 20, 2024
There drank the great folk 'Mid the guileful one's silence, Drank wine in their fair hall: The Huns' wrath they feared When Knefrud cried In his cold voice, As he sat on the high seat, That man of the Southland: "Atli has sent me Riding swift on his errands On the bit-griping steed Through dark woodways unbeaten, To bid thee, King Gunnar, Come to his fair bench With helm well-adorned, To the house of King Atli.
Then the bold knights Let their bit-griping steeds Wend swift o'er the fells, Tread the murk-wood unknown, All the Hunwood was shaking As the hardy ones fared there; O'er the green meads they urged Their steeds shy of the goad.
"Shield shall ye have there And spears ashen-shafted, Helms ruddy with gold, And hosts of the Huns; Saddle-gear silver gilt, Shirts red as blood, The hedge of the warwife, And horses bit-griping. "And he saith he will give you Gnitaheath widespread, And whistling spears And prows well-gilded, Might wealth With the stead of Danpi, And that noble wood Men name the Murkwood."
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