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"So he saith in the midst of the foemen with his war-flame reared on high, But all about and around him goes up a bitter cry From the iron men of Atli, and the bickering of the steel Sends a roar up to the roof-ridge, and the Niblung war-ranks reel Behind the steadfast Gunnar: but lo, have ye seen the corn, While yet men grind the sickle, by the wind streak overborne When the sudden rain sweeps downward, and summer groweth black, And the smitten wood-side roareth 'neath the driving thunder-wrack?
"Then the rain grew less, and one corner of the veil of clouds was raised, And as from the broidered covering gleams out the shoulder white Of the bed-mate of the warrior when on his wedding night He layeth his hand to the linen; so, down there in the west Gleamed out the naked heaven: but the wrath rose up in my breast, And the sword in my hand rose with it, and I leaped and hewed at the Hun; And from him too flared the war-flame, and the blades danced bright in the sun Come back to the earth for a little before the ending of day.
"The dreadful dweller of the cave Great strokes and many 'gainst me drave; Full hard he had to strive for it, But toiling long he wan no whit; For from its mighty shaft of tree The heft-sax smote I speedily; And dulled the flashing war-flame fair In the black breast that met me there."
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