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Saw he the vision of Olaf Digre
Majestic in Odin’s seat,
Vowed ’t was a wile of the Jotuns,
Sought to strike out with his fist,
Failed him the effort, then sank he
Down in a drunken sleep.
Midwinter at hand, and the cattle
Bellowed and lowed in their stalls,
Knowing the sledge sacrificial
Stood all ready to smite.
The horses whinnied, at halters strained,
Turned away from their fodder,
Bloodthirsty Odin they scented,
And his croaking attendant ravens.
The folk all gathered together,
More than the place could lodge,
Filled all the houses and barns,
And the booths that were built to bestow them.
By day there were altar-offerings,
And drinking deep in the night.
Lawman Tore had come,
Three days had the Thing held session.
Truce was proclaimed, grievances aired,
The law was laid down, and the tribute
Prepared for the Swedish king,
To whom was pledged their support.
The twilight of eve was at hand,
When Lawman Tore arose,
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