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Demanded aloud of the circle
If there were further complaints.
Jumping up in a moment
Many there were who shouted:
“Highwaymen and hungry robbers
Steal both our goods and cattle.
The worst is Arnljot Gelline,
And the man called Gauta-Tore.
Ne’er can the Iamtlanders live in peace,
While those twain are alive.”
A man then rose up among them,
So tall that they all shrank backward,
No one reached to his shoulder,
Flung he aside his cowl,
Golden his helmet, his cloak
Blazed with a brilliant scarlet,
A mighty sword at his side,
A spear-shaft clenched in his hand.
The moon broke forth in the heavens,
Raising its yellow lantern,
Lighted his face for a moment,
Revealing it clear, and went out.
Wild cried the folk, drew their swords:
“Arnljot Gelline, ay, it is he!
Varg i veum, what wilt thou here?
Dost yearn for the sight of Hel?”
Swords were singing and shields were ringing,
Surged the folk like a mountain-torrent;
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