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TENTH SONG
IN; THE CAMP
Camp they have pitched, it is well-nigh dark,
Outstretched lie the men in the field, the wood skirting ;
Bonfires of brushwood dot all the ground,
Some of them half-quenched,
Others smoking; sleep overcomes them.
Forth from the forest emerge two men,
Between the groups of men whetting their weapons,
Now over others, asleep ’neath their shields,
Onward they grope
Until before the King’s fire they stand.
Fur-clad and tall, like giants they loomed,
Their hair and beard was matted and tangled,
Broad-axes at side, spear-shafts in hand,
No shields they bore,
Over their backs their bows were slung.
Their heads they bared not; stiffly they stood
Before the King’s presence, staring at him
In the half-light of the dying fire,
Darkness behind,
Like two wild beasts they emerged from the night.
Sat the King there ’midst a ring of men,
The bishop, Finn Arnesson, and Bjorn Stallar,
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