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THIRTEENTH SONG
THE COMING OF ARNLJOT
‘Turovucu the sea of people,
To the King’s circle guarded,
Strode a man gold-helmeted,
Clad in cuirass and mail-hose,
Slowly approached the royal presence.
Spear in hand silver-hilted,
Sword for the mightiest only,
Shield hooked upon his shoulder,
Shining his weapons and armor,
Gleaming his eye on the King rested.
Richly the hair round the helmet
Fell all about his shoulders;
Noble and open his visage,
Proud was his chieftain bearing.
Toward him turned the King’s guard at
his coming.
All of the host could reckon
None that might reach his shoulder,
Up they looked with wonder,
Shrank aside as he passed them.
Halted he there in the King’s presence.
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