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FIFTEENTH SONG
THE NIGHT AFTER
Ir was midnight, Tore Hund
Sat on a rock by the King’s body ;
Even then the limbs he had straightened.
The King’s blood
Burned his hand.
The King’s blood his wounded hand
Straightway had healed, when he touched it.
Quiet sat Tore, deeply musing;
Groaned at times
With remorse.
Round about the field were lights;
Wives and mothers their own were seeking;
Here were the sobs and groans of the wounded,
Yonder a dog’s
Long lament.
Lines of the battle were clearly marked,
In the dark lay heaps of corpses.
The friend was plucked from among the strangers;
Tender hands
Bore him home.
On the farmsteads round about,
Lights were gleaming from barns and houses.
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