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the glory of the service and the girl he left behind
him. For the text, see Corpus Poeticum Boreale, ii.,
pp. 106-108; but the bald abstract there given hardly
renders the spirit of the original :—
Marching up the country,—on ! before they know
Deeds are doing, shields are shining, roofs are lying low ;
Up, heart ! wave and waft the weapon of Odin’s Maid,
And the English throng will hurry along in flight before the
blade.
There’s many a man in the realm where we were bred and
born
Has donned his easy old coat and flytes his fellow this very
morn ;
While here’s a lad in a shirt of steel the smith with his hammer
has sewed
Goes singing abroad to feed the crows their fill of English
blood.
There’s one in the glad of the gloaming—what cares he forth
to roam ?
He’s shy to redden the scathe of shields—he kisses a girl at
home ;
He’ll carry no shield to England for glory and gold this year,
But bides with Steinvor, North of Stad. in Norway with my
dear.
’Thought me, when I spied them, Thorkel’s folk were fain
—The song of the sword they never shirk—to tread the battle-
plain ;
And awhile aga at Ringmere Heath we pushed into the fray,
We stood the storm of iron, with our host in war-array.
Knut gave the word,—he bade us make a stand ;
He held a shield among us when we fought by London
strand ;
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