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Wrapped in shame and remorse.
Each man his past life scanned,
Mindful of words of the fathers.
Memories awakened and gleamed,
Striking their way through the gloom,
Swords leaped forth, and forward
The crowd again pressed its way.
With pale face Arnljot Gelline,
Calmly facing his hearers,
Rapping for silence, addressed them:
“Let me have speech first of all!”
Then at his right hand’s gesture,
The men who by him stood nearest
Cast off their cloaks, revealing
Armor and gleaming swords.
As when at night through the window
Unexpected the lightning flashes,
Upon the throng fell a silence,
His every word was clear.
“Robber you called me when hither I came….
But you forget, Iamtlanders,
That first you robbed me of all
That made life precious to me.
Highwayman also you called me,
But you forget, Iamtlanders,
That you in treacherous highwayman fashion
Burned down my father’s farmstead.
Murderer also you called me,
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