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Bare-legged we trudged through the snow,
But when we came to Torsvold,
Saw we the fire upleaping,
Heard we the shrieks of anguish.
The women fled, and the cattle
Madly rushed into the flames.
Brightly the corn was burning,
The barnyard-fowl flapped their wings,
To the glee of trolls fell the roof-tree,
High laughed the flames to the heavens,
My father lay there beneath them,
Breathing a prayer for revenge.
Vikar was fourteen winters
Old, and eight I had seen,
But when from Torsvold we departed
Full-grown men were we both.
“Of the forty we saw there reddened
In the light of the funeral pyre,
Pale now have waxed nine and thirty,
Ne’er will they redden again.
But the last of them here now is sitting,
Respected, and living in comfort;
To him once more will I speak,
Ere I depart this night. —
“Hear, Iamtlanders: ye took my father,
Drove me out in the snow,
Quenched all the joy in my life,
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