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82
ARNLJOT GELLINE
Time, sons of trouble,
The toil to be winning.
Wake aye, and wake aye,
Heads of the friend-folk!
All ye of the foremost
Fellows of Adils.
“High, the hard-gripping
Hrolf of the shooting,
Kin-worthy men
Who will not of fleeing.
To wine naught I wake you,
Nor whispers of women;
But up do I wake you
To Hilda’s hard play.”
Stave after stave he sang it.
Soon was there turbulent life
Throughout the awakened camp;
Coldly the landscape gleamed,
Autumn-clear was the air,
The river flowed on in the sun,
The woods with color were lit. . .
Beat then as one
Hearts that were longing for home.
To fight for the land beloved,
Fight for a king so dear,
Fight against Odin, his wiles,
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