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120
FRITHIOF’S SAGA
And if I wander there to-day,
To-morrow may fetch thee."
Now, noble Frithiof, widely praised,
The strife to finish thought,
Keen Angurvadel high he raised,
But Atle trembled not.
This touched his mighty victor’s soul,
And laid his anger low;
He checked the stroke, with glad control,
And raised his fallen foe.
Then loud the aged Halvar cried,
His white staff raising forth,
"Through this your strife ye have supplied
But little cause for mirth.
Long since the silver dishes high
Send forth their steaming breath,
And fish and flesh grow cold, whilst I
Am thirsting unto death."
Now reconciled, the warriors bold
Pass through the open door,
And much did Frithiof there behold
He ne’er had seen before.
No rough-hewn planks here cover
The naked walls so wide;
But leather, gilded over,
With flowers and berries bright.
Not on the centre pavement glowed
The fire, with merry glare,
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