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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA 173
Yet often, too, brake I
Shields in the vale,
Shields on the wave, and I never grew pale.
"Now will I carve amain
Geirsodd, and, bleeding,
No straw-death, ill-seeming a King, I ’11 receive;
Nor is the parting pain
Worth monarch’s heeding;
It scarce can be harder to die than to live."
So carveth he sprightly
Letters for Odin,
Into bosom and arm the deep death-runes are pressed;
Shining forth brightly,
Thick blood-drops flowed on,
Trickling through silver hairs over his breast.
" Reach forth the horn;
Loud skal shall arise
Skal to thy glory, thou beautiful North!
Plentiful corn,
And counsellors wise,
And labor in peace for thee sought I on earth.
"Vainly and wildly
In conquest I sought her,
Sought I for peace, who still further did flee;
Now stands she mildly,
The grave’s gentle daughter,
At the feet of the gods she is waiting for me.
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