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XXIII
RING’S DRAPA
In the grave sitteth
Ring, greatest of monarchs;
Beside him his battle-sword,
Shield on his arm;
His charger, the noble,
Neighing beneath him,
With gilded hoof paweth
The wall of his grave.
Richly now rideth
Ring over Bifrost,
Arched is the bridge
Which to meet him descends;
Wide spring the portals
Of noble Valhalla,
Gods grasp, rejoicing,
The chief by the hand.
Thor is not present,
Far off he warreth;
Valfader beckons,
The beaker is brought;
The crown of the monarch
With corn-ears Frey decketh;
And flowers among them
Doth Frigga entwine.
Brage, the aged,
Sweepeth the harp-strings,
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