Sigurðarkviða Hin Skamma, a reading
Episode Stats
Harmful content
Misogyny
6
sentences flagged
Toxicity
1
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Hate speech
39
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Summary
The story of Sigurth, the hero of the sagas, is one of the most famous sagas in Norse Mythology. It is the epic of the saga of a young man named Sigrth, who fights his way across the ice to save his beloved wife, Gudrun.
Transcript
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Guthron Arkvitha I is immediately followed in the Codex Regius by a long poem which in the manuscript bears the heading Sigrth Arkvitha, but which is clearly referred to in the prose link between it and Guthron Arkvitha I as the short lay of Sigrth.
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The discrepancy between this reference and the obvious length of the poem has led to
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many conjectures, but the explanation seems to be that the long Sigurðle, of which the
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Brot is presumably a part, was materially longer even than this poem.
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The efforts to reduce the short Sigurðle to dimensions which would justify the appellation
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in comparison to other poems in the collection, either by separating it into two poems or
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by the rejection of many stanzas as interpolations, have been utterly inconclusive.
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Although there are probably several interpolated passages, and indications of omissions are
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not lacking, the poem as we now have it seems to be a distinct and coherent unit. From the
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narrative point of view it leaves a good deal to be desired, for the reasons that the poet's
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object was by no means to tell a story with which his hearers were quite familiar, but
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to use the narrative simply as the background for vivid and powerful characterization. The
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The lyric element, as Malk puts out, overshadows the epic throughout, and the fact that there
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are frequent confusions of narrative tradition does not trouble the poet at all.
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The material on which the poem was based seems to have existed in both prose and verse form.
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The poet was almost certainly familiar with some of the other poems in the edit collection,
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with poems which have since been lost, and with narrative prose traditions which never
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The fact that he seems to have known and used the Odrunagrater, which can hardly have been
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composed before 1050, and that in any case he introduces the figure of Odrun, a relatively
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The late addition to the story dates the poem as late as the end of the 11th century or
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There has been much discussion as to where it was composed, the debate centering chiefly
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There is something to be said in favor of Greenland as the original home of the poem.
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See introductory note to Atlokvitha, but the arguments for Iceland are even stronger.
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Norway in this case is practically out of the question.
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The narrative features of the poem are based on the German rather than the Norse settlements
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the introductory note to Gripispa, but the poet has taken whatever material he wanted
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without much discrimination as to its source. By the year 1100, the story of Sigurd, with
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its allied legends, existed throughout the Norse, in many and varied forms, and the poem
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slowly traces variants of the main story, which do not appear elsewhere.
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Of old did Sigurð Gjöcki seek the Volsung young in battle's victor.
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Well, he trusted the brothers twain, with mighty oaths among them sworn, a maid they
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they gave him and jewels many, Guthrun the young, the daughter of Gyuki.
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They drank and spake for many a day, Sigurth the young and Gyuki's sons.
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Thereafter went they, Brynhild to woo, and so with them did Sigurth ride.
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The Volsung young in battle valiance himself would have had her if all he had seen.
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The southern hero his naked sword Fair flashing let between them lie,
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The hunnish king in his arms ne'er held The maiden he gave to Gyuki's sons.
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Ill she had known not in all her life, And not of the sorrows of men she knew.
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Dream she had not, nor dream she could bear it, But cruel the fates that among them came.
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By herself at the end of day she sat, And in open words her heart she uttered,
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I shall Sigurd have the hero young, In, then, within my arms he dies.
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Off did she go with grieving heart, On the glacier's ice at eventide,
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When Guthryn then to her bed was gone, And the bedclothes Sigurth about her laid.
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Now Gyuki's child to her lover goes, And the hunnish king with his wife is happy.
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Joyless am I in the maidless ever, Till cries for my heavy heart burst forth.
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In her wrath to battle she aroused herself, Good are now, thou needs must loose,
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Lands of mine and me myself, No joy shall I have with the hero ever.
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Back shall I fare where first I dwelt, Among the kin that come of my race,
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To wait there, sleeping my life away, If Sigurd's death thou shalt not dare,
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The sun shall fare with his father hence, And let not long the wolf cub live,
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lighter to pay is the vengeance price and the deed if the son is dead sad was gunnar and bowed with
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grief deep in thought the whole day through yet from his heart if was ever hid what deed most
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fitting he should find or what thing best for him should be or if he should seek the volsung to slay
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Much he pondered for many an hour, Never before was the wonder known,
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That a queen should thus her kingdom leave, In council then did he hogni call,
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More than all to me is Brennhild, Brutli's child the best of women,
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My very life would I sooner lose Than yield the love of yonder maid.
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Wilt thou the hero for wealth betray, Twere good to have the gold of the Rhine,
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And all the horde in peace to hold, And waiting fortune thus to win?
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the words of Hogniwar. Us, it beseems, not so to do, to cleave with swords the oaths
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we swore, the oaths we swore in all our vows. We know no mightier men on earth, the while
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we four o'er the folks hold sway. And while the hunnish hero lives, no higher kinship
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the world doth hold. If sons we five shall soon beget, great, methinks, our race shall
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grow, while I see whence lead the ways. To bitter far is Prenhild's hate.
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Gunnar spake, Gothon to Wrath, we needs must rouse, our younger brother in rashness blind.
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The foaming cleft asunder fell, forward hands and head did sink, and legs and feet did backwards
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Guthrun soft in her bed had slept, safe from care at Sigurd's side.
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She woke to find her joy had fled, in the blood of the friend of Freyr she lay.
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So hard she smote her hands together, That the hero rose up iron-hearted.
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Weep not, Guthrun, grievous tears, Bride so young, for thy brothers live.
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Too young, methinks, is my son as yet, He cannot flee from the home of his foes.
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Fearful and deadly, the plan they found, The council knew that now they have heeded.
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No sun will ride, though seven thou hast, To the same as the sun of their sister rides.
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While I see who the ill has worked, On Brynhild alone lies the blame for all.
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Above all men the maiden loved me, Yet false to Gunnar I ne'er was found.
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I kept the oaths and the kinship I swore, Of his queen, the lover, none may call me.
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In a swoon she sank when Sigurd died, So hard she smote her hands together,
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That all the cups in the cupboard rang, And loud in the courtyard cried the geese.
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Then Brynhir, daughter of Boorthy, laughed Only once with all her heart.
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When as she lay, for loud she heard The grievous wear of Gielki's daughter.
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Then Gunnar, monarch of men, spake forth, Thou dost not laugh, thou lover of hate,
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Why is thy face so white a hue, Mother of ill, for doomed thou art?
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A worthier woman wist thou have been, If before thine eyes we had utterly slain,
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If thy brother's bleeding body hast seen, And the bloody wounds that thou shist end?
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For Inhalid spake, None mock me thee, Gunnar, Thou hast mightily fought,
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But thy hatred little dotatly heed, Longer than thou, methinks, shall he live,
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To thee I say, and thyself thou knowest, That all these ills thou didst early shape,
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No bonds I knew, nor sorrow bore, And wealth I had from them my brother's home.
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Never a husband sought I to have, Before the gyukings fared to our land.
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Three were the kings on steeds that came, Near the journey never there was.
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To the hero great my trough I gave, Who gold-deck sat on granny's back,
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Not like to shine was the light of his eyes, Nor like in form and face are ye.
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Though kingly both ye seemed to be, And so to me did Arthi say,
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That share in our wealth I should have had.
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Of gold our land, if my hand I gave not, More evil yet the wealth I should yield.
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The gold that he in my childhood gave me, The wealth from him in my youth I had.
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Often my mind I pondered much, If still I should fight and warriors fell,
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Brave in my barney, my brother defying, That would wide in the world be known,
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But the bond at last I let be made, For more the horde I longed to have,
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To the rings that the son of Sigmund won, No other's treasure e'er I sought.
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One alone of all I loved, Nor a changing heart I ever had,
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All in the end shall aptly know, When he hears I have gone on the death-road hence.
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Were a wife of fickle will, Yet to another man should yield,
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Up rose Gunnar, the people's ruler, And slung his arms round her neck so fair,
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And all who came of every kind Sought to hold her with all their hearts.
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With box she cast, and all those came, Nor from the long road let them hold her.
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In counsel then did he Hogni call, Of wisdom full great is our need.
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Let the warriors here in the hall come forth, Thine and mine, for the need is mighty.
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If haply the queen from death they may hold, Till her fearful thoughts with time shall
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fade. Few the words of Hogni were, From the long road now shall ye hold her not,
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that born again she may be never. Foul she came from her mother forth, and born she was
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As for wicked deeds, sorrow, to many a man to bring.
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From the speaker gloomily Gunnar turned, for the jewel-bearer her gems were dividing.
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Of all her wealth her eyes were gazing on the bond-woman slain and the slaughterer-slaves.
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Her burning of gold she donned, and grim was her heart e'er the point of her sword had
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pierced it. On the pillow at last her head she laid, and wounded her plan she pondered
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over. Hither I will let my women come, who gold
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are fain from me to get, necklaces fashioned fair to catch, shall I give and clothe the
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Silent were all's as she saith bake, And all together answer made,
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Slain are enough we seek to live, That thus thy women shall honour win.
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Long the women, linen decked, pondered, Young she was, and waited her words.
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For my sake now shall none unwilling or loath to die
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Her life lay down, but little of gems to gleam on your limbs.
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Thy ship in harbor, home thou hast not, Although my life I now have lost.
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Thou shalt gooth-room requite, More requite, quick than thou thinkest.
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Thou sadly mourns the maiden-wise, Who dwells with the king or her husband dead.
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A maid shall then, the mother bear, Brighter far than the fairest day.
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Svanhild shall be o'er the beams of the sun, Guthrun a noble husband thou givest,
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Yet to many a warrior, woe will she bring, Not happily wedded she holds herself.
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shall aptly hither seek Boothly's son and brother of mine.
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Well I remember how me ye treated, when ye betrayed me with treacherous wiles.
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Odrun his wife thou fain wouldst win, and aughty this from thee withholds, yet in secret
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triest, ye twain shall love, she shall hold thee dear as I had done, if kindly fate to
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us hath fallen, ill thee shall atli bring, when he cast thee down in the din of snakes,
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but soon thereafter atli too, his life methinks as thou shalt lose, his future forged and
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lose, and the lives of his sons, him shall Guthrum, grim of heart, with a biting blade
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It would better be seen thy sister fair, to follow her husband first in death, if counsel
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good to her were given, or a heart akin to mine she had.
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Slowly I speak, but for my sake her life methinks
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The tossing waves toward Yonok rules her father's realm
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But Svaden heared, far away ascent, The child she bowed her to Sigurd's brave.
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Bicky's word her death shall be, For dreadful the wrath of Jormann Rick,
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So slain is all of Sigurd's race, And greater the woe of Guthrun grows.
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Yet one boon, I beg of thee, The last of boons in my life it is,
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Let the pyre be built so broad in the field that the room for us all will ample be for
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With shields and carpets cover the pyre, shrouds full fair and fallen slaves, and besides the
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hunish hero burn me, beside the hunish hero there, slaves shall burn full bravely decked
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Two at once, his head, and two at his feet, A brace of hounds and a pair of hawks,
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Yet between us lie once more, The steel so keen as so it lay,
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When both within one bed were born, And wedded mates by men were called.
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The door of the hall shall strike not the heel, Of the hero fair with flashing rings.
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If hence my following goes with him, Not mean or faring, forth shall be.
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Bond women five shall follow him, And eight of my thralls well-born are they.
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Children with me and mine they are, As gifts that Boothley his daughter gave.
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Much have I told thee, and more would say, If fate more space for speech had given.
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My voice grows weak, my wounds are swelling, Truth had I said, and so I died.