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on the bloodstained snow: the wind is chill; And there a thousand tombless warriors lie, Grasping their swords, wild-featured: all are still: Above them the black ravens wheel and cry.

A brilliant moon sends her cold light abroad: Hialmar arises from the reddened slain, Leaning heavily on his shattered sword, And bleeding from his side the battle-rain.

"Hail to you all: is there one breath still drawn Among those fierce and fearless lads that played So merrily, and sang as sweet in the dawn As thrushes singing in the bramble shade?