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 296 MORRIS

So forbear, if ye wander hood-winked, nor for nothing

slay and be slain; For I know not what to tell you of the dead that

live again.'

So he saith in the midst of the foemen with his war- flame reared on high,

But all about and around him goes up a bitter cry

From the iron men of Atli, and the bickering of the steel

Sends a roar up to the roof-ridge, and the Niblung war-ranks reel

Behind the steadfast Gunnar: but lo! have ye seen the corn,

While yet men grind the sickle, by the wind-streak overborne

When the sudden rain sweeps downward, and sum- mer groweth black,

And the smitten wood-side roareth 'neath the driv- ing thunder- wrack ?

So before the wise-heart Hogni shrank the champions of the East,

As his great voice shook the timbers in the hall of Atli's feast.

There he smote, and beheld not the smitten, and by nought were his edges stopped;

He smote, and the dead were thrust from him; a hand with its shield he lopped;

There met him Alti's marshal, and his arm at the shoulder he shred;

Three swords were upreared against him of the best of the kin of the dead;

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