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And when Fear saw she in such state

Equipped, her sword, keen-edged as fate,

She set her hand upon, which hight

A Touch-of-Pride (thereof ’twas dight),

And when it flew from out the sheath,

More bright than beryl-stone beneath

The new-born sun’s first rays ’twas seen.

Terror-of-Peril, as I ween,

Fear had for shield, set round with pain

And labour; and she then would fain

Cleave Hide-Well through, and thereby take

Swift vengeance for her cousin’s sake.

With mighty force against his shield

She struck, which ’neath the blow did yield,

And tottering helplessly, he fell.

Courage, with cry like tocsin bell,

He called, who ran in great alarm

Thither, for if Fear’s potent arm

Had once more struck his bruisèd head,

For aye had Hide-Well lain stark dead.

Courage, alike in deed and word,

Was ever bold and true; his sword

For gleaming brightness well beseen,

Was with the steel of fury keen.

Unto his shield, of glorious fame,

Scorner-of-Death, he gave the name,

And all around its border bright

With Joy-in-Danger was it dight.

With madness against Fear he rushed,

With one stroke deeming to have crushed

Her might. But she the stroke let fall,

Leaping aside, for knew she all