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“ Who are these heroes tall,-
Lusty-limbed Longbeards ?
Over the swans' bath
Why cry they to me?
Bones should be crashing fast,
Wolves should be full-fed,
Where'er such, mad-hearted,
Swing hands in the sword-play.”

Sweetly laughed Freya :-
“A name thou hast given them
Shames neither thee nor them,
Well can they wear it.
Give them the victory,
First have they greeted thee;
Give them the victory.
Yokefellow mine!
Maidens and wives are these,
Wives of the Winils ;
Few are their heroes
And far on the war-road,
So over the swans' bath
They cry unto thee.”

Royally laughed he then ;
Dear was that craft to him,
Odin Allfather,
Shaking the clouds.

“ Cunning are women all,
Bold and importunate !
Longbeards their name shall be,
Ravens shall thank them :
Where the women are heroes,
What must the men be like?
Theirs is the victory;
No need of me!” *

* This punning legend may be seen in Paul Warnefrid's Gesta Langobardorum. Unfortunately, however, for the story, Lângbardr is said by the learned to have nothing to do with beards at all, but probably to mean “Longswords.” The metre and language are intended as imitations of those of the earlier Eddaic poems.

A. D. 1100.

Evil sped the battle play
On the Pope Calixtus' day,
Mighty war-smiths, thanes and lords,
In Sangelac slept the sleep of swords,
Harold Earl shot over shield,
Lay along the autumn weald ;
Slaughter such was never none
Since the Ethelings England won.

Thither Lady Githa came, Weeping sore for grief and shame, How may she her first-born tell? Frenchmen stript him where he fell, Gashed and marred his comely face, Who can know him in his place ?

Up and spake two brethren wise, “ Youngest hearts have keenest eyes ; Bird which leaves its mother's nest, Moults its pinion, moults its crest. Let us call the Swan-neck here, She that was his lemman dear, She shall know him in his stound; Foot of colt, and scent of hound, Eye of hawk, and wing of dove, Carry woman to her love."

Up and spake the Swan-neck high, “Go! to all your thanes, let cry How I loved him best of all, I whom men his lemman call ; Better knew his body fair Than the mother, which him bare. When ye lived in health and glee Then ye scorned to look on me ; God hath brought the proud ones low After me afoot to go.”

Rousing erne, and sallow glede, Rousing gray-wolf off his feed, Over franklin, earl, and thane, Heaps of mother-naked slain ; Round the red field tracing slow, Stooped that swan-neck white as snow ; Never blushed, nor turned away, Till she found him where he lay. Clipt him in her armés fair, Wrapt him in her yellow hair, Bore him from the battle-stead, Saw him laid in pall of lead, Took her to a minster high, For Earl Harold's soul to cry.

Thus fell Harold, bracelet-giver;
Jesu rest his soul forever ;
Angels all from thrall deliver ;

Miserere Domine.

A. D. 1400.


It was Earl Haldan's daughter
She look'd across the sea ;
She look’d across the water,
And long and loud laugh'd she:
“ The locks of six princesses

Must be my marriage-fee,
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat !

Who comes a-wooing me!”


It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She walked along the sand ;
When she was aware of a knight so fair,
Come sailing to the land.
His sails were all of velvet,

His mast of beaten gold,
And “hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat,

Who saileth here so bold ? ”


“ The locks of five princesses
I won beyond the sea ;
I shore their golden tresses,
To fringe a cloak for thee.

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