heart’s desire; Now I would that the dewy night-grass might be to thy feet as the fire, And shrivel thy raiment about thee, and leave thee bare to the flame, And no way but a fiery furnace for the road whereby ye came!  But since the folk of God-home we may not slay nor smite, And that fool of the folk that thou lovest, thou hast saved in my despite, Take with thee, thief of God-home, this other word I say:  Since the safeguard wrought in the ring-mail I may not do away I lay this curse upon it, that whoso weareth the same, Shall save his life in the battle, and have the battle’s shame; He shall live through wrack and ruin, and ever have the worse, And drag adown his kindred, and bear the people’s curse.’

“Lo, this the tale of the Hauberk, and I knew it for the truth:  And little I thought of the kindreds; of their day I had no ruth; For I said, They are doomed to departure; in a little while must they wane, And nought it helpeth or hindreth if I hold my hand or refrain.  Yea, thou wert become the kindred, both thine and mine; and thy birth To me was the roofing of heaven, and the building up of earth.  I have loved, and I must sorrow; thou hast lived, and thou must die; Ah, wherefore were there others in the world than thou and I?”

He turned round to her and clasped her strongly in his arms again, and kissed her many times and said: 

   “Lo, here art thou forgiven; and here I say farewell! 
   Here the token of my wonder which my words may never tell;
   The wonder past all thinking, that my love and thine should blend;
   That thus our lives should mingle, and sunder in the end! 
   Lo, this, for the last remembrance of the mighty man I was,
   Of thy love and thy forbearing, and all that came to pass! 
   Night wanes, and heaven dights her for the kiss of sun and earth;
   Look up, look last upon me on this morn of the kindreds’ mirth!”

Therewith he arose and lingered no minute longer, but departed, going as straight towards the Thing-stead and the Folk-mote of his kindred as the swallow goes to her nest in the hall-porch.  He looked not once behind him, though a bitter wailing rang through the woods and filled his heart with the bitterness of her woe and the anguish of the hour of sundering.

CHAPTER XXVII—­THEY WEND TO THE MORNING BATTLE

Now when Thiodolf came back to the camp the signs of dawn were plain in the sky, the moon was low and sinking behind the trees, and he saw at once that the men were stirring and getting ready for departure.  He looked gladly and blithely at the men he fell in with, and they at him, and scarce could they refrain a shout when they beheld his face and the brightness of it.  He went straight up to where the Hall-Sun was yet sitting under her namesake, with Arinbiorn standing before her amidst of a ring of leaders of hundreds and scores:  but old Sorli sat by her side clad in all his war-gear.