’Twixt the two, on a bear-skin (black as a coal was this bear-skin, Scarlet the mouth, while the tips of the claws were with bright silver shining), Thorstein among his friends sat—­hospitality ministering to Gladness.

Oft when the moon in the heavens was riding, the old man related
Wonders of foreign lands seen by him when as a viking he journeyed,
Far on the waves of the Baltic, the White, and the Northern seas tossing. 
Mutely the company listened.  Fixed were their eyes on the speaker,
Even as bees upon roses; the poet was thinking of Brage,*

(Bra’-gay)

Brage with silver beard flowing, and tongue clothed in wisdom the choicest, Sitting ’neath shadowy birches, telling a story by Mimer’s Unceasingly murmuring fountain, he too a saga unending.  Covered with straw was the floor, and upon a walled hearth in the center, Constantly burned, warm and cheerful, a fire, while down the wide chimney Twinkling stars, heavenly friends, glanced upon guest and hall, quite unforbidden.

Studded with nails were the walls, and upon them were hanging Helmets and coats-of-mail closely together; also between them Here and there flashed down a sword, like a meteor shooting at evening.  Brighter than helmet or sword were the sparkling shields ranged round the chamber; Bright as the time of the sun were they, clear as the moon’s disc of silver.  Oft as the horns needed filling, there passed round the table a maiden; Modestly blushing she cast down her eyes, her beautiful image Mirrored appeared in the shields, and gladdened the heart of each warrior.

Rich was the house, and the eye of the stranger, whichever way gazing,
Rested on cellar well filled, or on pantry or press overflowing. 
Jewels the rarest, trophies of conquest, gleamed in profusion;
Gold carved in runes with great skill, and wonderful things wrought in silver. 
Chief in this limitless treasure three things were most of all valued.

First of the three was a sword, which from sire and from grandsire descended. 
Called Angervadil, or grief-wader, sometimes, too, brother of lightning. 
Far, far away in the East it was forged—­so at least says the story—­
Tempered in fire by the dwarfs.  Bjorn Bluetooth the first one who bore it.

Bjorn lost at once both the sword and his life in a bravely-fought battle,
Southward in Groning Sound, where he struggled with Vifil the powerful. 
Vifil’s possessions descended to Viking.

At Woolen-Acre,
Old and infirm, there lived a great king with a beautiful daughter. 
See, from the depths of the forest there cometh a giant misshapen,
Higher in stature than man, a monster ferocious and shaggy,
Boldly demanding a hand-to-hand combat, or kingdom and daughter.

No one, however, accepted the challenge, for none had a weapon
Able his hard skull to pierce, and therefore they called him the Iron-skull.