The second.  What has assembled us? and here where scarcely
A sword has flashed since days of Jotun Ymer,
Was it a god or destiny which drove us?

The first. Thou knowest that the morning sun illumines
Ten thousand spears on Scotland’s heathy mountains;
High beats with joy each warrior’s heart.  In silence,
They forward press, and only wait my on-cry. 
Thither would I—­but hear the strange adventure
Which stopp’d my flight upon these rocks.  Envelop’d
In a black, tempest, I a Finman follow’d,
Who boldly climb’d the mountain summits,
And sprang o’er every yawning rift undaunted: 
Then saw I Hothbrod’s valiant son.  I saw him
As in the brook he cleans from dust his armour,
And sharp’d laboriously his rusty dagger,
And prov’d upon the pine’s thick stem his falchion;
Then brandish’d he his hunting-spear:  far backward
He drew his nervous arm; I heard the weapon
Hiss, but my eye beheld it scarce a moment,
For like the lightning which the black clouds swallow
It vanished, and the heir vainly sought it. 
Then look’d I round about, and saw my Finman,
Who held the spear and laugh’d; I storm’d with fury. 
Then down he plung’d within a midnight chasm;
And from the deep uprose a voice like thunder
Which slowly booms among the Finnish deserts. 
“Unarm’d,” it bellow’d, “shall the warrior perish? 
Wither shall he of age, and deep in Haelheim
Be hidden, far from Odin, far from Valhall.” 
Angry, I rooted up the oaks in search of
A spear for battle’s friend—­and this I fix’d on;
I gave it tempest’s speed and strength to humble
Each warrior whom it smiteth, when with wonder
Of thy fast sounding voice I heard an echo.

The second.  Ye stars! what sorcery!  But to me now listen! 
I hasten’d unto Hortha’s gloomy forests,
To glut myself in Roman blood; then look’d I
Down from the thunder-cloud in which I journey’d,
And on these towering hills my eyes I fastened;
Then saw I Denmark’s Hother, prince of battle,
Like the rock-pine, which o’er the ocean beetles;
He stood, and storm-winds with his locks were playing,
Then from the brake a wolf sprang, grim and frightful,
And big as Fenri’s Wolf:  the Skoldung saw it,
And brandish’d high his spear.  Forth went it booming,
As booming goes from the cold North a whirlwind;
Straight vanished wolf and spear; but deep a-forest
Was heard as from a thousand wolves a howling. 
“See, see,” it howl’d, “the Skoldung Hother loses
His spear, and in his hand the sword is fragile. 
Now have we peace, and Norway’s Kemps may slumber.” 
Disturb’d at such dark sorcery, I seiz’d on
The spear of steel thou see’st, and laid lightning
And fiends’ death on its point, when I beheld thee.