So now she lifted up her voice and sang so that many heard her; for at this moment of time there was a lull in the clamour of battle both within the garth and without; even as it happens when the thunder-storm is just about to break on the world, that the wind drops dead, and the voice of the leaves is hushed before the first great and near flash of lightening glares over the fields.

So she sang: 

   “Now the latest hour cometh and the ending of the strife;
   And to-morrow and to-morrow shall we take the hand of life,
   And wend adown the meadows, and skirt the darkling wood,
   And reap the waving acres, and gather in the good. 
   I see a wall before me built up of steel and fire,
   And hurts and heart-sick striving, and the war-wright’s fierce desire;
   But there-amidst a door is, and windows are therein;
   And the fair sun-litten meadows and the Houses of the kin
   Smile on me through the terror my trembling life to stay,
   That at my mouth now flutters, as fain to flee away. 
   Lo e’en as the little hammer and the blow-pipe of the wright
   About the flickering fire deals with the silver white,
   And the cup and its beauty groweth that shall be for the people’s
   feast,
   And all men are glad to see it from the greatest to the least;
   E’en so is the tale now fashioned, that many a time and oft
   Shall be told on the acre’s edges, when the summer eve is soft;
   Shall be hearkened round the hall-blaze when the mid-winter night
   The kindreds’ mirth besetteth, and quickeneth man’s delight,
   And we that have lived in the story shall be born again and again
   As men feast on the bread of our earning, and praise the grief-born
   grain.”

As she made an end of singing, those about her understood her words, that she was foretelling victory, and the peace of the Mark, and for joy they raised a shrill cry; and the warriors who were nighest to her took it up, and it spread through the whole host round about the garth, and went up into the breath of the summer morning and went down the wind along the meadow of the Wolfings, so that they of the wain-burg, who were now drawing somewhat near to Wolf-stead heard it and were glad.

But the Romans when they heard it knew that the heart of the battle was reached, and they cast back that shout wrathfully and fiercely, and made toward the foe.

Therewithal those mighty men fell on each other in the narrow passes of the garth; for fear was dead and buried in that Battle of the Morning.

On the North gate Hiarandi of the Elkings was the point of the Markmen’s wedge, and first clave the Roman press.  In the Eastern gate it was Valtyr, Otter’s brother’s son, a young man and most mighty.  In the South gate it was Geirbald of the Shieldings, the Messenger.