“Lo thus much of my tidings!  But this too it behoveth to tell, That these masterful men of the cities of the Markmen know full well:  And they wot of the well-grassed meadows, and the acres of the Mark, And our life amidst of the wild-wood like a candle in the dark; And they know of our young men’s valour and our women’s loveliness, And our tree would they spoil with destruction if its fruit they may never possess.  For their lust is without a limit, and nought may satiate Their ravening maw; and their hunger if ye check it turneth to hate, And the blood-fever burns in their bosoms, and torment and anguish and woe O’er the wide field ploughed by the sword-blade for the coming years they sow; And ruth is a thing forgotten and all hopes they trample down; And whatso thing is steadfast, whatso of good renown, Whatso is fair and lovely, whatso is ancient sooth In the bloody marl shall they mingle as they laugh for lack of ruth.  Lo the curse of the world cometh hither; for the men that we took in the land Said thus, that their host is gathering with many an ordered band To fall on the wild-wood passes and flood the lovely Mark, As the river over the meadows upriseth in the dark.  Look to it, O ye kindred! availeth now no word But the voice of the clashing of iron, and the sword-blade on the sword.”

Therewith he made an end, and deeper and longer was the murmur of the host of freemen, amidst which Bork gat him down from the Speech-Hill, his weapons clattering about him, and mingled with the men of his kindred.

Then came forth a man of the kin of the Shieldings of the Upper-mark, and clomb the mound; and he spake in rhyme from beginning to end; for he was a minstrel of renown: 

“Lo I am a man of the Shieldings and Geirmund is my name; A half-moon back from the wild-wood out into the hills I came, And I went alone in my war-gear; for we have affinity With the Hundings of the Fell-folk, and with them I fain would be; For I loved a maid of their kindred.  Now their dwelling was not far From the outermost bounds of the Fell-folk, and bold in the battle they are, And have met a many people, and held their own abode.  Gay then was the heart within me, as over the hills I rode And thought of the mirth of to-morrow and the sweet-mouthed Hunding maid And their old men wise and merry and their young men unafraid, And the hall-glee of the Hundings and the healths o’er the guesting cup.  But as I rode the valley, I saw a smoke go up O’er the crest of the last of the grass-hills ’twixt me and the Hunding roof, And that smoke was black and heavy:  so a while I bided aloof, And drew my girths the tighter, and looked to the arms I bore And handled my spear for the casting; for my heart misgave me sore, For nought was that pillar of smoke like the guest-fain cooking-fire.  I lingered in thought for a minute, then turned me to ride up higher, And as a man most wary up over the bent I rode, And nigh hid peered o’er