Then spake the Hall-Sun standing in the doorway: 

   “Hear ye a matter, maidens, and ye Wolfing women all,
   And thou alien guest of the Wolfings!  But come ye up the hall,
   That the ancient men may hearken:  for methinks I have a word
   Of the battle of the Kindreds, and the harvest of the sword.”

Then all arose up with great joy, for they knew that the tidings were good, when they looked on the face of the Hall-Sun and beheld the pride of her beauty unmarred by doubt or pain.

She led them forth to the dais, and there were the sick and the elders gathered and some ancient men of the thralls:  so she stepped lightly up to her place, and stood under her namesake, the wondrous lamp of ancient days.  And thus she spake: 

“On my soul there lies no burden, and no tangle of the fight In plain or dale or wild-wood enmeshes now my sight.  I see the Markmen’s wain-burg, and I see their warriors go As men who wait for battle and the coming of the foe.  And they pass ’twixt the wood and the wain-burg within earshot of the horn, But over the windy meadows no sound thereof is borne, And all is well amongst them.  To the burg I draw anigh And I see all battle-banners in the breeze of morning fly, But no Wolfings round their banner and no warrior of the Shield, No Geiring and no Hrossing in the burg or on the field.”

She held her peace for a little while, and no one dared to speak; then she lifted up her head and spake: 

“Now I go by the lip of the wild-wood and a sound withal I hear, As of men in the paths of the thicket, and a many drawing anear.  Then, muffled yet by the tree-boles, I hear the Shielding song, And warriors blithe and merry with the battle of the strong.  Give back a little, Markmen, make way for men to pass To your ordered battle-dwelling o’er the trodden meadow-grass, For alive with men is the wild-wood and shineth with the steel, And hath a voice most merry to tell of the Kindreds’ weal, ’Twixt each tree a warrior standeth come back from the spear-strewn way, And forth they come from the wild-wood and a little band are they.”

Then again was she silent; but her head sank not, as of one thinking, as before it did, but she looked straight forward with bright eyes and smiling, as she said: 

   “Lo, now the guests they are bringing that ye have not seen before;
   Yet guests but ill-entreated; for they lack their shields of war,
   No spear in the hand they carry and with no sax are girt. 
   Lo, these are the dreaded foemen, these once so strong to hurt;
   The men that all folk fled from, the swift to drive the spoil,
   The men that fashioned nothing but the trap to make men toil. 
   They drew the sword in the cities, they came and struck the stroke
   And smote the shield of the Markmen, and point and edge they broke. 
   They drew the sword in the war-garth, they swore to bring aback
   God’s gifts from the Markmen houses where the tables never lack. 
   O Markmen, take the God-gifts that came on their own feet
   O’er the hills through the Mirkwood thicket the Stone of Tyr to meet!”