Blows fell without cessation,
 Now deadly blows like rain,
And now in quick rotation
 Each shield is cleft in twain. 
Unhurt, with wrath unspoken
 They stand within the ring,—­
Now Atle’s sword is broken
And Fridthjof’s sword is king.

Said he:  “A swordless foeman
 I’ve no desire to slay;
But if you will, as yeomen,
 We’ll try another way.” 
As waves ’gainst waves are pushing,
 And breaking crest on crest,
So on each other rushing,
 They wrestled breast to breast.

They fought like two bears trying
 Their strength on crust of snow,
Or, as o’er mad waves flying
 The eagle meets his foe. 
The firm earth trembled round them,
 Though based on solid rock,
And oaks, though strong roots bound them,
 Could scarce withstand the shock.

Their brows with sweat were beaded,
 Their breasts heaved with a sound,
The brush and stones unheeded,
 They scattered all around. 
The twelve in expectation
 Stood quaking on the sand;
Renowned through every nation
 That struggle on the strand.

But Fridthjof was the stronger,
 He felled his foe at last,
And said with fiery anger,
 His knee on Atle’s breast: 
“Had I my good sword ready,
 Thou berserk blackbeard, now
Thy miserable body
 I’d straightway plunge it through.”

“Go bring it!  Who’ll prevent thee?”
 Is generous Atle’s cry,
“And if it will content thee,
 As now I’ll quiet lie. 
Why should it make me sorrow? 
 For all must Valhal see;
I go to-day—­to-morrow
 Perhaps thy turn will be.”

Then Fridthjof quick returning,
 Desired to end the fray;
Raised Angervadil burning,—­
 But Atle quiet lay. 
The falling blade ne’er harmed him,
 For Fridthjof struck the sand;
Such courage had disarmed him,
 He took brave Atle’s hand.

With gleeful admonition
 Old Halvard swung his staff: 
“For your battle-meal potation
 There’s nothing here to quaff;
Upon the board hot-smoking
 The silver dishes glow;
A cold meal is provoking,
 And thirst annoys me so.’

Appeased, with friendly feeling,
 The portals they pass through,
And here from floor to ceiling,
 To Fridthjof all was new. 
Rough planks well matched together
 Lined not the spacious hall,
But ’broidered golden leather
 Was stretched along the wall.

The center was not littered
 By mortared hearthstone wide;
A marble fireplace glittered,
 Built up against the side. 
No smoke ’mid rafters flitted,
 No roof with soot spread o’er;
Glass panes the windows fitted,
 A lock secured the door.

No woollen torches crackling,
 Illumed the champions’ feast,
But waxen candles, sparkling,
 In silver sconces placed. 
A roasted stag, well larded,
 The table’s center graced;
Gold bands his raised hoof guarded,
 With flowers his horns were dressed.