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ANCIENT LAY OF GUDRUN.
215
In kingly wise
In they wended,
The host of the Longbeards;
Red cloaks had they,
Byrnies short-cut,
Helms strong hammered,
Girt with glaives,
And hair red-gleaming.

Each would give me
Gifts desired,
Gifts desired,
Speech dear to my heart,
If they might yet,
Despite my sorrow,
Win back my trust,
But in them nought I trusted.

Then brought me Grimhild
A beaker to drink of,
Cold and bitter,
Wrong’s memory to quench;
Made great was that drink
With the might of the earth,
With the death-cold sea
And the blood that Son[1] holdeth.

On that horn’s face were there
All the kin of letters
Cut aright and reddened,
How should I rede them rightly?

  1. Son was the vessel into which was poured the blood of Quasir, the God of Poetry.