Soft is my beard, but
Hard my Brain-biter.
Wake, men me call, whom
Warrior or watchman
Never caught sleeping,
Far in Northumberland
Slew I the witch-bear,
Cleaving his brain-pan,
At one stroke I felled him."
And so forth, chanting all his doughty deeds, with such a voice and spirit
joined to that musical talent for which he was afterwards so famous, till
the hearts of the wild Norsemen rejoiced, and "Skall to the stranger!
Skall to the young Viking!" rang through the hall.
Then showing proudly the fresh wounds on his bare arms, he sang of his
fight with the Cornish ogre, and his adventure with the Princess. But
always, though he went into the most minute details, he concealed the name
both of her and of her father, while he kept his eyes steadily fixed on
Ranald's eldest son, Sigtryg, who sat at his father's right hand.
The young man grew uneasy, red, almost angry; till at last Hereward
sang,--
"A gold ring she gave me
Right royally dwarf-worked,
To none will I pass it
For prayer or for sword-stroke,
Save to him who can claim it
By love and by troth plight,
Let that hero speak
If that hero be here."
Young Sigtryg half started from his feet: but when Hereward smiled at him,
and laid his finger on his lips, he sat down again.
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