In deadly career,
Is alone to me dear.

THE SECOND. The feeble moan press'd
From the dying man's breast
Is what pleases me best.

THE THIRD. The cry on the plain
Round the corse of the slain
I list to most pain.

ALL THREE. Die, battle, and die!
O'er the hill, o'er the dell,
O'er the sea's foamy waters,
Unweariedly ply,
Valhalla, thy daughters,
The blood-dropping wing:
Die, battle, and die,
Is the bidding they bring.

THE FIRST. I hear the sound of arms; but now it ceases.
How long will he delay, the noble warrior?

THE SECOND. Whom wait'st thou for?

THE FIRST. And thou? what will my sister
In this wild spot which blood has never crimson'd?

THE SECOND. What has assembled us? and here where scarcely
A sword has flashed since days of Jotun Ymer,