Oh, bitter was the battle-rush, the rush of war that day,
Then fell the men; on either hand the gallant young men lay.

The battle-rage grew stronger and keener; the din of war grew louder
and louder. Byrhtnoth fought hand to hand with a strong viking, and with
yet another, dealing death to both.

The blither was the earl for that, out laughed the warrior grim,
Thanked God because of that day's work which God had given to him.

But the brave man's time was come, and a dart pierced him, and he fell;
and as he lay on the ground a young lad, a boy who stood beside him,
drew the spear from his lord's body and cast it back to pierce the foe
who had sorely hit his lord. An armed man came to the death-stricken
leader of the English to rob him of his jewels and his warrior's gear
and fretted sword of fame. The dying man struck him on the corslet, but

Too soon a seaman hindered him; that good arm's strength he marred.

The leader drops his gold hilted sword, no longer able to wield the
weapon, powerless to hold the keen-edged falchion. No more deeds of
valour for him; only to urge on his men, and to commend his soul to God.

Yet spake the word that warrior hoar, the young men's hearts he cheered,
Bad the good comrades forward go, nor ever be afeard.
No longer could he firmly stand on's feet; to heaven looked he--
"Thanks, Lord of hosts, for these world-joys Thou here didst give to me.
Now, merciful Creator, now, I stand in deepest need
That Thou shouldst grant my spirit good, that thus my soul indeed
Fare forth to Thee, travel with peace, O King of Angels, so: