And round the troop the chalice bore.
Eager, as he the wine-cup quaffed,
Each chief caroused the sable draught,--
The pledge of martial faith;
And not a word the stillness broke,
As thus, in turn, each chieftain spoke,
With slow and solemn breath:


8.

"'When the fiery-mantled Sun
Sees the glorious fight began,
He shall see its stubborn course
Burn with unabated force!
Swords shall clatter, javelins sing,
Arrows whistle from the string,
Not a step be turned to flight,
Not a warrior wish for night,
'Till the burning star of day
Quenches his declining ray
In the darkness of the main,
And throughout the purple plain,
Heaped with slaughter, piled with death,
Not a foeman draws his breath.
He who well performs his vow,
Monarch Odin, shield him thou!
He who shrinks from hostile blow,
Hela! scourge the wretch below
In thy ninefold house of woe!'"