And never sues for peace."

And with the doughty viking,
His twelve best champions start,
And in the air sharp striking,
They brandish sword and dart.
They storm the strand, where by it
The weary dragon lay;
But Fridthjof, sitting nigh it,
Looks ready for the fray.

"Quite easy could I fell thee,"
The noisy Atle cries:
"No one comes here, I tell thee,
But either fights or flies.
If peace thou ask'st, believe me,--
I fight, but am no churl,--
In friendship I'll receive thee,
And lead thee to the earl."

"Although I'm scarcely rested,"
Is Fridthjof's sharp reply,
"Our good swords must be tested,
Before for peace I cry."
Then swift the sun-brown fighter
His flashing sword-blade swung,
Bright glowed the runes and brighter
On Angervadil's tongue.

Blows fell without cessation,