e Winils all, Fared the Alruna's sons, Ayo
and Ibor. Mad of heart stalked they Loud wept the women all, Loud the
Alruna-wife; Sore was their need.

Out of the morning land, Over the snowdrifts, Beautiful Freya came,
Tripping to Scoring. White were the moorlands, And frozen before her;
But green were the moorlands, And blooming behind her, Out of her golden
locks Shaking the spring flowers, Out of her garments Shaking the south
wind, Around in the birches Awaking the throstles, And making chaste
housewives all Long for their heroes home, Loving and love-giving, Came
she to Scoring. Came unto Gambara, Wisest of Valas-- 'Vala, why weepest
thou Far in the wide-blue, High up in the Elfin-home, Heard I thy
weeping.'

'Stop not thy weeping, Till one can fight seven, Sons have I, heroes
tall, First in the sword-play; This day at the Wendels' hands Eagles
must tear them; While their mothers, thrall-weary, Must grind for the
Wendels'

Wept the Alruna-wife; Kissed her fair Freya-- 'Far off in the morning
land High in Valhalla, A window stands open, Its sill is the snow-peaks,
Its posts are the water-spouts Storm rack its lintel, Gold cloud-flakes
above it Are piled for the roofing. Far up to the Elfin-home, High in
the wide-blue. Smiles out each morning thence Odin Allfather; From
under the cloud-eaves, Smiles out on the heroes, Smiles out on chaste
housewives all, Smiles on the brood-mares, Smiles on the smith's work:
And theirs is the sword-luck, With them is the glory-- So Odin hath
sworn it--

Who first in the morning
Shall meet him and greet him.'

Still the Alruna wept-- 'Who then shall greet him? Women alone are here:
Far on the moorlands Behind the war-lindens, In vain for the bill's doom
Watch Winil heroes all, One against seven.'

Sweetly the Queen laughed-- 'Hear thou my counsel now; Take to thee
cunning, Beloved of Freya. Take thou thy women-folk, Maidens and wives:
Over your ankles Lace on the white war-hose; Over your bosoms Link up
the hard mailnets; Over your lips Plait long tresses with cunning;--
So war-beasts full bearded King Odin shall deem you, When off the gray
sea-beach At sunrise ye greet him.'

Night's son was driving His golden-haired horses up. Over the Eastern
firths High flashed their manes. Smiled from the cloud-eaves out
Allfather Odin, Waiting the battle-sport: Freya stood by him. 'Who are
these heroes tall-- Lusty-limbed Longbeards? Over the swans' bath
Why cry they to me?