,
Frantic at that word he grew;
Off he smote two warriors' heads,
At the King's foot them he threw.

Then spake Vidrik Verlandson,
His whole thought on honor lies:
"We'll dispatch our messenger
And not go in stealthy guise."

It was youthful Hammergray
Hurried from the city gate;
Every one on him that looked
Lost his voice and colour straight.

Hark away, young Hammergray,
Gold is glittering on thy breast;
Ne'er was found or hawk or hound
Could with Hammer's speed contest.

Pearls upon his bosom shone,
Folks thereat astounded gaze:
Fowl was none beneath the sun
Could with youthful Hammer race.

Swift into the King's high hill
Bounded youthful Hammergray:
He was nimble at the tongue,
And could speak in gallant way.

"King of Brattens Vendel, hail!
And the rest that fill your hall;
Ulf Van Yern to-morrow comes
To avenge his father's fall."

"Better had he be at home
Tending sheep beneath the height,
Better than a message send
That he thither comes to fight.

"Better had he crawl at home
Like a worm the rock beneath,
Than the war-like struggle dare
Where his father sank in death.

"He at home had better stay,
Crouch and shake the bush below;
One blow only stood his sire,
He'll not stand me half a blow."

"King of Brattens Vendel, hear,
Keep your tongue behind your tooth;
Quickly grows the young whelp up,
Full of threatening fangs his mouth."

"In the world no warrior wight
Lives for whom I need to care,
Save 'tis Vidrik Verlandson,
And I trow he'll not be there."

Answered then the Hammergray,
Answered to the Monarch's fright:
"It is Vidrik Verlandson
Will our army lead in fight."

Rose a Brattens Vendel kemp,
And he shouted lustily:
"Well, full well, I Vidrik know,
Offspring of a blacksmith he.

"Once was I at Birtingsborg
As the kempions drank their fill,
There he played a play which lives
In my mind, and ever will.

"Fifteen kemps to death he smote,
And he deemed it but as game;
Nigh at hand I gazing stood,
Ashy pale my cheeks became."

"Listen now, young Hammergray,
Strongly I entreat of thee,
If of Vidrik aught thou know,
Not to keep it hid from me."

"Sick in bed if Vidrik lay,
Nor could sword nor buckler yield,
Many a Danish swain you'd find
Would await you in the field."

Loudly answered then the King,
Through his veins rushed courage warm:
"I'll to-mo