ou, their hearts were steel'd,--
The one to the other no jot would yield.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

They fought for a day,--they fought for two,--
And so on the third they were fain to do;
But ere the fourth day reach'd the night,
The Brute-carl fell, and was slain outright.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side,
Farther and farther he lists to ride:
He rode at the foot of a hill so steep,
There saw he a herd as he drove the sheep.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

"Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair,
Whose are the sheep thou art driving there?
And what is rounder than a wheel?
And where do they eat the holiest meal?"
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

"Where does the fish stand up in the flood?
And where is the bird that's redder than blood?
Where do they mingle the best, best, wine?
And where with his knights does Vidrik dine?"
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

There sat the herd, he sat in thought;
To ne'er a question he answer'd aught.
Svend gave him a stroke, a stroke so sore,
That his lung and his liver came out before.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

On, on went he, till more sheep he spied;
The herd sat, too, by a deep pit's side.
"Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair,
Whose are the sheep thou art tending there?"
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

"See yonder house, with turret and tower,
There feasting serves to beguile the hour;
There dwells a man, Tygge Nold by name,
With his twelve fair sons, who are knights of fame."
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

"Enough, Sir Herd; now lend an ear--
Go, tell Tygge Nold to come out here."
From his breast Svend Vonved a gold ring drew;
At the foot of the herd the gold ring he threw.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

And as Svend Vonved approach'd the spot,
His booty among them they 'gan to allot.
Some would have his polish'd glaive,
Others, his harness, or courser brave.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

Svend Vonved stops, in reflection deep;
He thought it best he his horse should keep:
His hauberk and faulchion he will not lose,
Much rather to fight the youth will choose.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

"Had'st thou twelve sons to the twelve thou hast,
And cam'st in the midst of them charging me fast,
Sooner should'st thou wring water from steel,
Than thou in such fashion with me should'st deal.
Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

He prick'd with