Fine-mooded, clever, though few were the winters
That the daughter of Hæreth had dwelt in the borough;
But she nowise was cringing nor niggard of presents,
Of ornaments rare, to the race of the Geatmen.
Thrytho nursed anger, excellent[5] folk-queen,
Hot-burning hatred: no hero whatever
’Mong household companions, her husband excepted
Dared to adventure to look at the woman
With eyes in the daytime;[6] but he knew that death-chains
Hand-wreathed were wrought him: early thereafter,