But fire in the battle hot I expect there,
Furious flame-burning: so I fixed on my body
Target and war-mail. The ward of the barrow[2]
I’ll not flee from a foot-length, the foeman uncanny.
At the wall ’twill befall us as Fate decreeth,
Each one’s Creator. I am eager in spirit,
With the wingèd war-hero to away with all boasting.
Bide on the barrow with burnies protected,
Earls in armor, which of us two may better
Bear his disaster, when the battle is over.