Soon, in the dark, on Horant a Danish follower sprang;
The sword that he was holding loud on the armor rang:
Thinking he was a foeman, Horant at once upon him
Wrought most bitter sorrow: a deadly wound by that warrior brave was done him.
[887]
When Horant saw that his kinsman beneath his blow lay dead,
Then he bade that his banner be borne with his own o’erhead.
The voice of him who was dying told whose life he had taken
With his hand so rashly; sorely he mourned the friend who never would waken.
[888]