Overturned was many a caldron, the brands hurled every way—
Woe’s me for the goodly victual flung mid the ashes grey!
Up from their seats on the greensward did earl and henchman spring:
Fiercely the bear snarled fleeing: straightway commanded the King
To loose the hound-pack on him, for by this all leashed they lay.
Ah, the day had had blithe ending—had that been the end of the day!
With bows and with spears on rushed they, was none that tarried there.
Fast followed the swift pursuers on the track of the fleeing bear:
Yet no man dared loose arrow, so thronged the hounds at his heels.
So loud was the tumult, the forest rang with the echo-peals.