To the fight my long-loved friends;
I sing in the shields, | and in strength they go
Whole to the field of fight,
Whole from the field of fight,
And whole they come thence home.
[158]. A twelfth I know, | if high on a tree
I see a hanged man swing; [[66]]
So do I write | and color the runes
That forth he fares,
And to me talks.