Bravely done, thou Vendel King,
Fast and hard thy strokes are plied
E’en to his good saddle bow
Vidrik stoops his helm of pride.
“I’ve from thee borne eighteen blows,
They are, Sir, nor more nor fewer,
For thy kingly honor now
But one blow from me endure.”
“If thou eighteen blows hast borne
Be they fewer or be they more,
I’ll the self-same number take,
Gift of love can break their power.”
Forth a silken thread he drew
Tied it round his helm of gold:
“My heart’s dear shall never hear
Blow of blacksmith laid me cold.”
Vidrik spake to Mimmering:
“Show thou’rt yet for something good;
I can say for fifteen years
I more fiercely have not hew’d.”
Grasped he then the hilt so hard
From his nails that blood outstarted,
On the Monarch’s helm he hew’d,
To the navel him he parted.
Shouted Vidrik Verlandson,
Standing on the verdant height:
“Be there one of all your host
Who has further wish to fight?”
Now the Brattens Vendel King
Lies out pouring blood like water:
Vengeance now has Ulf Van Yern,
Vengeance for his father’s slaughter.
It was youthful Hammergray
Glanced around the bloody field:
“So like mice in their first sleep
Hushed the foemen lie, and still’d.”
Gladly back with Ulf Van Yern
Rode the Dane King’s chivalry;
For his sire avenged he thanked
Vidrik oft and fervently.