Soul-sick, sorrowful, the sea-waves regarding: They wished and yet weened not their well-loved friend-lord To see any more. The sword-blade began then, The blood having touched it, contracting and shriveling With battle-icicles; ’twas a wonderful marvel That it melted entirely, likest to ice when The Father unbindeth the bond of the frost and Unwindeth the wave-bands, He who wieldeth dominion Of times and of tides: a truth-firm Creator. Nor took he of jewels more in the dwelling, Lord of the Weders, though they lay all around him, Than the head and the handle handsome with jewels; The brand early melted, burnt was the weapon: So hot was the blood, the strange-spirit poisonous That in it did perish. He early swam off then Who had bided in combat the carnage of haters, Went up through the ocean; the eddies were cleansèd, The spacious expanses, when the spirit from farland His life put aside and this short-lived existence. The seamen’s defender came swimming to land then Doughty of spirit, rejoiced in his sea-gift, The bulky burden which he bore in his keeping. The excellent vassals advanced then to meet him,