“So ill-meaning enemies often did cause me Sorrow the sorest. I served them, in quittance, With my dear-lovèd sword, as in sooth it was fitting; They missed the pleasure of feasting abundantly, Ill-doers evil, of eating my body, Of surrounding the banquet deep in the ocean; But wounded with edges early at morning They were stretched a-high on the strand of the ocean, Put to sleep with the sword, that sea-going travelers No longer thereafter were hindered from sailing The foam-dashing currents. Came a light from the east, God’s beautiful beacon; the billows subsided, That well I could see the nesses projecting, The blustering crags. Weird often saveth The undoomed hero if doughty his valor! But me did it fortune to fell with my weapon Nine of the nickers. Of night-struggle harder ’Neath dome of the heaven heard I but rarely, Nor of wight 17 more woeful in the waves of the ocean; Yet I ’scaped with my life the grip of the monsters, Weary from travel. Then the waters bare me To the land of the Finns, the flood with the current,