Adorned with gold-work, where the grim ones did struggle. The Scylding wise men weened ne’er before That by might and main-strength a man under heaven Might break it in pieces, bone-decked, resplendent, Crush it by cunning, unless clutch of the fire In smoke should consume it. The sound mounted upward Novel enough; on the North Danes fastened A terror of anguish, on all of the men there Who heard from the wall the weeping and plaining, The song of defeat from the foeman of heaven, Heard him hymns of horror howl, and his sorrow Hell-bound bewailing. He held him too firmly Who was strongest of main-strength of men of that era.