Mightily Harald, as a reaper in a field of corn mows down the grain, with his scythe-long sword moved down the enemy--standing in blood up to his ankles. All day he slew, and when the battle was finished after dark and the dead lay all about him, like the swathes of grain cut down by reapers, then for the first time he was able to drink, as the moon began to rise. Then the great effort and excitement of the battle left him hungry. His hunger pricked him like a knife--impelled him to mount his horse and gallop straight home at full speed to where his young wife was waiting for news of him. He always ate prodigiously after fighting; to see him eating roast meat and washing it down his great throat with drinks of ale after a battle, made one think of the spectacle of a stormy sea swallowing ships. Then came the customary banqueting and singing and drinking. Professional singers sang songs in praise of his fighting that day, while he sat enthroned among his warriors, with his sword by his side, and his young wife seated at his right hand. All his enemies were dead. For half the night the drinking and singing continued. Harald had to sit there and hear himself praised, and drink whenever his own health was drunk to--such was the custom. But when the strong men had begun to show the influence of liquor too much, the king made a sign to his wife to withdraw to her own room. When the warriors drank too much, it was not a time for women to be present. This is the substance of the first part of the poem. Observe that Harald is never spoken of as having been fatigued by his battle; fighting only makes him hungry. This is a giant and probably a kindly giant in his way; we see that he is fond of his young wife. But he cannot retire from the banquet according to the custom of his people. He must drink with everybody after the great victory. And he drinks so much that he remains like a dead man for three days. Only after that, his great strength is to be tried. VI Twice the sun had mounted, twice had sunk, Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead; Mountain on his trunk, Ocean on his head. VII Clamped to couch, his fiery hearing sucked Whispers that at heart made iron-clang; Here fool-women clucked, There men held harangue. VIII Burial to fit their lord of war, They decreed him: hailed the kingling: ha! Hateful! but this Thor Failed a weak lamb's baa. IX King they hailed a branchlet, shaped to fare, Weighted so, like quaking shingle-spume, When his blood's own heir Ripened in the womb!