He paused and turned about to look on the mighty assembly, and his ears drank in the long murmur that followed his speaking, and when it had died out he spake again, but in rhyme: "Lo thus much of my tidings! But this too it behoveth to tell, That these masterful men of the cities of the Markmen know full well: And they wot of the well-grassed meadows, and the acres of the Mark, And our life amidst of the wild-wood like a candle in the dark; And they know of our young men's valour and our women's loveliness, And our tree would they spoil with destruction if its fruit they may never possess. For their lust is without a limit, and nought may satiate Their ravening maw; and their hunger if ye check it turneth to hate, And the blood-fever burns in their bosoms, and torment and anguish and woe O'er the wide field ploughed by the sword-blade for the coming years they sow; And ruth is a thing forgotten and all hopes they trample down; And whatso thing is steadfast, whatso of good renown, Whatso is fair and lovely, whatso is ancient sooth In the bloody marl shall they mingle as they laugh for lack of ruth. Lo the curse of the world cometh hither; for the men that we took in the land Said thus, that their host is gathering with many an ordered band To fall on the wild-wood passes and flood the lovely Mark, As the river over the meadows upriseth in the dark. Look to it, O ye kindred! availeth now no word But the voice of the clashing of iron, and the sword-blade on the sword." Therewith he made an end, and deeper and longer was the murmur of the host of freemen, amidst which Bork gat him down from the Speech-Hill, his weapons clattering about him, and mingled with the men of his kindred. Then came forth a man of the kin of the Shieldings of the Upper-mark, and clomb the mound; and he spake in rhyme from beginning to end; for he was a minstrel of renown: