The wearier fighters made way for them as they came on shouting, and Face-of-god was ahead of them all, and leapt at the foemen as a man unwearied and striking his first stroke, so wondrous hale he was; and they drave a wedge amidst of the Dusky Men, and then turned about and stood back to back hewing at all that drifted on them. But as Face-of-god cleared a space about him, lo! almost within reach of his sword-point up rose a grim shape from the earth, tall, grey-haired, and bloody-faced, who uttered the Wolf-whoop from amidst the terror of his visage, and turned and swung round his head an axe of the Dusky Men, and fell to smiting them with their own weapon. The Dusky Men shrieked in answer to his whoop, and all shrunk from him and Face-of-god; but a cry of joy went up from the kindred, for they knew Gold-ring, whom they deemed had been slain. So they all pressed on together, smiting down the foe before them, and the Dusky Men, some turned their backs and drave those behind them, till they too turned and were strained through the passages and courts of the houses, and some were overthrown and trodden down as they strove to hold face to the Woodlanders, and some were hewn down where they stood; but the whole throng of those that were on their feet drifted toward the Market-place, the Woodlanders following them ever with point and edge, till betwixt the bent and the houses no foeman stood up against them. Then they stood together, and raised the whoop of victory, and blew their horns long and loud in token of their joy, and the Woodland men lifted up their voices and sang: Now far, far aloof Standeth lintel and roof, The dwelling of days Of the Woodland ways: Now nought wendeth there Save the wolf and the bear, And the fox of the waste Faring soft without haste. No carle the axe whetteth on oak-laden hill; No shaft the hart letteth to wend at his will; None heedeth the thunder-clap over the glade, And the wind-storm thereunder makes no man afraid. Is it thus then that endeth man’s days on Mid-earth, For no man there wendeth in sorrow or mirth? Nay, look down on the road From the ancient abode! Betwixt acre and field Shineth helm, shineth shield. And high over the heath Fares the bane in his sheath; For the wise men and bold Go their ways o’er the wold. Now the Warrior hath given them heart and fair day, Unbidden, undriven, they fare to the fray. By the rock and the river the banners they bear, And their battle-staves quiver ’neath halbert and spear; On the hill’s brow they gather, and hang o’er the Dale As the clouds of the Father hang, laden with bale.