But while these had been speaking aloud, Sweinbiorn had been talking softly to some of the younger men, and now he shook his naked sword in the air and spake aloud and sang: "Ye tarry, Bears of Battle! ye linger, Sons of the Worm! Ye crouch adown, O kindreds, from the gathering of the storm! Ye say, it shall soon pass over and we shall fare afield And reap the wheat with the war-sword and winnow in the shield.
But where shall be the corner wherein ye then shall abide, And where shall be the woodland where the whelps of the bears shall hide When 'twixt the snowy mountains and the edges of the sea These men have swept the wild-wood and the fields where men may be Of every living sword-blade, and every quivering spear, And in the southland cities the yoke of slaves ye bear?
Lo ye! whoever follows I fare to sow the seed Of the days to be hereafter and the deed that comes of deed." Therewith he waved his sword over his head, and made as if he would spur onward.

But Arinbiorn thrust through the press and outwent him and cried out: "None goeth before Arinbiorn the Old when the battle is pitched in the meadows of the kindred.

Come, ye sons of the Bear, ye children of the Worm! And come ye, whosoever hath a will to see stout men die!" Then on he rode nor looked behind him, and the riders of the Bearings and the Wormings drew themselves out of the throng, and followed him, and rode clattering over the meadow towards Wolfstead.

A few of the others rode with them, and yet but a few.

For they remembered the holy Folk- mote and the oath of the War-duke, and how they had chosen Otter to be their leader.