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THE NORTHERN OCEAN 43
«Come, live the warrior-life of the valiant dead,
Fall on the battle-field, rise up to the banquet!
Skalds shall sing of thy name at the table of the gods,
Later itself it will sing.”
Answered Arnljot: “If but to strife
Shall I from the coasts of death be carried,
To battle unending without danger and aimless,
Sink will I rather here.
“A vain thing seems to me the gods’ existence,
Day after day to fight for the sake of fighting,
Feigning to fall, rising up, and renewing the feint—
That is not life, but sport.
“Lift my life to the sunlit uplands!
Hast thou no reply to the thousand questions
Born of my need, of my woe, of my burning anger,
Then give me the silence of death.”
“ Silence, fool!» —From on high the cry came booming.
Trembled the men, ’t was the voice of the thunder,
Darker it grew, nor above, nor ahead, could they see,
Stricken with fear by the voice.
“Outcast then in the night shalt thou struggle!
Him who rejoices not in the battle
No valkyrie shall lift up to life; he is dead,—
Barred from the warrior’s ring.”
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