Chapter_289

6 0 00

His child Kjnrene of the arms of snow

Had little love for pacings to and fro

Before the loom, nor for feast-revelry

With maiden-friends home-keeping young as she;

But warring with bronze darts without surcease,

And with the hunter’s knife, that princess slew

Fierce beasts of prey. Ay, wide-spread was the peace

And restful that her father’s cattle knew.

But little wasted she upon her eyes

Of slumber, restfellow that sweetly lies

On tired ones, when Dawn’s feet prepare to climb the skies.