Dealt to death; one his drear-checked
Earl stretched in an earthen trench.
The Maker of men hath so marred this dwelling
That human laughter is not heard about it
And idle stand these old giant-works.
A man who on these walls wisely looked
Who sounded deeply this dark life
Would think back to the blood spilt here,
Weigh it in his wit. His word would be this:
'Where is that horse now? Where are those men? Where is the hoard-sharer?
Where is the house of the feast? Where is the hall 's uproar?
Alas, bright cup! Alas, burnished fighter!
Alas, proud prince! How that time has passed,
Dark under night's helm, as though it never had been!
There stands in the stead of staunch thanes
A towering wall wrought with worm-shapes;
The earls are off-taken by the ash-spear's point,
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