Home they brought her warrior dead: 
 She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: 
All her maidens, watching, said, 
 `She must weep or she will die.? 

Then they praised him, soft and low, 
 Called him worthy to be loved, 
Truest friend and noblest foe; 
 Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place, 
 Lightly to the warrior stepped, 
Took the face-cloth from the face; 
 Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

Rose a nurse of ninety years, 
 Set his child upon her knee? 
Like summer tempest came her tears? 
 `Sweet my child, I live for thee.?