   Seven bushels of gold from my coffer.”
“Make ’em eight, if you will,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I will cut thee down still,” said Ramund the young.

The first, first day that together they fought
   With their naked fists they contested;
Then Ramund he hold of the Jutt’s beard caught
   And the flesh from the teeth he wrested.
“Thou grinnest full evil, bold Ramund,” he said,
   “Thou look’st worse than the Devil,” said Ramund the young.

Next day they set to at the rise of the sun,
   Again with a rage unexampled;
The huge stone mountain they stood upon
   To the earth ’neath their feet was trampled.
“’Tis hard sport, I swear!” the giant he said,
   “We began but this year,” said Ramund the young.

Then Ramund again to his sword recurred,
   To which Dymling for name he had given;
And the head of the Jutt, which no ox could have stirred,
   He hewed high unto the heaven.
“’Twould not cut well I thought,” bold Ramund he said
   “Yet it cut as it ought,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund he into the mountain strode,
   Where the small trolds house were keeping;
The tears fast down their visages flow’d,
   For Ramund they fell to weeping.
“Do ye weep for me,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I’ll ne’er weep for ye,” said Ramund the young.

Now Ramund behold is dealing his blows
   Like the Kemps most famed for fighting;
About and around in the cave he goes
   To the earth the demons smiting.
“I rule here at my ease,” bold Ramund he said,
   “And can do what I please,” said Ramund the young.

On his ship entered he so vehemently
   That it cracked his vehemence under;
In the ship the men all began loudly to bawl
   And thought they should certainly founder.
“We shall not sink here,” bold Ramund he said,
   “So ye need not to fear,” said Ramund the young.

Now Ramund he straight seven ships did freight
   With the gold which the Trolds had hoarded;
Then across the tide to the land he hied
   O’er which the Emperor lorded.
“To this land we are come,” bold Ramund he said,
   “We no farther will roam,” said Ramund the young.

On the white sand Ramund his anchor flung,
   The high prow strandward turning;
And the very first man to land that sprung
   Was himself, with eagerness burning.
“Now do nothing more,” bold Ramund he said,
   “All labour give o’er,” said Ramund the young.

To the Ball-house he sped, where the kempions play’d
   At ball with glee and vigour;