As the goat upon the mountain,
As the long-ship on the wave-road,
As the sword in battle swinging
So the poet’s swift in speaking.

~

Then he came, the great hall owner.
From his covert Thorstein saw him,
Tall and warlike, long hair falling,
Gold around his giant shoulders.

Like a king he led his horse in,
Striding through the massive doorway,
Took to stall his mountain racer,
Turned at last to his own table.

Hilt and pommel of his short-sword
Thorstein saw with blood upon them,
And his hands stained cloth and water
As he washed them in a basin.

Then he filled a glinting goblet —
By the fire-gleam drank the vine’s blood:
Held a feast with manner regal
In the dark hall full of treasure.

Here no song, no bright hall-laughter
Sounded, ringing to the rafters;
But the forest deep with shadow,
In the night-wind sang then softly

When the stranger to his hearth came,
Saw the glowing gold-red coal-bed,
Said he, ‘Someone stirred my fire up,
Set the log-foe fiercely flaming.

Dauntless men have come to hunt me,
Come to rive my breath from body;
They have cause to seek my life-blood,
Send my spirit down in sword-sleep."

With his tongs he took an ember,
Held aloft the red-coal glowing,
Cast a light upon the timbers,
Of the mighty forest dwelling.

Every shadow, black, foreboding,
Could be hiding some avenger;
On the beams the dragon carvings
Leered at him with greedy hunger.

When he came to where was lying
All his pillage and provisions,
Thorstein stole from out the packing
Through a cleft behind the chimney.

He escaped the threatening searcher
In the fog-cloak of the forest,
Sat and smiled and blessed his smallness
In the night outside the death-hall.

Three times through the great hall owner
Searched his hall with smouldering ember,
Three times through the highway-hunter,
Sought the hero who would hunt him.

Said he 'My mind's dark as midnight
I will leave things as they're lying —
Yet I fear my own heart's counsel
Will betray me before morning.'

Thorstein watched him loose his short-sword
Through the cloven chimney hatchway,
Saw him hang it by the headboard,
Sharp to pour warm wine for ravens.

Spell-bound Thorstein looked upon it,
Shining, biting, sharp wound-maker,
And he listened for the breathing
Soft and even of a sleeper.

~

All fell dark -- to prove his slumber,
Thorstein scratched as midnight-mouse scrapes --
Listened -- heard the robber turning,
Stirring in his dreams of ambush.

Then again to prove his slumber
Thorstein made a clanking clatter;
Less he stirred, the long-haired sleeper,
And he dreamed of red wounds flowing.

Then he crossed the boards more boldly,
And he struck a blow like thunder
On the bedpost of the sleeper,
Who lay still, and dreamed of grave-worms.

Had he stol'n away in darkness
Left his death-den? Thorstein wondered;
So again he stirred the embers,
By their low light saw him lying.

Never had he seen his equal —
Taller, stronger than old Ketil,
In a silk shirt of Samarcand,
Hair like gold embroidery glistening.

As to take a crown of silver,
Seven year’s work of a master,
And to cast it in the ocean,
So it seemed, to kill this stranger.

But the words of grey-haired Ketil
Followed Thorstein to the forest,
From the Fjord in grey-cliff’s shadow,
From the grass-capped hall in Romsdal.

'Greater honor to our family
Would a man be great of spirit,
Not a man like little Thorstein
Who knows sword-play like a woman.'

Thorstein reached to take the short-sword,
Grasped the sword made sharp for slaughter,
Tempered with the blood of strangers
By the man who lay beside it,

Clenched the hilt and raised his hand up
As a priest would, or a murderer:
Brought it down and broke his breastbone,
Stabbed the sword straight through the sleeper.

Thorstein’s sword-thrust tore through silk shirt,
Thrilled through heart-chest, struck the bed-board.
All at once he felt five fingers
Seize his arm and pull him upward.

~

I don't know of any illustrations to this story but, here's an illustration from another saga that could be of the robber thinking in bed.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/0f/Olav_Tryggvasons_sa…