Gondul and Skogul swiftly flew,
To chuse from Yngva’s boasted blood
What king should wend, with heroes slain.
To dwell in Odin’s rich abode.
Unmail’d beneath his banner bright
They saw Biorn’s valiant brother stand;
The javelins flew; the foemen fell;
The storm of war gan shake the land.
The army’s lord had warn’d the isles;
The bane of earls, stout Denmark’s dread,
With gallant suite of northmen bold
High rear’d his eagle-crested head.
The king of men (before he hied
To stir the war with fearless might)
To ground his iron mail had cast,
The cumbrous harness of the fight.
He sported with his noble train,
When roused to guard his native land;
Joyful beneath the golden helm
Now did the dauntless monarch stand.
His glittering brand the hauberks clove,
As if it fell on liquid waves;
The falchions dash’d; the bucklers broke;
The armour sung beneath the glaives
Keen burn’d the swords in bleeding wounds
Long axes bow’d the struggling host;
Loud echoing rang the bossy shields;
Fast rain’d the darts on Storda’s coast.
Behind the buckle warriors bled;
In fight they joy’d from thirst of gold:
Hot flow’d the blood in Odin’s storm;
The stream of blades whelm’d soldiers bold.
With helmets cleft, and actons pierced.
The arm’d chiefs rested on the plain;
Ah! little thought that raliant host
To reach the palace of the slain.
Couching her lance quoth Gondul fair;
“The crew of heaven be now encreas’d;
Stout Hacon with hts countless host
is bidden hence to Odin’s feast.”
The monarch heard the fatal words,
The steel-clad maids of slaughter bore;
All thoughful on their steeds they sate.
And held their glittering shields before.
“Why thus” (he said) “the war divide?
From Heaven we merit victory!”
“Thy force” (quoth Skogul) “we upheld,
We bade thy mighty foemen fly.
Fair sisters,” (cried the virgin bright)
“Ride we to heaven’s immortal domes!
Hear, Odin! Lo, to grace thy court
The king of men, the victor, comes.”
“Haste, Braga, and Hermoder, haste!
To meet the chief” (quoth Odin) “go!
Hither he wends, whose sturdy arm
Has wrought full many a champion woe.”
From war return’d, the battle won,
His limbs shed fast a gory stream ;
“Odin,” (he cried) “fierce Lord of deaths
Thy fell decrees full savage seem!”
“The peace of heroes shalt thou have;
Quaff with the Gods the sparkling beer!
Proud bane of earls,” (great Braga said)
“Eight valiant brothers hast thou here”
“Our arms” (the generous king replied)
These warworn hands shall never yield:
Helmet and mail be well preserv’d;
’Tis good the trusty blade to wield.”
Then was it known, that Hacon’s hand
Due offerings to each Power had giv’n;
Who to their blissful seats was hail’d
By all the glorious host of heav’n.
Hallow’d the day, and famed the year.
That bore a king so largely loved!
His memory be for ever saved.
And bless’d the land, on which he moved!
Fenris the wolf from Hell unchain'd
On mortals shall his fury pour,
Ere monarch great and good, as he,
Visit this desolated shore.
Wealth perishes, and kindred die;
Desert grows every hill and dale
With heathen Gods let Hacon sit.
And melancholy swains bewail!
Eyvindr skáldaspillir [Eyvindr Finnsson] (910 - 990) Norway
Translated by William Herbert
Source: Select Icelandic poetry: translated from the originals; with notes, William Herbert, Printed for T. Reynolds by I. Gold, 1804
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