Probably by Guðmundur Guðmundsson skólaskáld and Valdimar Ásmundsson

The Alþingisrímur are a satirical rímur cycle targeting the real politicians of the Icelandic Alþingi — the parliament — in the late nineteenth century. Fourteen rímur, each named for an aspect of parliamentary life (the parliament house, elections, the bank, the harbour), catalogue the personalities and conflicts of Iceland's political class with the elaborate kenning-craft and metrical virtuosity of the rímur tradition.

The poets are probably Guðmundur Guðmundsson skólaskáld ("the school-poet") and Valdimar Ásmundsson, two figures at the heart of Iceland's literary and political culture. The cycle moves from affectionate portraiture to biting satire, applying the full arsenal of rímur convention — mansöngvar, battle-kennings, heroic diction — to the decidedly unheroic world of parliamentary debate, creating a comic disjunction that is the cycle's central device.

This is a Good Works Translation by the New Tianmu Anglican Church and Claude, translated directly from nineteenth-century Icelandic. The source text is from Icelandic Wikisource. This is the first known English translation.

Ríma I — Þinghúsríma (The Parliament House Ríma)

Meter: Stikluvik. Twenty-nine stanzas. The poet invokes the muse, surveys the parliament building on Austurvöllur, and introduces the chief politicians one by one — Magnús, Valtýr, Hallgrímur, Klemens, Guðjón, Tryggvi — as if presenting warriors before battle.

Goddess of song, heaven's Hlín,
pour fire into my blood;
I seek you in my verses —
look kindly, good one, upon me.

Tighten the strings of the harp,
lend me high notes;
sing of the men of this tale
sweetly and long through the watches.

I pour out the warrior's ale
and call on all the spirits;
let us swell our verse-choir here
for the champions who bear great power.

I will sing my poem —
may Kvasir's vein bleed forth —
about our parliament this time,
with all its feats of strength.

Out by green Austurvöllur,
fragrant long into spring,
stands a fair and stately hall —
all hope reaches toward it.

The house, well-crafted and high-walled,
smiles in the bright sunlight;
Bald built it upon sand —
Bald has cheated the land often.

There the heavy battle is fought,
there are the men of mark,
there the people see courage and deeds,
there one sometimes gets a morsel of grace.

Firebrands ring in mouths there,
the halls clang and hum;
bold, grandiloquent speeches
spring from the platform of eloquence.

When heroes attend the parliament,
caps and forelocks gleam;
many gather around the house
gazing at the gallant array.

Magnús the Proud goes foremost,
bold and sword-girt;
the lights of fortune play
upon the splendid garb he wears.

The white feathered hat
makes the tall man small;
the chieftain, laden with crosses,
has a fine figure from behind.

Low on the field and stooped
is the warrior's temper;
assaults, affliction, hidden shoals —
old age brings all in its train.

High power weighs down those
who try to seem pure;
honor walks always with trouble,
and it is hard to know whom to trust.

Hard it is to deal with government and people
when they always stand at odds;
the king's love is always good,
but often it was seen to stand short.

Fair shone the light upon
the handsome president of the lower house;
resolve never lacks in that
utterly pure man of honor.

Doctor Valtýr, widely famed,
was also there among them,
reckoned tallest among war-kings,
the strength-tree of Odin's hall.

The bare blade of Nellemann
shook in his hands;
in trouble was that friend of his,
the weapon-man from abroad.

There was Mr. Hallgrímur,
splendidly proclaimed,
and Sigurður, like Sverrir,
dark and brisk, from Ísafjörður.

Klemens, clever, clenched his cord
and sharpened his eyes
often upon the parliament-men —
the resolute chieftain of Eyjafjörður.

High power and honor he bears,
the stout weapon-Þráinn,
and many tell me so —
that man knows well who he is.

Guðjón shook his red head
with a sword-grin on his lips,
never soft, fearless;
he roared and seethed and surged and gushed.

Foul spirits howled
from the whetstone of spears;
forward broke the berserkers,
bloody the slaughter-ships floated.

Faithful to princes, as was to be expected,
accustomed to sharing out wealth —
the strong knight rode there,
Tryggvi Gunnarsson.

Many head toward the high house,
but here of more I cannot tell;
those who carry out the battle of blades
I shall name and describe soon.

Battle-ale is poured unsparingly
before the battle begins;
cups glow, vessels gleam —
good it is to have a seat here.

One gazes upon the priests of the age,
Iceland's wise sons;
there one may see most of them together —
honor is the greatest thing they seek.

There pure patriotism
is thought of greatest worth —
sincere conviction, the people's love,
strengthened unity, independence.

Such a fortress does not budge
though danger stand ready;
they raise holy offerings at the shrine
and rage against the savage wolves.

Therefore shall one fittingly remember
the metal-assembly of bold men;
but — bright-eyed Hrundr of the threads —
I stop for now this ríma.

Ríma II — Valtýs ríma og Benedikts (The Ríma of Valtýr and Benedikt)

Meter: Ferskeytt. Thirty-two stanzas. A naval battle-allegory for the parliamentary clash between Valtýr Guðmundsson and the aging Benedikt Sveinsson ("Bensi"), the great champion of Icelandic independence. The poets liken political debate to a sea-fight, complete with dragons, berserkers, and poison-serpents, then close with a genuine tribute to Bensi's lifelong service, comparing him to Gustav Adolf at Lützen — victorious but fated to fall.

Now shall the verse begin about
old Bensi the great;
at parliament he seemed the foremost
national champion to stride.

High the brow, keen the glance,
hardness in his features;
a cold gust blew about them
from a great many quarters.

There fate has carved a powerful rune
that few can understand;
fiercely beneath the brow there shone
the fire of will and stubbornness.

Heavy the voice, powerful and bold,
like a storm unleashed,
or as though the highest mountains fell
beneath death-avalanches.

He sought supporters for parliament,
ran about the country,
but only one berserker he found
in all his dealings.

It was rough going for the man —
with the two of them sailing
the salt sea of politics
into the black gale.

Valtýr lay off Lómsey,
struck hard in battle;
from Nellemann he got
a tremendous warship.

The dragon's prow gaped at the grey
and greedy storm of battle;
one could see the steeled jaw
standing fast against the foe.

Electric lights did not shine there
for Valtýr's bold crew,
but the "bog-light," amplified,
bore great brightness for all.

Laugi I shall remember —
the greatest giant he was;
a terrifying scowl
upon his dark face he bore.

"He roared terrible sounds aloud,"
beat the shield with his fists —
Valtýr's dragon that bold one
bravely defended.

A splendid man was Valtýr,
surpassing most in stature;
though arrows whistled about him,
never was he daunted.

Word-barrages flew thick,
the tools of eloquence thundered;
the government schooner sailed on lightly
like a wagon on wheels.

Grim was Laugi in spirit then,
greedily he heaped the slaughter;
blacker than ever was his brow —
wading in blood to his calves.

Few will fault him for his wits,
but for cunning rather
that stout champion was suspected;
he reached land by swimming.

Then "poison-serpents" spat
from Guðjón's quiver;
but no blade could bite upon
the berserker from Múli.

The governor put aside
long storms of issues;
willingly he never ventures
onto the smooth and slippery ice.

Now Bensi's chest was weary,
exhaustion bent the man,
but Valtýr he feared not at all —
his heart beat with fury.

Berserkers spewed ink,
sharp pens flew;
the poisoned points of argument
slipped into every heart.

Long sang the blue swords
the death-lay for men;
crashing in the air and humming,
the heavy strokes of wrath.

Bensi bent toward death's road,
old age wearied the hero;
yet as Hannes Hafstein sang,
the champion held the field.

Iceland's ancient mountains wept,
the waterfall tuned its fiddle;
Einar sat in silence and
"gilded" his horn of sorrows.

Then was great the nation's grief,
then were eyes afloat with tears,
gnashing of teeth in the fair city,
weeping in Tobbukoti.

Recall how Gustav Adolf
matched the bold champion's deeds —
he who drew his sword at Lützen
with victory, yet fell.

It is good to fall to earth
for one's homeland;
above the dead on the low mound,
sweet stars shine.

He shall not be praised too much —
his exploits and his spirit —
since Hannes Hafstein already
has composed his praise.

Valtýr had to give ground;
though brave, he slowly withdrew.
Aboard the dragon, Einar
furiously "spewed porridge."

Then Valtýr spoke: "There is no despair
for the land's salvation —
as Nelli told me,
sages and countless many."

"Another day I wait for better
to fight with blades;
everything has its time —
there is least cause for fear."

Then the battle ended — pure love
for the homeland shone,
where none, not one, had failed
to show love and devotion.

And so I end the verse-craft,
but shall take up the tale again
when Valtýr was visited
by an old ally from the past.

Roses sleep, a ghost dreams
of judgments and complaints;
above the sealed mound, the lights
gleam bright and keep their watch.

Ríma III — Draumríma (The Dream Ríma)

Meter: Braghent. Thirty stanzas. Valtýr goes home weary from the parliamentary battle. In sleep, he dreams that Nellemann gives him his seat in a golden hall. But then the ghost of old Bensi — Benedikt Sveinsson — appears by the porcelain dog on the stove and delivers a deathbed reconciliation, blessing the very "Valtýism" he once opposed. The political is made spectral.

I push Austri's vessel afloat and begin to sing;
the poems seek Valtýr once more —
let the whole nation listen.

Sore and weary he went home to his rest;
sweet slumber slid upon his brow,
closed the hero's gleaming eye.

The summer night laid its mighty wing
over him and drove evil away;
a gentle dream soothed his griefs.

He seemed to see Nellemann in a parliament hall
laid with gold and bright panelling,
like in Denmark of old.

The counsellor rose from his seat and spoke:
"This seat is yours, Valtýr —
step this way, friend."

"The fight you fought was good — from the spoils,
as now you yourself can see,
you bear the fair prize of victory.

Always you have followed in my footsteps;
the worthiest you shall be
to wear my mantle of office."

Having so spoken, he tore off his finery,
touched Valtýr's breast with his hand,
and dressed him in the robes of honor.

With many bright crosses, front and back,
Valtýr saw himself arrayed;
he took the seat and gladly listened.

Valtýr once had a brown overcoat
woven by eighteen maidens,
far surpassing all other garments.

When Valtýr rode the steam-train in the New World,
Indians shot at him —
upon that coat their weapons shattered.

And when Einar spewed porridge on the dragon,
as was told before in verse,
everything failed — except the good coat.

Valtýr spoke: "I would be pleased to know
which man now would be
worthy to wear this coat.

More worthy of it in all the world I find
none than my dear old friend —
my Einar Hjörleifsson."

Valtýr seemed to hear hurrahs in the hall —
loud thunder crashed in the vaulted roof;
he started up from gentle slumber.

Then it was as if a cold spirit passed over him;
a heavy draft howled at the window —
he heard stirring in the night-shadows.

Upon the stove a dog-figure stood tall,
gold upon its white snout;
the dog was made of porcelain.

Then it was half-bright. Something stirred near the stove.
Valtýr had to look —
he saw a snow-white ghost.

Valtýr started — he seemed to know that face;
old Bensi he clearly recognized,
and through his breast fear ran.

Sinews, tendons, cartilage, bones, blood, veins —
a shudder seized him, the heart pounded;
the hero barely kept his wits.

The ghost raised its hands, and solemnly
peace settled on its brows —
a gleam flashed from its sharp eyes.

"Valtýr," it spoke, "I have come the cold way —
to you now necessity drove me;
I have fled the bitter halls of death.

First we see the truth we sorely craved
when the body's bonds are loosened —
the spirit lifts itself to heaven.

Clear to me at last is what you have suffered
for Iceland's freedom and honor;
far from me now is any anger.

My 'Valtýism' was my worst enemy on earth;
I have gained higher knowledge —
no delusion now deceives me.

Now I lift my hands high and bless it;
it shall rule people and land,
gentle and good as a guardian spirit.

Never shall you be thrown from your 'steam-train,'
though Tobba and Pastor Jón
screech loud in their tallow voices.

All is accomplished — and all strife ended.
Farewell — and so without delay,
at peace I go to the grave."

The ghost vanished. Amazed, Valtýr stared into the blue,
bound by fear and wonder both;
he saw nothing but the dog.

Fair and rosy goddess of the poem's hand —
joy secretly the verses hold.
Lightly the poem drops down.

Ríma IV — Eldhúsdagsríma (The Kitchen-Day Ríma)

Meter: Gagaraljóð. Twenty-six stanzas. The budget-debate ríma. The notorious "kitchen day" — eldhúsdagur — when financial battles erupt. Skúli, the fiery opposition champion, launches his assault on Magnús. Laugi charges into the fray. Magnús defends himself with his "mail-coat" of delegated responsibility and wins the day.

1.
The sturdy fiddle shall sound aloft —
let women listen, and men sing;
the verses shall recall once more
Magnús the splendid.

2.
For the budget battle
most parliamentarians stride boldly;
for much, in many men's opinion,
goes widely awry.

3.
The outcries are heard, frenzied-high,
when Parliament is stirred to its roots;
the government's chimney is swept —
each man brushes the soot from himself.

4.
The famous ones wage savage
sword-play with their pates
on the infamous "kitchen day" —
the platforms are not empty.

5.
Skúli I name — a flashing warrior,
sharp, stout, fearless —
many a poisoned arrow
he aimed at Magnús.

6.
Much hair fell upon his shoulders,
yet he was bald in front;
on the field he seemed hardy, stalwart —
he weathered every trial.

7.
A pillar he seemed of people and land,
ever faithful to the farmers;
neither his strength nor mettle failed
though he faced the threat of ruin.

8.
Unsparing with his own wealth,
he guarded the country's coffers most;
the man gave his krónur freely —
the people's love he valued best.

9.
Fierce quarrels he had
with Magnús in former days;
yet swiftly the sharp tempest of swords
broke upon Skúli.

10.
The people followed Skúli close,
yet the cruelest loss he bore;
but his spirit did not crack
when the government stripped him bare.

11.
He thought himself reborn —
a Skúli the governor incarnate;
our merchants, he intended,
to bind as thralls with harsh fetters.

12.
The wrath of the Mother of the Gods seized him —
his eyes burned, large and grey;
raging, he donned the berserk-skin
and charged against the ranks of swords.

13.
He thought he must try again
to test his strength against Magnús;
upon the Budget-field there fell
a perilous blizzard of spears.

14.
Fire-arrows scorched their palates,
the champions' brows bristled;
three gleaming suns of Sigmundr
seemed to shine in their hands.

15.
Skúli thrust, Skúli hewed —
the mighty storm of flashing steel burst forth;
Magnús was silent, Magnús laughed —
matchlessly he defended himself.

16.
Foremost in the breast of the line
there charged stout Laugi;
he bore his blade with fury —
few men dared face him.

17.
He ran to meet Magnús the splendid —
words rose fierce upon his lips;
he spewed fire and poison
like a flood crashing against the cliffs.

18.
Magnús half-hesitated —
trials pressed upon his heart.
"Calves never repay
what has been given them," he thought.

19.
Another clever man cast his spear
when rich eloquence flowed forth —
he who eases all the troubles
of men and women in Keflavík.

20.
Magnús gained a shield-bearer from Flensburg
who could do little in a trial;
he seldom waged war —
at home he mostly sat at his "handicraft."

21.
Many a wound Magnús received,
yet he wielded a bright blade;
wound-sharp, the arrow flew ever
at his dark brain-moor.

22.
Yet the hard mail-coat gave protection;
with it came this power:
for the deeds of others
he need bear no blame.

23.
Somewhat heavy in the wearing,
yet it suited him well —
grave-faced when he bore
this treasure of the king.

24.
An ice-hole he had to defend himself in,
yet the mail-coat was his shelter;
loud, amid the din of battle,
the hard ground of the land seemed to thunder.

25.
Yet it was said that there
Magnús won the victory;
all the heroes recoiled
from the fierce blow at once.

26.
The verses run dry — let the people
glance at my few lines.
The hastened song of the wise —
the age may see it by evening.

Ríma V — Fjárlagaríma (The Budget Ríma)

Meter: Langhent. Twenty-nine stanzas. The budget-allocation ríma. Parliament doles out money to its favored recipients — doctors, magistrates, cookery schools, Templars, poets — while others depart empty-handed. A panorama of pork-barrel politics in the age of Icelandic home rule.

1.
It is one of Parliament's tasks —
thither shall the matter turn —
to portion out to worthy men
the shaped fair fire of the Rhine.

2.
Each man races toward his cake,
the champion eager to rake the coals;
deep in their breasts there burns
a white-hot lust for gold and silver.

3.
Often the battle there is fiercest —
each wants to aid "his own";
never did some fight better;
so it always goes.

4.
So it was at this Parliament;
the weapon-dance seemed to harden.
Best charged the cunning battler
bold Sigurður and his champions.

5.
Away they went, decked with gold —
a gleam stood upon their faces —
clad in wondrous finery
of four-aurar postage stamps.

6.
Next to them, old Doctor Forni served well,
though slightly dusty;
it is said that very morning
he was seen walking without a limp.

7.
The lords let heavy morsels fall
to him from the high tables,
for otherwise, all believed,
he would write obscene verse about Parliament.

8.
Silver they sowed about the streets —
each went after his own share;
Bjarni got a devilishly large sum
to examine the accounts.

9.
Our Matthías on outstretched wings
slyly worked his way to the pile;
Haraldur the Hebrew
squeezed the gold in his death-grip.

10.
Those who to heavenly heights
praise the Lord's lambs —
they let the national treasury bleed somewhat,
the blessed ones, all the same.

11.
Seed-money of Kraki was sent to the doctors
so they might buy their drink;
a hefty share they take
to rip men open.

12.
County magistrates must not be denied
the silver allotted to them,
so they can afford to pour
wine at the next elections.

13.
Well spent, some thought, was
a handsome pile of coin
to teach the art of flirtation
to the girls'-school students.

14.
Into the cookery school shone
the bright sun-bonnet suns;
something had to be gathered
to fill the cooking-pots.

15.
Jónas needed to educate the folk
better in the ways of breeding —
from his writings chiefly benefit
the midwives.

16.
Money amounting to many beers
the Templars received as their portion;
and it is said they have been drinking
well into the small hours since.

17.
Very sour-faced departed
some who got nothing at all,
but wondrous few they were —
the money is generally given freely.

18.
The women's champion Indriði
tried eagerly to sweep in his share;
when it came time to collect,
there was silence in the drawer.

19.
His "sword and crozier" he swung —
miserably his fair hopes failed;
when Parliament disbursed its wealth,
he got Einar Gunnarsson.

20.
Gvendur on the Sandur rubbed his palms together —
they denied him the poet's grant;
alone with clenched fists he stirred
his porridge-pot in heaven.

21.
To "play the telegraph"
I believe Parliament gave no money —
on that rests too great a doubt
whether it be not gambling.

22.
Stefán Sveinsson wished to sail
for his own profit and pleasure;
he said he would return
to teach men the art of smoking.

23.
Parliamentarians pointed to the tobacco tax
and reckoned it all the same;
they said the devil himself
might send men to learn such things.

24.
Jóhann destroyed countless foxes
upon the stony mountain path;
yet Parliament would not pay the bounty —
it was deathly afraid for itself.

25.
Many hold the best houses
to be the old turf farms;
to make bricks,
Björni could not raise the money.

26.
Brynki, who teaches fair maidens
the art of organ-playing,
got nothing of the fire of love —
he went out and sighed low.

27.
Nothing got "Brother Binni,"
though the church-dues were meager;
may all the good angels protect
the holy man of Ólafsvellir.

28.
Parliament wished to give the farmers
a handsome grant, as so often before,
but when it came to taking it out —
the coffers were empty.

29.
The ríma ends, the dawn is out,
a mask comes to fetch me. —
Lofn of the wave-coast's surf,
grant me to rest tonight beside you!

Ríma VI — Bankaríma (The Bank Ríma)

Meter: Ferskeytt. Forty-four stanzas. The bank ríma. Warburg, the Danish banking viking, sends his agent Páll to Iceland with a sack of silver to buy parliamentarians' souls — but Laugi fights back, and the venture fails. A satirical allegory of foreign banking influence in late nineteenth-century Iceland, rendered in full heroic-saga diction.

1.
Now shall Frosti's vessel be rigged
to fly along the paths of the deep;
over the blue waves
I betake myself to Copenhagen.

2.
There is wealth, bounty, gold,
hours of gladness in plenty,
goblets brimming full of wine,
and fine beech-forests.

3.
Once in Denmark Warburg was,
that famous viking;
his seat he held there,
a grand one, by every measure.

4.
Far and wide he had made war,
won the serpent's sickness;
south he went to Saxony,
swam through the realm of the Garðar.

5.
He fought against Franks and Britons,
wielded sly cunning;
yet it is said he would make peace
with the maiden-king of the Dutch.

6.
Lands he won, and fame, and wealth,
giants followed him;
many he made kneel
beside the kinfolk's golden hoards.

7.
Then he sought out Páll,
that famous and cunning champion, —
sharpened his voice and spoke thus,
swollen with warrior-fury:

8.
"A mission is appointed for you:
you shall visit Iceland.
Go where the parliament sits
and the chieftains of the nation gather.

9.
Buy their soul and conviction;
in your campaigns, be not soft.
A sea-mitten full of silver
I send with you, my friend.

10.
The people of that land lack the fire of law,
they have little to eat;
a wretched soul will not be able
to withstand the silver.

11.
I have heard that Fáfnir there
heaps up a monstrous hoard,
full of malice and venom,
upon the Bank-Heath.

12.
Four trolls guard the treasure,
bound on a single chain,
all of them imbued with sorcery
from the east, out of Bjarmaland.

13.
Fáfnir is growing old —
go and seek him out;
that serpent will not be difficult
for you to defeat."

14.
Páll set off and took to the sea;
Rán groaned and thundered;
the sail was hoisted in the spray,
the wave-steed labored.

15.
The ship ran through the shoals to Vík;
Páll came ashore at once.
No such champion had arrived before,
laden with wondrous wealth.

16.
Tall he was upon the field,
swinging his umbrella;
on both shoulders he bore a cloak
of brown fox-skin.

17.
The sea-mitten the fellow shook,
the silver jingled inside;
from it Einar caught the gold-sickness,
and little Indriði stared.

18.
Sorcery attended the treasure;
some were seized by madness.
Einar Ben and Indriði,
it was as if they danced on a thread.

19.
These foremost "finanz"-men
gladly followed Páll;
their defense is still unsurpassed
in that whole banking affair.

20.
Yet few of the parliamentarians
were willing to follow;
the sea-mitten had been lightened
far more than it should have been.

21.
Then Laugi grew furious and wild,
would pay no heed to anything;
Páll's bark was clawed
by that iron-strong champion.

22.
Páll could make no headway;
bitter that journey seemed to him.
His sturdy breastwork cracked,
his host broke into flight.

23.
Warburg heard the tidings of this
and was monstrously angry;
eight and two great chests
he carried out upon a ship.

24.
Rhine-fire from Russia
glowed red within;
then over the sea he steered,
the shepherd of finger-snows.

25.
The rigging sang, Rán drove grimly
upon the raging steed;
long in the timbers there drummed
a deep thunder at good speed.

26.
The spray washed the wave-horse;
the steam-engine, driven by raw power,
the stately ship upon the cool sea
drifted, bowed under its masts.

27.
Warburg stood tall in the prow,
great and fame-rich,
as the mighty vessel plowed its way
into Reykjavík.

28.
He surpassed all men of that company;
he furrowed his brows in knots.
Folk saw in him
a second Alexander the Great.

29.
Dark was the viking's entire countenance,
his sharp eyes glowed;
all stared at the heath-troll —
they stood on the shore, dumbstruck.

30.
Up on land he carried the chests,
as was said before;
warriors saw there
the bright serpent's lair gleaming.

31.
The brows of our parliament-chieftains
seemed to rise at that;
many wished to see Warburg
and be near his footsteps.

32.
He had barely had a meal
before he drew his grey blade;
all called him generous —
all wanted to "strike" him.

33.
Those whom debts most tormented
and whose bodily needs were greatest
now thought it best to pledge
their bills at the bank.

34.
The bank-pestilence grew,
swelling grief and harm for many;
but Halldór Jónsson laughed and took
half as much again in the nose.

35.
Laugi and Doctor Þórður then
took heavy blows;
their heads nearly plunged
straight down into the chests.

36.
Many quickly caught the madness,
inner-shame in the belly;
they caught a rough case of the shakes,
staggered and began to sway.

37.
Visions rose before their eyes:
— some were driven mad —
lava fields, glaciers, moorlands,
icebergs gilded gold, —

38.
Farmland, steam-engines,
Icelandic ships and wagons,
both telephone and telegraph lines —
the men were bewildered.

39.
Then from the parliamentary ranks
the crowd around Warburg swelled;
he saw a hostile force was readying itself
to attack the Icelanders.

40.
Yet it is said that tears ran
down the cheeks of some of them,
when the bright ray of gold
gleamed from the ale-cup.

41.
Warburg filled up a multitude of men,
then went back to Copenhagen;
that war-campaign of his
brought no increase of wealth hither over the waves.

42.
Einar's fortunes began to decline,
heartbreak bit at his hope,
and the happy day of the auditor
may not be seen again since.

43.
Fáfnir still dwells in his lair;
the dark creature stirs.
No Týr of the shield goes forth
to claim his bright gold.

44.
The ríma is at its end. —
Oak of Bráinn's meadow,
take now these verses hastily composed —
receive them swiftly from me.

Ríma VII — Bakkusarríma (The Bacchus Ríma)

Meter: Langhent. Twenty-seven stanzas. The Bacchus ríma. A mock-heroic celebration of Bacchus enthroned at Hotel Ísland in Reykjavík — his hall, his jarls Halberg and Júlíus, and the parliamentarians who storm the fortress only to be conquered by drink. The temperance movement (Templars) threatens his realm, but Bacchus endures.

1.
Bacchus sits blessed beside his goblet
upon a throne of high dignity;
the prince gleams like the sun
in the blue halls of the gods.

2.
Long has the splendid lord
served the host of the earthly house;
brave men far and wide across the field
have furthered his road and glory.

3.
Those who find shelter
beside the undoomed king
may draw fair draughts,
and most sorrows flee them.

4.
Hotel Ísland is the great name
of the prince's noble hall;
it shelters champions who carouse —
nowhere on earth does its like arise.

5.
Jarl Halberg and clever Júlíus
rule the king's hall there;
harps ring beside the lord's throne,
high in the mountains their echo returns.

6.
The roof blazes like fire,
bright to the eye when the sun shines;
strong, vaulted, lofty arches
gleam white as porcelain.

7.
The wall-tapestries shine far and wide,
stately carpets line the hall-passages;
there in the evenings one may hear
high music and fair song.

8.
Built like a church is the lofty hall,
the tower reaches toward the heavens;
blue steel reinforces its might,
a strong defense against assailants.

9.
Written in red gold
stands the hall's splendid name. —
If you are drunk, if you are tipsy,
the cunning lord esteems you most.

10.
The lord hates the pious teetotalers —
they do not understand his costly wares.
With skill they seek to topple him from his throne,
the proud ones who loathe the age's grain.

11.
Some such men drown their sorrows
even alongside the rich hare;
there one may recognize Jósep too,
him from Arimatía.

12.
Bacchus has fortresses far and wide,
wrapped in splendor, small and great:
Fischer, Bryde, Thomsen play chess
with the Templar-host and Bensi Þór.

13.
This I learn upon this land:
though the strength seems slight,
Bacchus has held the folk
in trial and need, the worthy and the just.

14.
Widely the old loyalty has fled;
Templars fill the settlements.
The people are vexed and turned away
from where sorrow never was.

15.
In Bacchus's realm a rising has occurred;
often in the evenings it is quiet there.
The parish sits fire-red at the starvation-tables
far into the night.

16.
Before parliament there came to burn
monstrously, as I shall now tell:
with spears to stab the noble lord,
the able warriors wished it then.

17.
Over Laugi's brow-rings
Bacchus's hatred gaped;
as from the dreadful eyes of ghosts,
doom shone across the sacrificial stone.

18.
Indriði rallied the folk across the land;
a foul custom was at hand.
Árni stretched himself out upon a demon,
appearing for all the world like the devil.

19.
The parliamentarians quickly marched in bands,
wishing to fell the wolf's hall;
many there swore oaths quickly
that it should come crashing to the ground.

20.
In they burst, loosing arrows,
rushing at the jarl's men in fury and haste;
they glared — yet their eyes still floated —
toward the brandy and the beer-barrels.

21.
The people began to crave a drop,
softening from their maddened siege;
they let the grey moustache have its sip,
and filled the glasses with curt and pí.

22.
Then there was toasting and then there was merriment,
then the fellows were glad at heart;
many thought the hall itself
was crashing down around them at once.

23.
Hard they drank then "in the land,"
thirsty for beer beyond all measure;
they went out "unferryable,"
yet the great temple stood forgotten.

24.
Never since have fierce warriors
stormed the king's hall with brands,
though his fair host still seeks
to lay waste far and wide across the land.

25.
And yet they were not made a laughingstock;
they felled a small fortress or two.
Bacchus laughed and Halberg grinned,
crowned then with honor and dominion.

26.
Though the smaller forts fall to ruin —
fewer warriors tremble at that —
the greater ones thunder up from the ruins
with higher road and glory still.

27.
Bacchus lives on, beyond all ages —
I write no more of him. —
Fold-Sif, decked in beauty,
let us go dozing into the bedchamber.

Ríma VIII — Arnarhólsríma (The Eagle Hill Ríma)

Meter: Nýhent. Twenty-nine stanzas. Arnarhóll — Eagle Hill — in Reykjavík, where Ingólfr Arnarson's high-seat pillars came ashore. The poet tells how the Danes built a battery there, then describes the arrival of a beautiful Danish lady by ship — an allegory for foreign commercial influence. She enchants the parliamentarians with "Jac de Hennessy" (cognac as a mythological sleep-thorn), but the Reykjavík representative resists.

1.
There where the sun lay blessed,
happy with its fair beam-staff,
Eagle Hill gleams,
wrapped in busy-green attire.

2.
Thither from the blue sea bore —
bright the gods around were drifting —
the pillars of the victory-voyage
that paved Ingólfr's way.

3.
There bright-browed Saga
has dwelt — consider it now —
and the sturdy dog-days commander
had a fortress built there.

4.
Upon the exceedingly high rampart
the muzzles of the cannons gaped;
in the grey one could not tell apart
the ground, the sky, nor the crests of waves.

5.
When the Danes once intended
to fire upon the Icelanders,
like roosters around the hill
they ran, armed with swords.

6.
A "Battery" they built high;
soon nothing should be spared;
the crash of shots and clash of spears
were to be heard, fiercely maddened.

7.
The cold pressed in on the Danes,
most of them shriveled over winter;
yet the fortress remains
where the best defense can be made.

8.
Many would gladly obtain
the famous and precious fine fortress —
but no weapon-god of any nation
should claim it.

9.
There is delight out by the sea;
above, the bright star twinkles;
women, gentle-fair of brow,
stir their bright locks in the wind.

10.
Often sweet love-words are whispered
softly beneath the hill in quiet seclusion;
there one may hear man and maiden
whispering low by the shore-stones.

11.
Parliamentarians loved this place —
there was peace to think over matters;
thither they ran whenever
both life and soul were thirsting.

12.
When the parliament-season wore on,
wonders seemed to come to hand:
a swift-sailed ship ran in from the sea;
the wind groaned and sighed in its bonds.

13.
It was as if fire played about the rigging;
all ran with light and gleam;
when the quiet evening came,
a thousand lamps were seen burning.

14.
There stood a fair maiden in the prow;
light shone from her bright eyelids,
fairer than a rose on the mountainside —
she won praise in every heart.

15.
Golden locks played about her neck,
white lilies adorned her breast;
gracious charm and freedom's beauty
graced the nobly-grown maiden.

16.
With enchantments she knew how to charm
all clever men entirely,
as the morning sun gleams
on the mountain's brow and the field's blossoms.

17.
She came from the realm of the Danes;
Viðarr was the name of the one who steered the vessel;
dark brow and stern look he bore —
in assaults he did not yield.

18.
A giant he was in stature;
his voice rumbled terribly;
strongly he bore his battle-shield
when the storm of swords was thundering.

19.
The land seemed fair to the lady;
the sun broke the clouds beautifully,
shining as always bright and gentle
on the "Battery" and Eagle Hill.

20.
She wished to raise a high hall
on the hill, adorned with splendor;
it should glow all over with gold —
then the greatest joy would be won.

21.
She wished to win Iceland,
Eagle Hill and the strong fortress;
best with generosity and gentleness,
the ring-adorned lady thought to work.

22.
The lady then went to parliament
and found the clever members to speak with;
with grey tricks she was adept —
soon she won most of them over.

23.
The bright-eyed flower of Copenhagen
swiftly turned all their minds,
so that even Sighvatur,
the seventy-year-old, became smitten.

24.
She stuck a sleep-thorn into the men —
for some it maddened and bewitched —
it was called "Jac de Hennessy";
both Halldór and Þórður she made drunk.

25.
Laugi flung himself to the ground,
kissed the hem of the maiden's dress;
true it is, the flesh is weak —
yet he did not lose his strength.

26.
He swore to lend the maiden his support
and to hurl the shaft with all his might;
the blood warmed in the hero then —
a crash was heard upon the field of strife.

27.
Yet the maiden's beauty could not
conquer the Reykjavík parliamentarian;
with Valtýr he went to battle —
no one compels clever heroes.

28.
All the lady's company
now marshaled at the "Battery" —
the other hard party turned to meet them —
the noble host arrayed in honor.

29.
I am not at the parliament where
men fall to the ground. —
In hagkveðlingar high I shall sing
of bold heroes before long.

Ríma IX — Batteríisríma (The Battery Ríma)

Meter: Samhent (Hagkveðlingaháttur variant). Twenty-two stanzas. The battle at the Battery continues from where the Eagle Hill Ríma left off. Berserkers rage, a dragon flies in from the sea and spews cognac upon the host — Valtýr draws his shield and refuses to look. Laugi prevails, crawls weary into the lady's lap. The parliamentarians emerge decorated but battle-weary.

1.
My poem dropped off earlier there
as the heroes raged in fury,
with the High One's sharp-whetted embers
hard upon the battle-field's paths.

2.
There began a hard and heavy battle-cry;
gleaming skies whined through the passages;
the long sounds of trumpets echoed —
from the leaf-gleam the cliffs sang.

3.
The livid berserkers howled,
cursing then like madmen;
the fire of the gods blazed upon them —
no one had seen such fury before.

4.
Many gaped in fierce rage;
fire-smoke poured from their jaws,
a foul wind from front and back,
magnified by the Devil's power.

5.
Cracking and crashing on the skulls,
gleam flashed on the helmets,
blood welled from the wounds,
thundering in the mountain peaks.

6.
Laugi, long enraged with fury,
shook the red embers of the sea-king;
first into the host he waded forward —
many lost their life and blood.

7.
He charged then — the man of great strength,
the powerful and sure-aiming —
Jón the keen champion,
the spear-warrior of Reykjavík.

8.
The hot wave of frenzy swelled there;
cries rang out among the host;
steel clashed against men's skulls —
on neither one's bald pate the iron bit.

9.
Many swift sword-blows could be seen
in the heat of gleaming there;
clear signs could be had
that they showed great valor then.

10.
Jón is a bold deed-doer;
long he fought, untiring,
nimble with blows on the field of battle,
though hard-pressed as a berserker.

11.
The tones of the battle-hall hardened;
a grim fellow raged, shape-shifting;
with the sword's atonement in the assault-dance,
a namesake pressed against Jón.

12.
They tried to thrust at that warrior,
the representative of Reykjavík,
but he, clever, managed to leap
straight over the manifold ring.

13.
Valtýr saw it and lent his aid
long to the keen battle-tree;
he cleared a gap in the troop then,
the mighty hero, in the ancient manner.

14.
He shot poisoned arrows —
they hissed and whizzed into the shields;
many gaped up with their eyes
at the champion in the mighty trials.

15.
The heroes take their death's-rest;
from the sea a great dragon flew —
it shook its jaws and claws
and spewed cognac upon the host.

16.
Fierce battle-goddess raged then;
over himself Valtýr drew his shield —
the mighty, power-filled champion
did not wish to see cognac.

17.
The streets shook from the sword-clamor;
the noise was heard south in Rome;
the long echo of the leaf-quarrel
empty words could not describe.

18.
Laugi at last enjoyed victory
after the exhausting struggle;
the weary man had to crawl
into the lady's most tender lap.

19.
She gave refreshment to the heroes,
worn out from the sword's mass;
she gave her blessing to the berserkers
on this blood-field of many wounds.

20.
Blooms glowed on the breasts
of the gleaming warriors through the streets,
when for the honor of the fair lady
they bore medals of fame.

21.
Many visited the lady in secret,
but few of the people noticed that victory;
battle-weariness burned in the men. —
Valtýr stood his ground, one of four.

22.
The sounds fail — I end my poem. —
Young, rosy path of rings,
sing the verses, true and wise,
of the love-goddess's ember and steel and blood.

Ríma X — Konungs ríma og ráðherra (The King and Ministers Ríma)

Meter: Stafhent. Forty-nine stanzas. The scene shifts to Copenhagen. King Christian IX of Denmark sits at table with his ministers Goos and Sehested. Goos bursts in with the newspaper Ísafold bearing news of the Icelandic parliamentary wars. The king, too old to fight, dispatches a Finnish sorcerer to demand a truce. The Icelanders agree to a two-year peace — though they silently vow to resume hostilities. Valtýr sails to Copenhagen laden with gold; the champions sheathe their swords.

1.
Again my poem of praise shall start.
A good king this time,
adorned with Rhine-fire,
ruled the realm of Denmark.

2.
Exceedingly noble, that prince
was grown old in years by then.
The king — I name his lineage —
was called Christian the Ninth.

3.
He won the people's love —
no one wished to shoot him;
he fostered peace and increased freedom
when the warrior-king took power.

4.
That prince once wielded the sword
upon the fields of battle —
with hard-shooting force of blades
he warred against the Germans.

5.
He struck with keen edges then
on the heights of Als and Dybbøl;
on the paths of slaughter he shook clean
the good hero's Mistilteinn.

6.
It was to fight against an overlord —
a storm of arms from the Danish side —
but ill fortune befell
the trollish-strong warriors of the thunder-god.

7.
Bismarck, the Devil's own delegate,
breathing foul spirit,
brought cold calamity upon the Danes —
there came that sorcerer-hound.

8.
Considerable lands and people he lost,
Prince Christian, in the storm of steel;
afterward the lord most feared
sword-storms and clashing arms.

9.
He sat in Copenhagen with his court in peace —
high is that city by the wave,
laden with honor, world-famous:
the capital of Denmark.

10.
Two ministers I shall speak of
whom the king had in his counsel,
laden with the light of waves —
they were called Goos and Sehested.

11.
Iceland bows to that prince
who distributes the red stream —
there where the summer sun
never sets near the cold north pole.

12.
There are tall war-kings there —
the rímur tell of them. —
Guarding the king's interests, those two:
Goos and Magnús the Proud.

13.
So it happened one Sunday —
contented with peace and prosperity,
the prince sat at his table;
the warriors ate their noble feast.

14.
There was sweet triple-sort wine,
there was fresh-roasted suckling pig;
beans the men ate, and porridge —
aquavit flowed across the tables.

15.
"The good-tasting schnapps,"
bright, fine, and wholesome —
the great prince himself sipped from it,
the kind he bought from Bensi Thór.

16.
To the table before the king strides quickly
Goos — with a drawn blade he cut the news —
not pleasant to look at:
his grey brows darkened grimly.

17.
He rolled his eyes fiercely there;
he carried Ísafold in his hand —
sparks burned beneath his brows;
he crushed the paper in his fist.

18.
No one smiled — the prince's folk
stood as if struck by thunder.
The king spoke quickly then:
"What is it that goes wrong?"

19.
The other replied in haste:
"Ill tidings, my lord —
bold war-kings are stirring their shields
in Iceland.

20.
"All is in fire and flame there —
shields stained with blood,
heroes falling and swords flashing —
the entire parliament-world is at war.

21.
"Out of my privy council
the mighty ones intend to depart —
the nation-famous warriors —
they have gone mad.

22.
"Valtýr lacks weapons and troops;
scarce is talk of peace there.
In the crash of sword-storms,
Bensi fell — and that went well!

23.
"The champions of Ísafjörður
press furiously forward;
the giant of Skaftafell
sharpens his gleaming blade at parliament.

24.
"This is no lie,
according to what stands written here —
a lampoon, as I understand it,
written by Einar Hjörleifsson.

25.
"Like a pitch-black bull,
Þjóðólfur blows at the coals;
a poisonous torrent pours from it —
and Einar and Björn cross themselves."

26.
"What the devil?" said the king.
"Trouble comes upon us;
the realm is ruined, joy fails —
I do not like this war.

27.
"Give me a true report on the whole army —
what news from the upper house?"
Goos then answers: "The king's forces
have again fared badly.

28.
"Árni is no good at all;
old age bends Þorkell ugly;
Júlíus gives nothing but draws;
Jónas has a fool's grip.

29.
"Hallgrímur shakes his crozier —
the shepherd of Christ's sheep —
he kneads heavenly maidens
from the froth and foam of eloquence."

30.
The king shoves the tables forward;
joy vanishes from the famous lord;
the clever prince summons the privy council
and declared thus:

31.
"Ugly old age afflicts me;
otherwise I would swiftly muster a host —
with bloody sword-storms
I would crush that strife.

32.
"Had youth still favored me,
I would tread the heavy path of swords,
shake bare the blade and knife —
but what trick shall we try now?"

33.
"My lord," said Sehested,
"I see a trick we can employ:
we have an old Finn
who practices various sorceries.

34.
"Since Gormr's time is the old one —
he walks the sea on skis,
he whistles through sky, sea, and land,
and reaches Hell's-Fire in an hour.

35.
"It is no trouble for the Finn
to ride his magic staff across the blue seas
to madden the parliament
or stir up the nation.

36.
"Send the Finn to parliament —
let him bring your message
that the hard warriors in Iceland
must cease their warfare —

37.
"that it would be easy to crush them
if they will not agree to a truce —
lest they not sheathe their ring-adorned sword,
let 'Heimdallers' be shot ashore."

38.
The advice pleased the king;
he expressed thanks to Sehested;
on his mighty magic staff
the Finn sped across the sea-goddess's domains.

39.
All was in uproar then.
Everyone at parliament was alarmed
when the king's envoy rushed into Reykjavík
like a flying thing.

40.
They saw their best chance
was to calm the strife and sword-fury;
they ceased their threatening provocations
and agreed on a two-year peace.

41.
Many a bold warrior was glad
of peace after the gleaming battles —
for indeed the people feared
the outcome this time.

42.
Yet they promised in their hearts —
the warriors of sword-snow —
that they would another time
increase the quarrels of battle.

43.
Valtýr went home to Copenhagen,
laden with great wealth and gold;
the guardian of the wide-gleaming
pondered then the war's revenges.

44.
He received a feast in the king's hall —
the deed-laden clever champion;
the mead-elf met the king
and kissed the minister himself.

45.
Hard it fell for Laugi to lay down
the ugly arrow and edge-hunger;
the Baldr of steel
bit into the bloody shield-straps.

46.
Many of the great champions
were battle-weary afterward;
the stout Vigur-clerk
sheathed his sword for the last time.

47.
Jón from Múli bore his marrow-wound;
the hero's blade grew dull.
The worthy Sighvatur
had likewise fallen, unfit for battle.

48.
The chieftains languish at home;
all fighting was over —
and so I part with my subject. —
I end this poem's sound.

49.
Longer I do not care to strike
my stiff string this time.
Sleep, dear and good dove —
may your slumber be sweet, gentle lady.

Ríma XI — Krossferðarríma (The Crusade Ríma)

Meter: Ferskeytt. Fifty-four stanzas. After the two-year truce expires, Valtýr musters a new army. Magnús the Proud rallies his own forces — especially Lárus, who had previously fought Skúli in the west and now serves as governor. Lárus speechifies before farmers, promising low taxes and open house. Hannes Hafstein raises the Ísafjörður men, summoning witches and sorcerers from the Strandir coast. He delivers a rousing speech invoking Ragnarök. Even Skúli, struck by sorcery, reaches parliament.

1.
Listen to me, bright of brow,
blossom of young maidens;
of Magnús the Proud again
the poem's matter treats.

2.
After a two-year interval,
the peace proved spent;
Valtýr's journeys were heard of —
the bold warrior of the sword-tree.

3.
Valtýr had gathered an army
here in the land far and wide,
and upon Magnús he intended
a terrible war to wage.

4.
Many were with him —
mighty warriors of the sword-storm;
berserkers with greedy hearts
rushed toward that meeting.

5.
Magnús the Proud and his retainers
ran through the town's streets;
they feared the host of the brave man —
hearts began to sink.

6.
Magnús sees that to sit still
is the least likely offer;
into the sharp sword-storm
he raised his war-standard.

7.
Those to whom he had formerly given
power and rank from his generosity,
he bade them boldly, with spear and shield,
to stand fast on the crusade.

8.
Lárus may then be mentioned —
the sword-wielder, the cunning one;
now the mighty champion
was governor of the Snæfellsnes folk.

9.
Magnús had gilded him
here earlier that year,
when in the west many a man
suffered from the Skúli-plague.

10.
When Skúli wished to shoot
Skúrður into the black pit,
the other wished to show him mercy
from good will and generosity.

11.
Lárus was sent west,
filled with battle-fury;
against Skúli he bore the sword
and fought like one possessed.

12.
He came into many a heavy trial,
the valiant ski-Baldr;
the Ísafjörður men planned
to thrash him through the night.

13.
Old tales tell,
as some still believe,
that they tried to twist
the death-fiends from Lárus's neck.

14.
That is surely a lie
about that fine champion,
but one thing is certain: a crooked head
he has carried since.

15.
Lárus the governor now
pledges his troop;
in the chieftain they placed great faith —
the firm law-enforcer.

16.
Lárus bade the farmers to a meeting,
dressed in his noble finery.
Then in this manner spoke
the nation's proud hero:

17.
"Hear my words, heed me —
today we shall debate:
greetings I bring you all
from our governor.

18.
"Know you that Valtýr, that
worst of arch-enemies,
under the Danes intends to bring
our fatherland?

19.
"Choose me to draw the sword,
to ride straight to parliament,
for God and fatherland
to fight against that fiend.

20.
"Rather bold was my famous journey
in the western days of old;
Skúli is at my knee beneath the sword —
the greatest of chieftains.

21.
"Well I proved my worth when at once
sixty drunkards attacked me,
all together on one evening,
burning with battle-fire.

22.
"To Copenhagen I often came
cheerful and brisk in manner;
all the 'bullies' I laid
flat upon the floor.

23.
"I have also among chieftains
rather been counted,
and chosen to committees abroad
before many others.

24.
"Hannes Hafstein taught me
how to write skillfully for the papers;
my poems shall hearten and strengthen
a brave host.

25.
"Should any foul fowl
want to attack me,
then in Þjóðólfur I shall
answer it with a verse.

26.
"Let the parish officers hear my words —
that shall be an honor —
just as myself, I shall
make all of you knighted.

27.
"The price-list shall be lowered,
the bad taxes shall diminish,
if you will lend me your support —
strike the sword on the shield!

28.
"My house shall be open to all,
I deny no man his mead;
I shall be a willing father
to all the fatherless.

29.
"A wreath of bright laurels
the land shall weave for me;
from all you helpless wretches
I shall swiftly lift the burden.

30.
"But remember also that I am one
who does not let himself be mocked —
if you now fall away from me
in the quarrel of the sharp spear." —

31.
His voice had grown quite hoarse;
he lay down flat. —
Bárður of Snæfell stood there,
calm, and grinned and was silent.

32.
The farmers gave good hope —
it cheered them to get something for their pains. —
Mister Einar Hjörleifsson
had also put himself forward. — —

33.
The sturdy fellows chose Lárus,
though under protest;
blue-faced berserkers
wielded the sharp spear.

34.
Lárus the hard-gripping hero
held the ground there,
but Reverend Sigurður
in the end I believe fell.

35.
More I shall not tell this time
of the cunning sword-breaker. —
Hannes Hafstein then
boldly led the Ísafjörður men.

36.
He was the fairest of men;
very handsomely he bore himself —
a champion on the field, stalwart,
kingly was he.

37.
He spoke in poems, entertaining and clear,
composed verses of many meters;
and over his cup he was exceedingly cheerful
when the day wore on.

38.
Magnús bade him lend his aid,
forsake life's comforts;
Hannes now assented to his plea
and wished to gather a troop.

39.
Skúli and Hannes had a hard
and long contest;
many thought in that time
a terrible war was raging.

40.
Hannes sent his sorceresses
to muster an army together;
cold-blooded night-riders
hastened forward to the valleys.

41.
Hannes came to Horn and let
his trumpet sound aloud,
and with a high voice he called
upon the sorcerers: —

42.
"Surtur now comes from the south;
he darkens the bright sun;
in mortal danger is
our dear ancestral earth.

43.
"Hither charges Heimdallur;
Valtýr commands him —
a blue and stout berserker,
a guest harmful to farmers.

44.
"Forward he rages, howling,
spewing fire from his jaws,
pounding land and sea
with a long axe-shaft.

45.
"He has a host of cannons,
the rogue, to wage war;
here on Hornstrandir it will not
be safe to wait in peace.

46.
"Magnús has plainly told me:
in these days the treacherous one
intends to drag our land
south into the sea.

47.
"Hold this Horn, lads —
here we must stand fast;
send me into the clash of arms
against this fiend.

48.
"But if you strengthen his troop
or follow him,
Danish slaves you shall become,
then, on the galleys.

49.
"Your sons will swiftly be ordered
to shoot their own fathers;
then the night of the death-wretch
shall darken my fatherland.

50.
"I have 'unquiet, surging blood';
I shall stand and defend myself
and with courage and hero's heart
fight like a man." —

51.
The Hornstrandir men were taken aback;
they paled in the face.
"Let us choose Hannes Hafstein!"
they all shouted together.

52.
Sorcerers from the Strandir coast
worked their spells on Skúli;
no mortal man could
withstand such fiends.

53.
Yet with crosses and bell-sounds
the mighty champion braced himself,
and to the honor of parliament and nation
he too reached the assembly.

54.
Hear, O people, my poem-craft;
daughters fair of the land,
do not fear the bloody war —
bid us good night.

Ríma XII — Kosningaríma (The Election Ríma)

Meter: Braghent. Fifty-two stanzas. The election campaigns across Iceland — each district a miniature battlefield. Guðjón flips from bishop-baiter to governor's friend. Árni gallops through Húnaþing stirring voters. Hermann the fat rides to parliament with seal-friends cheering from the waves. Stefán of Möðruvellir, Valtýr's greatest ally, is struck down by sorcery — a necromancer from Hafsteinsstaðir sends a demon-dog. A doctor from Akureyri arrives with Hoffmann's drops and surgeon's tools but cannot help. The exorcist Ólafur Davíðsson banishes the ghost; Stefán recovers and rides to parliament. Klemens wins Eyjafjörður. The poet begs for mercy and rest.

1.
Around that time, many a blow into another's garden
they struck, for parliament was near —
each thought himself higher than the next.

2.
Of Guðjón I have told before, how grimly once
he let bishop and governor
feel the stinging pins of satire.

3.
The weather shifts fast in the sky, believe you me —
now he wished to be the governor's friend
and to "agitate."

4.
He expected that perhaps some crumbs might fall,
as has come to light,
from the great man's table into his own field.

5.
The election storm was fierce on the Strandir coast;
there he had no easy fight —
Ingimundur of Snartartunga.

6.
Guðjón the brave took a knee-blow, so the tale tells,
before young Ingimundur;
many a maiden was then displeased.

7.
But the battle resumed, as all remember;
after long exchanges of blows,
he wrestled Ingimundur down.

8.
A fierce battle was fought in Húnaþing:
Árni in Höfðahólar wore out
five horses at a gallop.

9.
He flew like a whip-crack through Þing and Dales
to stir the farmers into armed revolt —
all men against Valtýr.

10.
And so he could not get around to raking
the manure on the home-field,
that fine warrior of the spear,
until the winter nights arrived.

11.
There is an example, my people, you should learn:
keep to the higher roads,
and tend to your own farm and stock.

12.
It is strange how much is odd, but especially this:
that the forceful Árni
should be leading the Húnavetnings astray.

13.
So he bewildered their sight that some wished
to raise the dead and send them to Valtýr —
which seems to point to madness.

14.
Old Jósafat set out into the sword-storm;
he declared he would "with bleached old age
play undaunted at the game of battle."

15.
Fat Hermann seized his trident and rode to parliament;
the seals wept tears of joy
and peeked up from the cold waves.

16.
A great bearded seal was there and spoke:
"Kinsman Hermann, in your parliament-hall
you shall greet my brothers.

17.
"Be well — we all wish you luck and fortune.
In this wet land you have your home;
you must never forget this.

18.
"Dull you will find the life on dry land;
if it is not pleasant there, then flee
to the new wine-land."

19.
Then came a great flock of terns to bid the hero farewell;
hot and fast they kissed his pate
and lost their dinners.

20.
They "decorated" his hat and clothes,
so that the champion appeared proud
in the white garb of innocence. —

21.
Now I shall turn my gaze to Skagafjörður —
there the heavy battles raged,
there was the ugly battle-storm.

22.
Within the district many wished to go to parliament,
and my Stefán of Möðruvellir,
the man who surpassed them all.

23.
He is handsome, well-built, and warlike;
he strokes his moustache, grins often —
he often delights in fierce debates.

24.
He was Valtýr's greatest friend in our land;
he lacked neither eloquence nor resolve
and threaded countless crooked paths.

25.
I must tell of Jón at Hafsteinsstaðir:
northward into Fljót I saw him ride
and meet an ancient sorceress.

26.
A human bone they enchanted and sent a mighty demon;
that fiend was to find Stefán,
hinder his journey and wreak havoc.

27.
The Hafsteinsstaðir-demon now goes on his way —
it was a dark-red bitch,
empowered with devilish sorcery.

28.
Stefán was then westward bound — though beforehand
he had called a meeting and bidden
the people to follow him in hard battle.

29.
One night it happened that Stefán slept badly —
such painful torments
seized him that he could not speak.

30.
Swollen and death-blue his neck, his head puffed up;
bone-aches and dizziness assailed
him sorely that night.

31.
He poured wine down his friend's throat, but hardly
— so fierce were the torments he felt —
could he get a single drop down.

32.
Now in a flash they sent to Akureyri
to fetch Guðmundur Hannesson —
a doctor to heal the warrior.

33.
He has rescued many a man from Death's grip;
the spirit of learning shines in him —
the greatest doctor of the Northland.

34.
With him he had a hundred vials of Hoffmann's drops,
surgeon's knives, scissors, and tongs —
Stefán was to suffer no longer.

35.
But all came to nothing; these were his words:
that the illness would not yield
to mere medicine alone.

36.
Stefán now prepared himself for death;
he was greatly weakened —
the man could no longer laugh.

37.
It was said that Ólafur Davíðsson was summoned;
no man could fool him —
he knew ghosts exceedingly well.

38.
He sat himself down with straight back on the hall-floor;
he read and chanted in low tones
terrible sorcery-poems.

39.
He saw the fiend gripping hard at Stefán's neck;
after long incantations
he brought the ghost down at last.

40.
The warrior was swiftly healed, and his long journey
he now resumes, heading west —
the most fortunate of chieftains.

41.
Stefán won a famous victory and went to parliament.
Ólafur from Álfgeirsvellir
also went with the bold champions.

42.
Jón then had to skulk at home in Hafsteinsstaðir,
and with him those other warriors
who wished to fight.

43.
A word now about the Eyjafjarðar men.
Loudest in the battle-clamor
was Hjaltalín of Möðruvellir.

44.
Then Klemens the tall champion girded his pike,
and strong Stefán, who steers the plough,
out in Fagraskógur.

45.
All of them wished to go to parliament, and countless more;
all thought themselves "certain" —
madmen, to "agitate."

46.
Hjaltalín set out with a half-barrel for the campaign;
the noble, deed-cunning champion
let the Svarfaðardalur men drink from it.

47.
Gladly the farmers quaffed the wine, but on election day
they kept their promises to themselves at home:
most of them forgot Hjaltalín.

48.
Stefán gave a speech that was heard a hundred leagues;
"full of wisdom," many said —
many smirked into their beards and were silent.

49.
Old Hjaltalín there fell with honor and glory.
Klemens carried the victory out of the fray —
a burly, tall, and stout man.

50.
His "uniform" and eye-command no one could resist;
many remembered the parliament-wages —
they thought "indulgence" the best help.

51.
Stefán won as his companion the spear-Baldr;
the second seat no one wanted —
it was to remain empty at parliament.

52.
I am exhausted — I beg for mercy upon myself.
All the land is cast in frost. —
Soon this vigil is over.

Ríma XIII — Önnur kosningaríma (The Second Election Ríma)

Meter: Skammhent. Fifty-five stanzas. The election campaigns continue, region by region. Old Ljótur rises from his sickbed to demand Bensi's seat. Pétur Gauti enters the fray. The south-coast and east districts marshal their men. Doctor Forni rides with sorcery through Skaftafell but is turned to stone by sunlight on election day. Tryggvi rallies the Reykjavík seamen with promises of a navy, a harbor, and gold. Einar and Búi agitate at Laugar; Gísli leaps and Einar launches his head into the sky. Jón cannot match such giants and falls pale from the field.

1.
Now I shall tell of the Þingeyings —
things were dull and quiet;
around dead Bensi drooped
the cold night of death.

2.
Then all "fire was dead"
after the terrible crash,
when Bensi in his last bout
fell hard to the ground.

3.
They cast ashes fiercely over themselves
and went in sackcloth;
many then got badly
stung in the eyes.

4.
Ugly old Ljótur had long
lain then in his bed;
the aged bearer of weapons
wrapped himself in his bedclothes.

5.
He scratched his left side,
pulled on his trousers;
he slapped his right thigh hard
and called on Christ and Thór: —

6.
" 'The highest wisdom' old age grants —
this is plain to see in me;
hear, all brave districts,
what I think best:

7.
"Set me in Bensi's seat —
so our loss is mended;
the old man still knows how to mock
the parliament's fools.

8.
"It is a horror if here in this land
stupidity bears the shield:
I want my Magnús in power,
mighty over all things here.

9.
"The bank is not needed — Þórshöfn will do;
there is my Snæbjörn;
I shall gladly carry forward
those great matters.

10.
"Old Ljótur does not fear
Valtýr's assault;
perhaps the old man may manage
to get to parliament on crutches." —

11.
Having spoken thus, he dropped off to sleep —
the parliamentary ride was over;
no one wished to vex him in his age —
and so they chose him there.

12.
Pétur Gauti said he gladly wished
to grip the sword;
the weighty war pressed hard upon him
under his heavy tread.

13.
The North-Múlasýsla men pressed into the fray
and swung their weapons stiff;
steam rose from the warriors' brows
like the Rangár resolution.

14.
Einar wished to be a friend to both sides
in every trial;
his conscience seemed to carry
conviction out the door.

15.
Jóhannes the exceedingly fair,
bold, set out from home;
he was thought a splendor at parliament,
able to weather most storms.

16.
The South-Múlasýsla men held their battle;
the storm did not last long —
Axel the brave, the worthy champion,
hardened the spear-song.

17.
Gutti accompanied the governor
in his retinue;
he had both commission and disturbance
foul in his stomach.

18.
Ólafur from Arnarbæli
flew east on wings;
he spun around on neck and heels
but drew no strength from anywhere.

19.
He called himself the "most useful servant"
to parliament and countrymen;
he wished all good fortune and honor
for the Hornafjörður folk.

20.
In his flood of eloquence
many went under;
old, good Reverend Jón
could not get free.

21.
The western Skaftfellers
were armed for battle;
many swore loyalty-oaths,
men in Laugi's service.

22.
It was ghost-dark, and the shroud of death
covered all dwelling-places;
an owl crouched on Keldugnúpur,
dreading day and sun.

23.
Doctor Forni, foul in his answers,
rode with sorcery and enchantment;
he shot many a poisoned arrow
as he rode east to Síða.

24.
His moustache bristled and bit;
he challenged Laugi to a duel;
down from the black sky crashed
the fierce storm of spells.

25.
Laugi bade his guardian spirits
fight against the devil's sorcery;
for the first time with a half-willing heart
he seized his sword and spear.

26.
The wrecked hay lay in heaps far and wide
beside the farmers;
they feared then that foul weather
lay in store.

27.
On election day the sun of dawn
lit the meadows and fields;
gleams from the bright light-herald
gilded the mountain-brow.

28.
Few champions met Forni
at the meeting that day;
the capable farmers kept
their hay-making in their own interest.

29.
Doctor Forni's hands failed him
before the sunrise;
he turned then to stone and stands,
huge, beside the Katla chasm.

30.
Laugi proudly sheathes his sword;
the steel was never tested;
he had won a famous victory
and held straight to parliament.

31.
The Rangárþing men sharpened
their fiery battle-song;
they sent Þórður and great Magnús
to strengthen the storm of spears.

32.
Black Eggert shook his hemp-rope
and set the wind in motion;
he lost the force of the votes —
the man was vexed at that.

33.
The Árnessýsla men must be mentioned:
many wished there —
worthy, bold ring-warriors —
to seize the battle-prize.

34.
Símon had bridled both
Bakki and the Flói-men;
he let them wriggle on his secret threads
for a long while, many at a time.

35.
Pétur gaped and from his slack throat
sprayed empty venom;
everyone thought they recognized the foul
stench of the sea about him.

36.
He cringed and shook himself all over,
the devil, talkative;
he shook his ugly bald head for a long time —
then lay unfit for battle.

37.
Hannes stood on a high platform,
waving Þjóðólfur,
like an old idol on its pedestal;
he roared: "National freedom!"

38.
He declared himself the beginning and end
of all public works;
on every smallest word of his he placed
the emphasis of "ha" — — —

39.
Against Björn he steeled the farmers;
he bristled and grew fierce:
"I am firm," he said —
"no one flays me."

40.
All felt for him in their breast —
into parliament he floated; —
but with him they also sent
Sigurður as "advisor."

41.
Around that time, plenty of tumult
arose in Reykjavík;
like a ghost through lava and waste
crept cunning politics.

42.
Tryggvi the fellow knew how to muster —
he called the men to a meeting,
every seaman, and began to speak
loudly in this manner:

43.
"Stand by me here, lads;
let us raise the battle-cry!
A seaman's bearing is upon me —
no one denies that.

44.
"Many years I sailed as a viking;
far and wide over the seas I went,
I steered the Grey One and bore the sword,
great in strength and dignity.

45.
"From the crowd of maidens
I was often singled out,
for I was thought nimble
with the spear at tournaments.

46.
"Now Valtýr shall have his hard head
pressed down upon the ground;
Arntzen-Warburg shall fall
before me to the earth.

47.
"I wish to outfit a fine fleet
against such rogues;
build a fortress, bridge the harbor,
and bring about reform.

48.
"Into the bank's white hall
I bid you home, my men;
gold and plenty of all good things
I give to my people." —

49.
The seamen said they would follow Tryggvi —
though some held
that a dangerous undercurrent
might rise on those seas.

50.
Saint-Lárus he was said to be called
ever after, that champion,
and fire-eyed Gísli
stared from every windowpane.

51.
Einar and Búi soon set out
on a campaign through the city;
they swore oaths to one another
like sworn brothers.

52.
The agitation at Laugar
was by the eager ones;
from the grave-mounds rose mighty ghosts
and rode upon the houses.

53.
Gísli leaped and spared nothing,
fiercely stretching his cannon.
Einar launched his own head
up into the high sky.

54.
Jón could not equal such
giant-play and troll-sport;
there he fell, clad in battle-gear,
the hero, pale and wan.

55.
The poems end; I send my ode
to the young ring-maiden —
wherever it lands, hence I turn
proudly toward the parliament.

Ríma XIV — Hafnarríma (The Copenhagen Ríma)

Meter: Ferskeytt. Fifty-five stanzas. The final ríma. War signs blaze across Iceland — vikings arrive from the west, the two Hanneses meet. Valtýr comes with blue spears. The Danes have sent their Finnish sorcerer again. The great parliamentary battle rages: Guðjón takes on Kristján the assessor, swords clash, Laugi fights Hafstein. Valtýr prevails. Hannes Hafstein, Tryggvi, and the Finn sail to Copenhagen to petition the king. Albertí the Danish minister reads their complaint and dismisses them. Tryggvi wanders into the national bank. Hovgaard arrives in Reykjavík on the warship Heimdallur with rumors of Valtýr becoming a jarl. The rumor proves false. The cycle closes with a prayer for Fróði's peace and a farewell to the maidens.

1.
Around that time, great portents
and signs of war arose;
the high glow of freedom
covered all the sky.

2.
All the land was washed in lightning;
over the glaciers glowed
a terrible flash of battle-fire;
far and wide it rained blood.

3.
The horns were blown aloud;
wrapped in fearsome finery,
the form of Magnús the Proud
would soon appear.

4.
From the west came vikings,
filled with battle-fury,
at both ends and everywhere
gilded with flame on the outside.

5.
The two Hanneses met,
both of them stout;
one bore a sneering head —
the other was strangely pale.

6.
The Snæfellsnes chieftain strode
boldly with a proud look;
many a fine treasure was seen there,
reddened with pure gold.

7.
Valtýr came and his champions,
girded with blue spears;
the great battle began —
it thundered in the high halls.

8.
The Danes had procured their Finn
as an ally for the governor;
that "Finn" kept hidden
the chant of Fjösvinnr to sing.

9.
He hid behind a lone oak,
shooting arrows from his quiver;
he wished to play a foul trick
on Valtýr and Skúli.

10.
He greatly deceived the champions' sight
as they rushed against Valtýr;
the sorcerer-beast's visage
was no comfort in the battle's heat.

11.
The mighty giants of Magnús
could recognize nothing there
but lies, treachery, and treason
to deceive the people.

12.
The need to destroy the vermin,
the venom-serpents, the ugly poison-snakes —
that seemed to the warriors
clear at the council of arms.

13.
Bitter Laugi shook his sword,
he waved his bright spear;
Hafstein then engaged him
in fierce opposition.

14.
The sword rang on Skúli's shield;
sharply the jarl defended himself —
Lárus did not cover himself
in great glory there, the fellow.

15.
Nearly equal hosts of men
waged the leaf-quarrel;
both sides on the battle-field
had Reverend Einar — half each.

16.
Guðjón began to stumble;
grey before the iron was he,
and at Kristján the assessor
he swung Angurvaðill.

17.
Then Kristján drew Dragvendill;
the sword-blades sang;
he pressed a sharp sword-storm —
he was in heavy spirits.

18.
Both were hot; the great blows
thundered on strong helmets;
Guðjón called on God and Thór,
fierce in that same moment.

19.
Kristján then thought he needed
weapons no more;
he threw Guðjón a crotch-trip
and cast him down.

20.
Some called upon Warburg;
others said: "Tryggvi,
we have shelter with you,
faithful messenger."

21.
Lárus and Hannes shouted loud,
striking swords on their shields;
from every direction came the grim
battle-cry: "Only power!"

22.
Valtýr stood as a wall, firm,
through those marvels and terrors;
at last the sharp sword broke
in Lalli's hands asunder.

23.
Loud in the tumult the sword sang;
hard was the attack and defense;
also in countless secret passages
men lurked and fought.

24.
Outside parliament, at the assaults,
many flung their weapons;
each side chased and goaded
the other like hides.

25.
Victory at last Valtýr won
in those gleaming exchanges;
his enemies were not pleased
with that result.

26.
Angry Hannes Hafstein said:
"What now is to be done?
Before the king let us lodge complaint
against that crony and knave.

27.
"If I get Tryggvi and the Finn with me,
to the king I shall go
and make all that cowardly host
pay their debts of evil.

28.
"Georg Brandes is on my side,
and old Eðvarð too;
I think I dare risk it —
to undertake such an expedition.

29.
"This is my belief: that my stomach
the prince will respect;
all the eloquence and speech-craft
I believe will do a good deal."

30.
The three of them sailed to Copenhagen;
they caught a fair wind;
like an arrow the wave-beast sped
across the broad sea.

31.
They raced to the king's audience
when they came off the rolling waves;
they saw a man in a good mood
walking very briskly toward them.

32.
They recognized Valtýr already there —
the men gave a start;
full of fear and amazement,
they thought they would sink down.

33.
A race was run with great effort;
drenched in sweat from the front,
at last they all reached
the king's hall together.

34.
With bows and bending
they presented themselves before the lord;
with gentle, pleading looks
they all gazed at him shyly.

35.
The lord said he was not able
to speak with "such" men;
yet he would all the same have
someone come and chat with them.

36.
"Old age," he said, "wearies me
from holding a long speech. —
Will you not, Albertí,
go out to the yard?"

37.
Albertí went out to the yard;
they began to bow —
the clever chieftains handed him
their complaint.

38.
He put on his spectacles;
when he had read it through,
he went silent, answered little,
and folded the document together:

39.
"They are stubborn enough,
these Icelanders!
Not as easily swayed
as the Faroese.

40.
"It is better for you to make peace
instead of waging war
and wearying the old king —
rather enjoy your own good fortune.

41.
"I shall not stand against
your ancient freehold —
but for the sake of your own words
I shall not do much either."

42.
So went that expedition —
which was no wonder:
on their own thread they thought
a fine spindle had been placed.

43.
Tryggvi wandered into the national bank
to negotiate a loan;
about his great feats he had
a great deal to say.

44.
It is said that an Englishman appeared —
the aged warrior of weapons —
and that he met Mister Thordal,
who is well known here to most.

45.
That one was no teetotaler — beer
he offered Tryggvi, and more.
— But what further passed between them
no one could hear.

46.
A thing happened then in Iceland:
Hovgaard came on Heimdallur
bearing dire tidings. —

47.
He said that Doctor Valtýr's hope
was on the verge at any moment,
and that Magnús the Proud Magnússon
would be brought to his knees.

48.
Valtýr had been made a jarl —
then the government men
were struck entirely speechless,
gnashing and grinding their teeth.

49.
The pillars of state trembled;
they sighed with dread;
far and wide the people thought
about the ruler of the dog-days.

50.
Valtýr's host seemed to grow
at that opportunity;
he said that great fortune
had fallen into his grasp.

51.
In truth that proved a lie —
all was calm for the moment —
while there has not yet arrived
the main blizzard!

52.
All look to Albertí,
god of the new order;
they expect the new age to dawn —
the age of light and peace.

53.
All take hold with both hands
of the time when war is over;
but to some, ceasing those quarrels
seems a bitter pill.

54.
Come then with the peace of Fróði,
fair star of the age;
shine, smiling, upon the cradle
of our young children.

55.
I see you gleaming in the clouds,
brightest beneath the day. —
Now my harp is silenced.
Thank the poet, O maidens.

Colophon

Source: Alþingisrímur. Icelandic Wikisource (is.wikisource.org, Flokkur:Rímur, page 49). Probably by Guðmundur Guðmundsson skólaskáld and Valdimar Ásmundsson. Fourteen rímur, 534 stanzas. A satirical cycle on the politicians of the late nineteenth-century Alþingi.

Translation: Good Works Translation by the New Tianmu Anglican Church and Claude, 2026. Translated directly from nineteenth-century Icelandic. No prior English translation is known to exist. This is the first known complete English translation. Gospel register.

Translation note: The Alþingisrímur name real politicians of the late nineteenth-century Alþingi — Valtýr Guðmundsson, Benedikt Sveinsson, Magnús, Hallgrímur, Klemens, Guðjón, Tryggvi Gunnarsson, Skúli, Laugi, Indriði, and others. The cycle applies rímur battle-conventions (kennings for warfare, naval engagement, berserk-fury) to parliamentary debate, creating sustained satirical irony. Ríma III introduces a ghost-vision convention; Ríma IV deploys full-scale budget-battle imagery; Ríma V turns to sardonic cataloguing of parliamentary appropriations. Ríma VI allegorizes Danish banking influence as a viking invasion. Ríma VII enthrones Bacchus at Hotel Ísland and stages a temperance siege as mock-epic. Ríma VIII renders foreign commercial charm as an enchantress arriving by ship at Eagle Hill; Ríma IX escalates this into full heroic battle, complete with a cognac-spewing dragon. Ríma X shifts to Copenhagen, where King Christian IX dispatches a Finnish sorcerer to impose a two-year truce. Ríma XI sees Lárus speechifying and Hannes Hafstein summoning witches from Hornstrandir. Rímur XII–XIII catalogue the election campaigns district by district — complete with sorcery, sea-creatures, and a doctor turned to stone by sunlight. Ríma XIV stages the final battle, then a failed diplomatic mission to Copenhagen, ending with a prayer for Fróði's peace. Kennings have been translated for sense rather than mechanism. Proper names are preserved in their Icelandic forms.

Blood Rule attestation: This translation was produced directly from the Icelandic source text. No existing English translation was consulted as reference (none is known to exist). The English is independently derived from reading the Icelandic.

Status: All fourteen rímur complete (534 stanzas). First known complete English translation.

Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

🌲

Source Text — Alþingisrímur (Rímur I–XIV)

Alþingisrímur

Líklega eftir Guðmund Guðmundsson skólaskáld og Valdimar Ásmundsson.

Heimild: is.wikisource.org (Flokkur:Rímur, síða nr. 49)

Fyrsta ríma (Þinghúsríma)

Stikluvik

Dísin óðar, himins Hlín,
hell mér glóð í blóðið;
eg í ljóðum leita þín,
líttu góða’, í náð til mín.

Hertu stengi hörpunnar,
háa ljá mér tóna;
syngdu um drengi sögunnar
sætt og lengi um vökurnar.

Herjar kera kneyfi’ eg bjór,
kalla á allar vættir;
mögnum hér vorn kvæða-kór
um kappa’ er bera völdin stór.

Eg vil syngja óðinn minn,
æðin blæði Kvásis,
um vort þing í þetta sinn
með þróttar-slyngu afrekin.

Út við grænan Austurvöll,
sem angar lengi’ á vorin,
stendur væn og vegleg höll,
vonin mænir þangað öll.

Húsið vandað háveggjað
hlær við skærum röðli,
Bald á sandi byggði það,
Bald hefur landið margsnuðað.

Þar er stríðið þunga háð,
þar eru skörungarnir,
þar sjá lýðir þor og dáð,
þar fæst tíðum biti’ af náð.

Brandar gjalla góma þar,
glymja’ og ymja salir,
ræður snjallar, stórorðar
stökkva’ af palli mælskunnar.

Hetjur þá er halda á þing
húfur og skúfar glitra;
margir slá um húsið hring,
horfa’ á knáa skrautfylking.

Magnús prúði fremstur fer,
frækinn mæki gyrtur;
ljósin Úðar leika sér
um Löndungs skrúðann, sem hann ber.

Hvíti fjaðurhatturinn
háan lágan gerir;
krossum hlaðinn höfðinginn
hefur aðals baksvipinn.

Lágur á velli og lotinn er
lundur Þundar bála;
aðköst, hrelling, hulin sker
hefur elli í för með sér.

Völdin háu heykja þá,
sem hreinir reyna’ að sýnast,
vegsemd þrávalt vandi’ er hjá
og vant að sjá, hve treysta má.

Stríð er að fást við stjórn og þjóð,
sem standa andvíg jafnan;
kóngaást er einatt góð,
en oft það sást að skammt hún stóð.

Fagurt skein á forsetann
fríðan neðri deildar;
skortir einurð aldrei þann
íturhreina sæmdarmann.

Doktor Valtýr víðfrægur
var og þar í flokki,
hæstur talinn herkóngur,
Herjans sala máttviður.

Brandinn nautinn Nellemanns
nakinn skók í mundum;
var í þraut sá vinur hans
vopnagautur utanlands.

Þar var herra Hallgrímur,
herlega forkláraður,
og líkur Sverri Sigurður,
svartur og snerrinn ísfirzkur.

Klemens slyngur korðann sinn
kreisti og hvessti augun
oft á þingmenn íbygginn
Eyfirðinga höfðinginn.

Völdin há og virðing ber
vopna-Þráinn knái,
enda tjá það margir mér,
að maðurinn sá veit hver hann er.

Guðjón rauðan hristi haus
með hrotta-glott á vörum,
aldrei blauður, óttalaus
öskraði, sauð og vall og gaus.

Andar þutu óhreinir
út af beiti spjóta;
fram er brutust berserkir,
blóðgir flutu valkestir.

Hollur tiggja’, er var til von,
vanur fénu að býta
rammur Yggjar reið þar kvon
riddarinn Tryggvi Gunnarsson.

Margir stefna í húsið hátt,
en hér um fleiri ei getur;
þá, sem efna eggja slátt,
eg mun nefna og lýsa brátt. —

Stríðsöl teygað óspart er
áður en stríðið byrjar;
glóa veigar, glampa ker,
gott er að eiga sæti hér.

Stirnir presta alda á,
Íslands vísu syni,
þar má flesta saman sjá,
sæmd er mesta vilja fá.

Þar hin hreina þjóðrækni
þykir mikils virði,
einlæg meining, mannhylli,
mögnuð eining, sjálfstæði.

Þvílík björg ei bifast hót,
búinn þó sé hætta,
efla að hörgum heilög blót,
hamast vörgum grimmum mót.

Því skal minnast maklega
málmþings álma snjallra,
en — Hrundin tvinna hýreyga,
eg hætti um sinn við rímuna.

Önnur ríma (Valtýs ríma og Benedikts)

Ferskeytt

Nú skal byrja braginn á
Bensa hinum gamla;
mest á þingi þótti sá
þjóðskörungur bramla.

Hátt var ennið, hvatleg brá,
harka í andlitsdráttum;
gustur kaldur gaus um þá
úr geysimörgum áttum.

Þar hafa örlög ramma rún
rist, er fáir skilja;
atalt skein und augnabrún
eldur þrjózku’ og vilja.

Þung var röddin, römm og snjöll
rétt sem ofsaveður,
eða hrynji hæstu fjöll
heljar-skriðum meður.

Liðs fyrir þing sér leitaði’ hann,
um landið var á hlaupum,
en berserk aðeins einn hann fann
í þeim mannakaupum.

Karli var það um og ó
út á fari tveggja
stjórnmálanna’ á saltan sjó
í svarta roki’ að leggja.

Valtýr undir Lómsey lá,
laust í rómu harða;
Nellemanni fékk hann frá
feikimikinn barða.

Trjóna’ á dreka gein við grá
gráðugu Hildar róti;
mátti stæltan stálkjaft sjá
standa fjöndum móti.

Rafmagnsljós ei lýstu þar
lýðum Valtýs snjöllum,
en “mýraljósið” magnað bar
mikla birtu öllum.

Lauga mun eg minnast á,
mesti jötunn var hann;
ægilega ygglibrá
andlitssvartur bar hann.

“Grenjaði voða-hljóð með há”,
hnefum skjöldinn barði,
dreka Valtýs djarfur sá
drengilega varði.

Glæsimenni Valtýr var,
af virðum flestum bar hann;
þó um hann þytu örvarnar,
aldrei smeykur var hann.

Orðahremmsur þutu þétt,
þrumdi’ í mælsku tólum;
stjórnarskútan leið fram létt
líkt og vagn á hjólum.

Gramt var Lauga í geði þá,
gráðugur valköst hlóð hann;
meir en fyrr var biksvört brá,
blóð í kálfa vóð hann.

Honum vits mun frýja fár,
en fremur um græsku mundi
grunaður sá kappinn knár;
hann komst í land á sundi.

Spýttust “eiturormar” þá
út úr Guðjóns túla;
og engir brandar bitu á
berserkinn í Múla.

Landshöfðinginn lagði frá
löngum hríðum mála:
fús hann leggur aldrei á
ísinn slétta’ og hála.

Nú var Bensa brjóstið þreytt,
beygði karlinn mæði,
en Valtý hann ei hræddist neitt,
hjartað sló af bræði.

Bleki spúðu berserkir,
beittir pennar flugu,
málaoddar eitraðir
inn í hjörtun smugu.

Sungu lengi sverðin blá
seggjum dánarlögin;
dundu í lofti og þutu þá
þungu reiðarslögin.

Hné þá Bensi helveg að,
hetju mæddi elli;
eins og Hannes Hafsteinn kvað,
hélt þó kappinn velli.

Íslands grétu fjöllin forn,
fossinn gígju stillti;
Einar sat og hljóður “horn”
harma sinna “gyllti”.

Þá var mikil þjóðar sorg,
þá voru’ augu á floti,
gnístran tanna í glæstri borg,
grátur í Tobbukoti.

Minna Gustav Adolf á
afrek kappans snjalla,
sem við Lützen sverði brá
með sigri’, en hlaut að falla.

Það er gott að falla’ að fold
fyrir ættjörð sína;
látins yfir lágri mold
ljúfar stjörnur skína.

Lofaður mun hann ekki um of,
afrek hans og geðið,
úr því Hannes Hafsteinn lof
hefur um hann kveðið.

Valtýr undan halda hlaut,
hraustur seint þó flúði;
upp á drekann Einar “graut”
ákaflega spúði.

Kvað þá Valtýr: “Örvænt er
ekki’ um landsins bjargir,
svo sem Nelli sagði mér,
sjóli’ og ótal margir.

Annars dags eg betra bíð
bröndum með að stríða;
sérhvað hefur sína tíð,
sízt er neinu að kvíða”.

Lauk þá rómu, einskær ást
til ættlands sást þar skína,
þar sem enginn, enginn brást
elsku’ og rækt að sýna.

Enda læt eg óðsmíði,
en aftur hef eg kliðinn,
þegar Valtýs vitjaði
vinur aldinn liðinn.

Sofa rósir, dreymir draug
dóm og kærur saka;
ofar ljósin luktum haug
ljóma skær og vaka.

Þriðja ríma (Draumríma)

Braghent

Hrindi’ eg Austra fari’ á flot og fer að kveða;
Valtýs aftur leita ljóðin,
landsins hlýði gervöll þjóðin.

Sár og þreyttur hélt hann heim í hvílu sína,
ljúfur blundur leið á brána,
lukti hetjuaugað frána.

Sumarnóttin verndarvængi voldug lagði
yfir hann og böli bægði;
blíður draumur harma lægði.

Nellemann hann þóttist þá í þingsal líta
lagðan gulli og ljósum borðum,
líkt og úti’ í Danmörk forðum.

Reis úr sæti ráðgjafinn og réði mæla:
“Þú átt, Valtýr, þetta sæti;
þoka, vinur, hingað fæti.

Baráttu þú barðist góðri’, úr býtum líka,
eins og núna sjálfur sérðu,
sigurlaunin fögur berðu.

Alltaf mín þú fast í fótspor fetað hefur;
maklegastur muntu vera
mína tignarskikkju’ að bera”.

Að svo mæltu af sér reif hann allan skrúðann,
Valtýs brjóst hann hendi hrærði,
hann í tignarklæðin færði.

Krossum mörgum björtum, bæði’ í bak og fyrir,
Valtýr sá sig sjálfan skrýddan;
sætið tók hann, glaður hlýddi’ ’ann.

Valtýr áður yfirfrakka átti brúnan,
af átján meyjum unninn var ’ann,
öðrum langt af flíkum bar ’ann.

Þegar á eimreið Valtýr var í Vesturheimi
Indíánar á hann skutu,
á þeim frakka vopn sín brutu.

Og er grautnum upp á drekann Einar spúði,
eins og fyrr er innt í ljóði,
allt brást nema frakkinn góði.

Mælti Valtýr: “Vel mér þætti’, ef vita’ eg kynni,
hver nú mundi virða vera
verður þennan frakka’ að bera.

Verðari’ hans um veröld alla víða finn eg
engan kærum aldavini,
Einari mínum Hjörleifssyni”.

Þóttist Valtýr húrra-hróp þá heyra’ í salnum,
hátt í rjáfri hvelfdu dundi,
hrökk hann upp af værum blundi.

Þá var eins og andi kaldur um hann liði;
þungur súgur þaut við glugga,
þrusk hann heyrði’ í næturskugga.

Stóð á ofni hundsmynd hátt í herberginu,
hafði gull á hvítu trýni;
hundurinn var úr postulíni.

Þá var hálfbjart. Eitthvað út við ofninn bærðist.
Valtý þangað varð að líta.
Vofu sá hann mjallahvíta.

Valtý brá, hann þóttist þekkja þennan svipinn;
Bensa’ ’inn gamla glöggt hann kenndi,
gegnum brjóst hans óttinn renndi.

Taugar, sinar, brjóskið, beinin, blóðið, æðar
hrollur greip, og hjartað barðist;
hetjan naumast æði varðist.

Vofan hóf upp hendurnar og hátíðlega
hvíldi ró á brúnabaugum,
bjarma sló frá hvössum augum.

“Valtýr”, kvað hún, “kominn er eg kalda vegu
til þín nú mig nauðsyn knúði,
napra dánarsali’ eg flúði.

Fyrst vér sjáum sannleikann, er sárt vér þráum,
þegar losna líkamsböndin,
lyftir sér til himins öndin.

Ljóst er mér nú loksins, hvað þú liðið hefur
fyrir Íslands frelsi og heiður;
fjarri’ er nú að eg sé reiður.

Valtýskan minn versti fjandi var á jörðu;
eg hef fengið æðri þekking;
engin nú mig ginnir blekking.

Upp nú lyfti’ eg höndum hátt og hana blessa;
hún skal ráða lýð og landi,
ljúf og góð sem verndarandi.

Aldrei muntu út af þinni “eimreið” hrjóta,
þó að hátt í tálknum tóni
Tobbu hjá og séra Jóni.

Fullkomnað er allt — og öllum ófrið lokið.
Vertu sæll, — og svo án tafar
sáttur fer eg út til grafar”.

Hvarf þá vofan; hissa Valtýr horfði’ í bláinn,
bæði af ótta og undrun bundinn;
ekkert sá hann nema hundinn.

Mundar fanna Grundin granna góða’ og rjóða!
un í leyni ljóðin viður. —
Léttur dettur óður niður.

Fjórða ríma (Eldhúsdagsríma)

Gagaraljóð

Gígjan knúð skal hljóða há,
hlusti fljóð, en syngi menn;
Magnús prúða minnast á
munu ljóðin aftur senn.

Fyrir stríðið fjárlaga
flestir stika þingmenn djarft,
af því víða aflaga
ýmsum þykir fara margt.

Heyrast ópin æðihá,
upp í rót er þingið fer;
stjórnar sópa strompinn þá,
strýkur sótið hver af sér.

Heyja frægir hamramman
hjörva slátt með sköllunum
“eldhúsdaginn” alræmdan;
ekki er fátt á pöllunum.

Skúla nefni’ eg skjóma-Bör,
skarpur gildur fullhugi,
margri stefna eitur-ör
oft hann vildi’ að Magnúsi.

Mikið féll á herðar hár,
hafði skalla’ að framan þó;
þótti á velli þrekinn, knár,
þrautir allar gegnum smó.

Stoð hann þótti lýðs og lands,
löngum bændum fylgdi vel;
brast ei þrótt né þrekið hans,
þótt hann ætti í vændum hel.

Óspar var á eigið fé,
ættlands sjóðum hlífði mest;
krónurnar lét karl í té,
kærleik þjóðar mat hann bezt.

Erjur strangar átti hann
áður forðum Magnús við;
skjótt þó ganga’ á Skúla vann
skarpa korða hretviðrið.

Þjóðin Skúla fylgdi fast,
fjártjón skæðast beið hann þó;
en á honum túlinn ekki brast,
er af honum klæðin stjórnin dró.

Endurborinn í sér hann
ætlaði Skúla fógeta;
kaupmenn vora hugðist hann
hörðum múl að þrælbinda.

Ása móður á hann kvam,
augun brunnu stór og grá,
byrstur vóð í berserksham,
brandarunnum móti þá.

Magnús slag hann þóttist þá
þurfa’ að reyna’ af nýju við;
varð Fjárlagavöllum á
válegt fleina kafaldið.

Æddu góma eldflaugar,
ýfðust brár á köppunum;
sólir ljóma Sigmundar
sýndust þrjár í höndunum.

Skúli lagði, Skúli hjó,
skjóma brauzt út élið rammt;
Magnús þagði, Magnús hló,
makalaust hann varðist samt.

Fremst í brjósti fylkingar
fram þar geystist Laugi knár;
sá með þjósti brandinn bar,
bragna treystist við hann fár.

Magnús prúða’ á móti rann,
mælgin stúku’ á vörum óð;
eldi spúði’ og eitri hann,
eins og rjúki að klettum flóð.

Magnús hálfgert hikaði,
hjarta raunir settust að.
“Aldrei kálfar ofeldi
aftur launa”, í hug hann kvað.

Einnig snjall þar atti flein,
út er flóði mælskan rík,
sá er allra mýkir mein
manna og fljóða’ í Keflavík.

Magnús skjaldsvein Flensborg frá
fékk, er gat þó lítt í þraut;
hildi sjaldan háði sá,
heima sat hann mest við “slöjd”.

Marga skeinu Magnús hlaut,
mæki bjartan reiddi þó,
sábeitt einatt örin þaut
að hans svarta hjarna-mó.

Brynjan hörð þó hlífa vann;
henni fylgdi kraftur sá,
eigin gjörða engra hann
ábyrgð skyldi borið fá.

Nokkuð þung í vöfum var,
var þó honum sæmandi,
andlitsþrunginn þá hann bar
þetta konungs gersemi.

Vök hann átti að verjast í,
var þó brynjan skjólið hans;
þóttu hátt við Hildar gný
harðar drynja grundir lands.

Svo var kallað samt, að þar
sigri Magnús fengi náð;
hrukku allar hetjurnar
harða slagnum frá í bráð.

Þrýtur ljóðin, — líti þjóð
línur fáar mínar á.
Flýtis-óðinn ýta fróð
öldin má á kvöldin sjá.

Fimmta ríma (Fjárlagaríma)

Langhent

Það er eitt af þingsins verkum
— þangað skal nú víkja mál —
út að hluta mönnum merkum
mótað fagurt Rínar bál.

Keppist hver að köku sinni
kappinn eldi’ að skara þá;
brennur mjög í brjóstum inni
bálheit gull- og silfurþrá.

Oft er rimman háð þar hörðust,
hver vill ''sínum'' veita lið;
aldrei sumir betur börðust,
brugðið er því jafnan við.

Svo var og á þessu þingi,
þótti harðna vopna dans;
bezt þó sótti ’inn sóknumslyngi
Sigurður snari’ og kappar hans.

Burt þeir héldu gulli gæddir,
glampi stóð af ásjónum,
undurfögrum fötum klæddir
úr fjögra aura póstmerkjum.

Næst þeim dugði doktor Forni,
dál’tið var hann rykugur;
sagt er á þeim sama morgni
sást hann ganga óhaltur.

Dróttir til hans drjúga bita
detta létu’ af borðum hám,
því annars þóttust allir vita,
hann yrkja mundi’ um þingið klám.

Silfri út þeir sáðu’ um götur,
sínu hver þar eftir gekk;
Bjarni til að skoða skötur
skratti háa summu fékk.

Matthías vor á vængjum þöndum
vatt sér snjall að hrúgunni.
Gullið kreisti’ í heljarhöndum
Haraldur inn ebreski.

Þeir, sem upp til himinhæða
hóa drottins gemlingum,
landssjóð talsvert létu blæða,
líkt þeim var það, blessuðum.

Sent var læknum sáðið Kraka,
svo þeir gætu keypt sér skol;
drjúgan skerf þeir til sín taka
til að rífa menn á hol.

Sýslumönnum sízt má neita
silfrið um, er gert þeim var,
svo þeir stæðust við að veita
vín um næstu kosningar.

Dável þótti varið vera
vænni hrúgu af peningum
til að kenna að kókettera
kvennaskólastúlkunum.

Upp í matarskóla skína
skæru faldasólirnar,
eitthvað þurfti til að tína
til að fylla kjölturnar.

Jónas þurfti fólk að fræða
um færin betur æxlunar, —
á hans ritum einkum græða
yfirsetukonurnar.

Fé sem nemur fjölda bjóra
fengu’ í hlut sinn Templarar;
enda er sagt þeir sitji að þjóra
síðan fram á næturnar.

Súrir mjög á svipinn fóru
sumir burt og fengu ei neitt,
en þeir furðu fáir vóru:
féð er löngum óspart veitt.

Krókinn vildi’ af kappi maka
kvennaljóminn Indriði;
þegar átti til að taka,
tómhljóð var í skúffunni.

“Sverð og bagal” sinn hann reiddi,
sorglega brást hans fagra von;
út er þingið auðinn greiddi,
Einar hlaut hann Gunnarsson.

Gvend á Sandi sveið í lófann,
synjuðu þeir um skáldstyrkinn,
einn með hnýttum höndum skóf hann
himingrautar-pottinn sinn.

Til að “spila á telegrafinn”
trú eg þingið veitti ei fé, —
á því hvílir helzi vafinn,
“hazard-spil” hvort ei það sé.

Stefán Sveinsson sigla vildi
sér til gagns og skemmtunar;
kvaðst hann aftur kominn skyldi
kenna mönnum reykingar.

Þingmenn bentu á tóbakstollinn,
töldu skaðlegt því um líkt;
sögðu að mætti sjálfur skollinn
senda menn að læra slíkt.

Jóhann refum ótal eyddi
oft á grýttum fjallastig;
styrkinn þó ei þingið greiddi,
það var dauðans hrætt um sig.

Beztu húsin margir meina
moldarbælin gömlu sé,
til að gera tigulsteina
tókst ei Birni að safna fé.

Brynki, sá er fríðum fljóðum
fagran kennir organslátt,
ekkert fekk af unnarglóðum,
út hann gekk og stundi lágt.

Ekkert fekk hann “Binni bróðir”,
bágt þó væri um prestsgjöldin;
verndi allir englar góðir
Ólafsvalla guðsmanninn.

Þingið bændum veita vildi
vænan styrk sem alloft fyr,
en er til þess taka skyldi,
tæmdir voru sjóðirnir.

Endar ríma, úti’ er skíma,
að mér gríma sækja fer. —
Lofnin kímin lagar bríma,
lof mér að híma’ í nótt hjá þér!

Sjötta ríma (Bankaríma)

Ferskeytt

Nú skal búið Frosta far
fljúga um leiðir Drafnar;
yfir bláu bárurnar
bregð eg mér til Hafnar.

Þar er auður, gæði, gull,
gleðistundir nógar,
ker af víni fleytifull,
fagrir beykiskógar.

Þá í Danmörk Warburg var,
víkingurinn frægi;
aðsetur hann átti þar
eitt í stærra lagi.

Hafði víða herjað sá,
hlotið linna sýki;
suður fór hann Saxland á,
svam í Garðaríki.

Frakka’ og Breta’ hann barðist við,
brúkaði kænsku slynga;
en mælt er semja mundi ’ann frið
við meykóng Hollendinga.

Lönd hann vann og frægð og fé,
fylgdu jötnar honum;
marga lét hann krjúpa á kné
hjá kynja gullhrúgonum.

Fór hann þá á fund við Pál,
frægan kappa og slunginn, —
hvessti rödd og hóf svo mál
hetjumóði þrunginn:

“Sendiför þér ætluð er,
Íslands skaltu vitja;
komdu þar sem þingið er
og þjóðskörungar sitja.

Kauptu sál og sannfæring,
í sóknum vertu’ ei linur;
fullan silfri sjóvettling
sendi’ eg með þér, vinur.

Landsmenn skortir lagarbál,
lítið hafa að éta;
vesöl mun ei seggja sál
silfrið staðizt geta.

Frétt hef eg að Fáfnir þar
feiknaból sér reiði,
fullur illsku og eitrunar,
upp á Bankaheiði.

Gæta fjárins fjögur tröll
föst á einu bandi,
kynjamögnuð eru öll
austan af Bjarmalandi.

Fáfnir gerist gamlaður,
gakk þú hann að finna,
þér mun ekki örðugur
ormur sá að vinna”.

Páll við brá og gekk á gnoð,
gnötraði Rán og drundi;
var að húnum hafin voð,
hrannajórinn stundi.

Fleyið rann um voga’ að Vík,
vendi Páll í staðinn;
kom ei fyrr þar kempa slík,
kynjaauði hlaðinn.

Mikill sá á velli var,
veifaði regnhlífinni;
kápu’ á öxlum báðum bar
brúna’ úr refaskinni.

Sjóvettlinginn seggur skók,
í silfrinu hringla mundi;
af því jóðsótt Einar tók,
Indriði litli stundi.

Fylgdi auðnum fjölkynngi,
fengu sumir æði,
Einar Ben og Indriði
eins og léku’ á þræði.

Þessir fremstir “finanz”-menn
fylgdu glaðir Páli;
vörnin þeirra er einstæð enn
í því bankamáli.

Þó var fátt af þingmönnum,
þeim er fylgja vildi;
lækkað var í vettlingnum
væna meira’ en skyldi.

Þá varð Laugi óðr og ær,
öngu vildi sinna;
Páls að barka kreppti klær
kempan orkustinna.

Ekkert Páli ágengt varð,
ill sú för hans þótti;
brotnaði’ í trausta brjóstvörn skarð,
brast í lið hans flótti.

Þetta Warburg fregnað fær,
feiknareiður var hann;
ámur miklar átta’ og tvær
út á skip þá bar hann.

Rínar-bál frá Rússíá
rautt þar mundi glóa;
heldur síðan hafið á
hirðir fingra-snjóa.

Söng í ránum, rumdi grimm
Rán á óðum mari;
löng í trjánum dundi dimm
duna’ á góðu fari.

Þvoði úðinn öldujó,
eimvél rámri knúin
gnoðin prúð um svalan sjó
sveimaði’ og ámum lúin.

Warburg hátt í stafni stóð,
stór og frægðaríkur,
þegar skeiðin öflug óð
inn til Reykjavíkur.

Öllum sá af brögnum bar,
brúna ýfði hnykla;
annan sáu ýtar þar
Alexander mikla.

Dökk var víkings ásýnd öll,
augun snöru glóðu;
allir horfðu’ á heiðið tröll,
hissa’ í fjöru stóðu.

Upp á land hann ámur bar,
áður sem er getið;
sáu bragnar blika þar
bjarta linna fletið.

Hækka brúnin þótti þá
á þingskörungum vorum;
margir vildu Warburg sjá
og vera nær hans sporum.

Matfrið naumast hafði hann
hrotta spennti gráan;
allir sögðu ’hann örlátan,
allir vildu “slá” hann.

Þeir, sem skuldir þjáðu mest
og þarfir líkams pína,
þóttu nú í bankann bezt
borga víxla sína.

Mörgum böl og meinin jók
megna bankakvefið;
en Halldór Jónsson hló og tók
hálfu meira’ í nefið.

Laugi og doktor Þórður þá
þungar fengu hviður;
höfuðin næstum alveg á
í ámur steyptust niður.

Óráð fengu ýmsir skjótt,
innanskömm í maga,
fengu ramma riðusótt,
römbuðu’ og tóku’ að að slaga.

Ofsjónir að augum bar:
— urðu sumir trylltir —
hraunin, jöklar, heiðarnar,
hafísjakar gylltir, —

akurlendi, eimvélar,
íslenzk fley og vagnar,
bæði radd- og ritsímar, —
ruglaðir vóru bragnar.

Tók að vaxa’ af þingsveit þá
þröngin Warburg kringum;
óför búna sér hann sá
að sækja’ að Íslendingum.

Samt er grímur sagt að tvær
á suma þeirra rynni,
þegar gullsins geisli skær
glampaði’ af ölkrúsinni.

Warburg fyllti fjölda manns,
fór svo burt til Hafnar;
auð ei jók sú herför hans
hingað um vegu Drafnar.

Einars tók að hnigna hag,
hjartað vonrof bíta,
og revisórinn sælan dag
síðan má ei líta.

Fáfnir enn í bæli býr,
brýzt um skepnan svarta.
Enginn sækir törgu Týr
til hans gullið bjarta.

Ríman þá er enda á. —
Eikin Bráins túna,
óðar fá nú skaltu skrá
í skyndi frá mér búna.

Sjöunda ríma (Bakkusarríma)

Langhent

Bakkus sjóli sæll við bikar
situr á stóli tignar hám;
eins og sólin öðling blikar
upp í jólna sölum blám.

Hefur þengli þrúðgum lengi
þjónað mengi jarðarranns,
hraustir drengir vítt um vengi
veg og gengi framað hans.

Þeir, sem mega athvarf eiga
óbráðfeigum kóngi hjá,
fagrar veigar fá að teyga,
flest þá geigar bölið frá.

Hótel Ísland heitir stóra
höllin vísis tignarrík;
kappa hýsir hún, sem þjóra,
hvergi rís á jörðu slík.

Halberg jarl og Júlíus snjalli
jöfurs höllu ráða þar;
hörpur gjalla’ að hilmis stalli,
hátt í fjöllum bergmálar.

Þakið eldi líkast logar,
ljós á brá er sólin skín;
sterkir, hvelfdir, háir bogar
hvítir gljá sem postulín.

Veggjatjöldin víða ljóma
vegleg strá um salargöng;
þar á kvöldin háa hljóma
heyra má og fagran söng.

Byggð sem kirkja er höllin háa,
himnum móti turninn snýr;
rammleik styrkir stálið bláa,
sterka þrjótum mótvörn býr.

Rauðagulli ritað stendur
ræsis hallar nafnið glæst. —
Sértu fullur, sértu kenndur
sjóli snjall þig metur hæst.

Hofgæðinga hatar sjóli,
hans þeir skilja’ ei dýrlegt kram.
Þeir með kynngi steypa af stóli
stoltir vilja öldnum gram.

Sumir slíkir sorgum drekkja
samt þeim hara ríkum hjá;
Jósefs líka þar má þekkja
þess frá Arimatíá.

Bakkus víða vígi hefur
vafin prýði, smá og stór:
Fischer, Bryde, Thomsen tefur
Templaralýð og Bensi Þór.

Það eg fregna á þessu landi,
þó um megnið sýnist fátt,
hafi þegna í þraut og grandi
þarfa og gegna Bakkus átt.

Víða’ er tryggðin forna flúin,
fylla byggðir Templarar,
þjóðin styggð og þaðan snúin
þar sem hryggðin aldrei var.

Í Bakkí veldi er uppreist orðin,
oft á kveldin þar er hljótt;
sveitin hrelld við sultarborðin
situr eldrauð fram á nótt.

Fyrir þingið fór að bóla
feiknum á sem nú skal tjá:
Geirum stinga göfgan sjóla
garpar knáir vildu þá.

Yfir Lauga brúna baugum
Bakkó móti hatrið gein;
sem úr drauga ógnar augum
yfir blótstall voði skein.

Indriði spandi lýð í landi,
ljótur vandi að höndum bar;
út sig þandi Árni á gandi,
eins og fjandinn tilsýndar.

Þingmenn skjótt í flokkum fóru,
fella vildu gylfa höll:
eiða fljótt þar ýmsir sóru,
að hún skyldi hrynja’ á völl.

Inn þeir brutust, örum skutu,
í ofsa og flýti’ að jarlsmönnum;
augum gutu — enn þau flutu —
að ákavíti og bjórtunnum.

Tók að langa lýði’ í dropann,
linuðust trylltum sóknum í;
létu ganga að grönum sopann,
glösin fylltu af kurt og pí.

Þá vóru sköll og þá var gaman,
þá var köllum glatt í lund;
margir höllin héldu að saman
hryndi öll á samri stund.

Fast var þjórað þá “á landi”,
þyrstir í bjór þeir voru’ um of;
út þeir fóru “óferjandi”,
enn hið stóra gleymdist hof.

Aldrei síðan hilmis höllu
herjuðu stríðir á með brand,
enn liði hans fríðu eyða öllu
ætluðu víða þó um land.

Ekki þó þeir urðu’ að spotti,
ýms þeir felldu vígi smá;
Bakkus hló og Halberg glotti,
heiðri og veldi krýndir þá.

Þó verði’ in smærri vígi’ að þústum,
við því færrum görpum hrýs,
þau hin stærri þjóta úr rústum
þá með hærri veg og prís.

Bakkus lifir öldum yfir, —
ekki skrifa’ eg meira um hann. —
Falda-Sifin fegurð drifin,
við förum að tifa í svefnarann.

Áttunda ríma (Arnarhólsríma)

Nýhent

Þar sem sólin signir lá
sæl með væna geislastafinn,
blikar hólinn Arnar á
iðjagrænum skrúða vafinn.

Þangað bar af bláum mar
— björt í kring þá svifu regin —
sigurfarar súlurnar,
sem að Ingólfs greiddu veginn.

Þar hefur Saga björt á brá
búið, — því skal nú að hyggja, —
hundadaghilmir þá
hraustur vígi lét þar byggja.

Upp á garði geysihám
ginu hvoftar fallbyssnanna,
mekki varð ei greint í grám
grundin, loft né toppar hranna.

Þegar Danir ætluðu’ á
Íslendinga að skjóta forðum,
eins og hanar hólinn þá
hlupu kringum búnir korðum.

“Batterí” þeir byggðu hátt,
bráðum skyldi’ ei neinu eira;
skota gný og geira slátt
gríðar-trylldan átti' að heyra.

Dönum kreppti kuldinn að,
króknuðu flestir þeirra’ um vetur,
virkið eftir þó er það,
þar sem bezta vígið getur.

Margir vildu fegnir fá
fræga og dýra vígið góða;
en — því skyldu engir ná
álma-Týra neinna þjóða.

Þar er yndi út við sjá,
uppi’ er tindrar stjarnan skæra:
fljóðin yndisblíð á brá
bjarta’ í vindi lokka hræra.

Hólnum pískrað oft er und
ástmál dátt í kyrrum leynum;
þar má hvískra hal og sprund
heyra lágt hjá fjörusteinum.

Þingmenn unnu þessum stað,
þar var næði’ að hugsa málin;
þangað runnu þegar að
þyrst var bæði líf og sálin.

Þegar leið á þingtímann,
þóttu undur bera að höndum:
hraðsigld skeið af hafi rann,
hvein og stundi Kári’ í böndum.

Var sem eldur léki’ um lá,
ljóss í glampa allt nam renna,
þegar kveldi þöglu á
þúsund lampar sáust brenna.

Stóð þar drós í stafni fríð,
stafaði ljós af hvarmi björtum,
fegri’ en rós í fjallahlíð,
fekk hún hrós í allra hjörtum.

Gullnir lokkar léku’ um háls,
liljur hvítar barminn skrýddu;
yndisþokki og fegurð frjáls
fljóðið íturvaxið prýddu.

Töfrum alla heilla hún
hölda snjalla mundi kunna,
sem á fjalla blikar brún
og blómin vallar morgunsunna.

Dana hún frá veldi var;
Viðarr hét sá réði fleyi;
svarta brún og svip hann bar,
í sóknum lét hann bugast eigi.

Jötunn var að vexti hann,
voðalega röddin drundi;
sterklega bar hann brynþvarann,
branda þegar hríð á dundi.

Þótti landið frúnni frítt;
fögur skýin rauf þá sólin,
skein að vanda bjart og blítt
á “Batterí” og Arnarhólinn.

Reisa vildi’ hún háa höll
hólnum á með skrauti glæsta;
af gulli skyldi’ hún glóa öll,
gleðin þá var fengin æzta.

Ísland vildi hún unnið fá,
Arnarhól og vígið sterka;
bezt með mildi og blíðu þá
baugasólin hugðist verka.

Frúin þá á þingið gekk,
þingmenn fann að máli snjalla;
brögðum gráum beitt hún fékk,
bráðum vann hún flesta’ að kalla.

Blóminn Hafnar hýreygur
hugum allra í skyndi sneri;
svo að jafnvel Sighvatur,
sjötugur kallinn, varð að sméri.

Svefnþorn stakk hún seggjum — því
suma æði og gerning tryllti —
hét það “Jac de Hennessy”;
Halldór bæði’ og Þórð hún fyllti.

Laugi’ á foldu fleygði sér,
fald á svanna pilsi kyssti;
satt er, holdið óstyrkt er,
ekki hann þó kraftinn missti.

Sór hann fljóði fylgd að ljá
og flein að skaka af mætti öllum,
hitnaði blóð í hetju þá,
heyrðist brak á rómuvöllum.

Fegurð svanna samt ei fékk
sigrað þingmann Reykvíkinga;
með Valtý hann að hildi gekk;
hetjur slyngar engir þvinga.

Allur frúar flokkurinn
fylkti nú við “Batteríið”
— mót réð snúa harður hinn —
heiðri búið liðið tigið.

Ekki á þingi’ eg þar er með,
þar sem falla menn til grundar. —
Hagkveðlinga hátt eg kveð
um hetjur snjallar innan stundar.

Níunda ríma (Batteríisríma)

Samhent (öll ríman er ort undir afbrigðinu ''Hagkveðlingahætti'', sbr. seinasta erindi áttundu rímu)

Féll minn óður áður þar,
æddu’ í móði hetjurnar,
Hárs með glóðir hvassyddar
hart á slóðir vígvallar.

Hófst þar róma hörð og ströng,
hvinu skjómar lofts um göng;
hljóðin óma lúðra löng,
af laufahljómi’ í björgum söng.

Grenjuðu bláir berserkir,
bölvuðu þá sem vitlausir,
logaði á þeim Óðins hyr,
enginn sá þau læti fyr.

Margur gapti grimmúðgur,
gaus úr kjafti bálreykur,
framan og aftan fúlvindur,
Fjandans krafti magnaður.

Skall og small í skoltunum,
skjómi ball á hjálmunum,
blóðið vall úr benjunum,
buldi’ í fjallagnípunum.

Laugi byrstur lengi’ af móð
Löndungs hristi rauða glóð;
í herinn fyrstur áfram óð,
ýmsir misstu líf og blóð.

Sótti hann þá hinn þrekmikli,
þróttarknái og beinskeyti,
Jón hinn fráni fullhugi,
fleina-Þráinn reykvíkski.

Æða svall þar aldan heit,
ópin gjalla’ í lýða sveit;
stál við kalla hausum hneit,
á hvorugs skalla járnið beit.

Mækja högg þar mundi’ að sjá
mörg og snögg í skjóma þrá;
merki glögg þess mátti fá,
að mikla rögg þeir sýndu þá.

Jón er drengur dáðrakkur,
dugði’ hann lengi ótrauður,
á Hildar vengi höggfimur,
hart þó gengi’ að berserkur.

Hörðnuðu tónar Hildar ranns,
hamaðist dóna grimmur fans;
hjörs við són í sóknar dans
sótti að Jóni nafni hans.

Reyndu’ að stinga rekkar þann,
Reykvíkinga-fulltrúann,
en hann slyngur stökkva vann
strax yfir hringinn margfaldan.

Valtýr sá það, lagði lið
lengi fráum skjómavið;
ruddi þá í hersveit hlið
hetjan kná að fornum sið.

Örum skaut hann eitruðum,
ískraði og þaut í skjöldunum;
margur gaut upp glyrnunum
að garpi’ í þrautum rammefldum.

Hetjur taka Heljar ró;
af hafi drakon mikill fló;
sá nam skaka kjaft og kló,
koníaki á herinn spjó.

Æstist Hildur áköf þá,
yfir sig skildi Valtýr brá;
orkufyllda kempan kná
konjakk vildi ekki sjá.

Skulfu stræti af hrotta hljóm,
heyrðust lætin suður í Róm;
laufaþrætu löngum óm
lýst ei gætu orðin tóm.

Laugi’ um síðir sigurs naut
sóknarstríða viður þraut;
maðurinn skríða móður hlaut
í munarblíðast frúar skaut.

Veitti’ hún hressing hetjunum,
hjörs við messu þjökuðum;
gaf hún blessun berserkjum
á blóðvang þessum margsærðum.

Glóðu blóm á brjóstum þar
Börva skjóma um göturnar,
er fyrir sóma fagurrar
frúar Óma báru skar.

Margur í hljóði frúna fann,
en fá varð þjóð við sigur þann;
vígamóðr í virðum brann. —
Valtýr stóð við fjórða mann.

Brestur hljóðin, enda’ eg óð. —
Unga rjóða baugaslóð,
syngdu ljóðin sönn og fróð
um Sjafnar glóð og stál og blóð.

Tíunda ríma (Konungs ríma og ráðherra)

Stafhent

Enn skal hróður hefjast minn.
Hilmir góður þetta sinn,
Rínar eldi reifaður,
réð fyrir veldi Danmerkur.

Afar tiginn öðling sá
aldurhniginn mundi þá.
Kóngurinn get eg kynsæli
Christian hét hinn níundi.

Ástsæld hljóta af ýtum vann
enginn skjóta vildi hann;
efldi frið og frelsi jók,
fylkir við er ríki tók.

Beitti forðum brandi sá
buðlung storðum Mistar á,
hjörs í róti harðskeyttum
herjaði móti Þjóðverjum.

Atti að lubbum eggjum þá
“Als” og “Dybbøls”-hæðum á;
vals á slóðum hristi hrein
hetjan góða Mistiltein.

Var að etja ofjarl við
álmahret frá Dana hlið,
enda fóru ófarir
álma-Þórar tröllefldir.

Bismarck, Fjandans fulltrúi,
fúlum anda blásandi,
Dönum kaldan klaka á
kom þar galdrahundur sá.

Talsverð missti lönd og lýð
lofðung Christian stáls við hríð;
hræddist síðan sjóli mest
sverðahríð og vopnabrest.

Sat í Höfn með hirð í frið, —
há er Dröfn sú borgin við,
sóma hlaðinn heimsfrægur
höfuðstaður Danmerkur.

Tvo ráðgjafa ræði’ eg um,
ræsir hafi í meðráðum;
hrannar ljósi hlaðnir með,
hétu Goos og Sehested.

Ísland lýtur öðling þeim,
öld er býtir rauðum seim —
þar sem aldrei sumarsól
sezt við kaldan norðurpól.

Þar eru háir herkóngar —
herma frá þeim rímurnar. —
Hilmis gagns þar geyma þeir
Goos og Magnús prúði tveir.

Svo bar við einn sunnudag,
saddur friði og auðnuhag
yfir borðum öðling sat;
átu korða runnar mat.

Þar var dísætt þrennslags vín,
þar var nýsteikt keldusvín;
baunir ýtar átu og graut,
ákavíti um borðin flaut.

“Brennivínið bragðgóða”,
bjarta, fína og heilnæma
sjálfur dreypti’ í sikling stór,
sem hann keypti af Bensa Þór.

Borð fyrir gylfa gengur snar
Goos með Ylfings brugðið skar,
ekki frýnn var á að sjá,
yggldust brýnnar gráar þá.

Augum hvolfdi ákaft þar,
''Ísafold'' í hendi bar;
brann sem gneisti’ und brúnunum,
blaðið kreisti’ í lúkunum.

Enginn brosti, öðlings þjóð
eins og lostin þrumu stóð.
Mælti hraður hilmir þá:
“Hvað er það, sem gengur á?”

Innti í skyndi aftur hinn:
“Illtíðindi, herra minn;
hreyfa snarir herskildi
herkóngar á Íslandi.

Allt í brandi’ og báli’ er þar,
blóði randir litaðar,
bragna fall og brandshviður;
berst þar allur þingheimur.

Út úr ríkisráði mér
rammir víkja ætla sér
runnar þorna þjóðfrægir,
— þeir eru’ orðnir vitlausir.

Skortir Valtý vopn og lið,
varla er talað þar um frið.
Býsna hnellinn brands við el
Bensi féll, og það fór vel!

Æða slyngar áfram þar
Ísfirðinga kempurnar;
skjóma’ á þingi skerpir sinn
Skaftfellinga jötunninn.

Þetta lygi engin er
eftir því sem stendur hér:
skammagrein, sem — skilst mér von —
skrifaði Einar Hjörleifsson.

Líkur bola biksvartur
blæs að kolum ''Þjóðólfur'';
út þar fossar eiturtjörn,
en Einar krossar sig og Björn”.

“Hvaða fjandi?” hilmir kvað,
“höndum vandi kemur að,
eyðist ríkið yndi þver,
illa líkar stríðið mér.

Grein mér rétt um hersins heild,
hvað er að frétta’ úr ''efri deild''?”
Goos þá svarar: “Illa er
aftur farið kóngsins her.

Árni dugar ekki hót,
elli bugar Þorkel ljót,
Júlíus gefur jafninga,
Jónas hefur ginklofa.

Bagals hristir Hallgrímur
hirðir Kristí sauðkindur,
pillur hnoðar himneskar
úr hjómi’ og froðu mælskunnar”.

Borðum, hrindir hilmir fram,
hverfur yndi frægum gram;
saman kallar ríkisráð
ræsir snjall og fékk svo tjáð:

“Ellin ljóta amar mér,
annars skjótur byggi eg her;
brands með hviðum blóðugan
bældi eg niður ófrið þann.

Hefði ungan hlegið mig
hjörva þungan troða stig,
hrista nakinn hjör og sax,
en hvað skal taka nú til bragðs?”

“Herra”, sagði Sehested,
“sé eg bragð, er förum með:
Finn einn aldinn eigum vér,
ýmsa galdra’ er temur sér.

Gorms frá tíð er gamla sá,
gengur skíðum hafið á,
um himin þýtur, haf og grund
og heljar-Víti á klukkustund.

Ekki er vandi Finna’ að fá
að fara á gandi’ um höfin blá,
til að æra alþingi
eða hræra’ í þjóðinni.

Sendið Finninn alþing á,
yðar kynni boðskap sá,
að harðir láti af hernaði
hlynir plátu á Íslandi —

á þeim lemja auðvelt sé,
ef þeir semja’ ei vopnahlé —
slíðri’ ei hringa hlynir brand,
“Heimdellingar” skjóti’ á land”.

Þengli ráðið þóknast réð,
þakkir tjáði Sehested;
gandi renndi rammaukinn
um Ránar lendur Finnurinn.

Allt var þá í uppnámi.
Öllum brá við þingheimi,
þegar renndi’ í Reykjavík
ræsis sending flugu lík.

Vænstan kostinn sinn þeir sjá
að sefa rosta’ og hjörva þrá;
hættu eggja ógnir við
ára tveggja sömdu frið.

Margur friði feginn var
frækinn viður skjóma þar,
enda þótti um endirinn
uggvænt drótt í þetta sinn.

Hétu þó í huga sér
handar snjóa Böðvarner,
að þeir skyldu annað sinn
auka Hildar rifrildin.

Valtýr fór til Hafnar heim,
hlaðinn stórum auð og seim;
hefndir stríðar hugði á
hirðir víðis ljóma þá.

Veizlu þáði’ í hilmis höll
hlaðin dáðum kempan snjöll;
korða álfur kónginn fann,
kyssti sjálfan ráðgjafann.

Þungt féll Lauga’ að leggja frá
ljótri flauga’ og eggja þrá;
stála Baldur blóðugar
beit í skjadar rendurnar.

Ýmsir vóru óvígir
eftir stóru kapparnir;
slíðraði digur sísta sinn
sverðið Vigur-klerkurinn.

Jón í Múla mergund bar,
mýldist túli hetjunnar.
Sómakarlinn Sighvatur
svo var fallinn óvígur.

Heima þroka hertogar,
hildi lokið allri var,
enda skil eg efni við. —
Enda vil eg ljóða klið.

Lengur strenginn stirðan minn
slá eg eigi hirði’ um sinn.
Sof þú, dúfan dýr og góð,
döf þín ljúf sé, hýra fljóð.

Ellefta ríma (Krossferðarríma)

Ferskeytt

Hlustaðu á mig björt á brá,
blóminn ungra fljóða;
Magnús prúða aftur á
efnið minnist ljóða.

Eftir tveggja ára bil
úti reyndist friður;
frétti Valtýs ferða til
frækinn álma viður.

Safnað Valtýr hafði her
hér á landi víða
og á Magnús ætlað sér
ógurlega að stríða.

Honum voru margir með
mætir skjóma þundar;
berserkir með gráðugt geð
geystust til þess fundar.

Magnús prúði’ og hirðmenn hans
hlupu’ um borgar-stíga;
hræddust flokkinn hreystimanns,
hjörtun tóku að síga.

Magnús sér, að setu til
sízt mun boðið vera;
hann í snarpan hjörvabyl
herör upp lét skera.

Þá, sem fyrr hann veg og völd
veitti’ af mildi sinni,
bað hann djarft með dör og skjöld
duga’ á krossferðinni.

Lárus má þá minnast á,
mækja-Börinn slynga;
nú var gildur garpur sá
goði Snæfellinga.

Forgyllt Magnús hafði hann
hérna fyrr um árið,
þegar vestra margan mann
mæddi Skúla-fárið.

Þegar Skúli skjóta inn
Skurð í svarthol vildi,
líkna vildi honum hinn
af hugulsemi og mildi.

Sendur Lárus vestur var
vígamóði fylltur;
móti Skúla brandinn bar,
barðist eins og trylltur.

Komst í marga þunga þraut
þrekinn Baldur skíða;
Ísfirðingar álma-Gaut
ætluðu’ um nótt að hýða.

Segir fornum sögum í,
sem að ýmsir trúa,
að Lárus hugðust heljarþý
úr hálsliðunum snúa.

Lygi sjálfsagt er það allt
um þann kappa fríðan,
en eitt er víst, að höfuð hallt
hefur ’ann borið síðan.

Landshöfðingja Lárus nú
liði sínu heitir;
á goðanum hafði tröllatrú
traustur lagabeitir.

Lárus bændum bauð á fund,
búinn tignarskrúða.
Talar þá á þessa lund
þjóðar hetjan prúða:

“Heyrið mál mitt, hlýðið mér,
hér í dag skal þinga:
Kveðju’ eg yður öllum ber
okkar landshöfðingja.

Vitið þér, að Valtýr, sá
versti höfuðfjandi,
undir Danskinn ætlar ná
okkar föðurlandi?

Kjósið mig að bregða brand,
beint á þing að ríða,
fyrir guð og fósturland
við fjanda þann að stríða.

Heldur var mín fræknleg för
forðum daga vestur,
Skúli’ er mínum hné und hjör,
höfðingjanna mestur.

Vel eg dugði’ er sóttu i senn
Sviðris kyntum eldi
sextíu’ að mér svolamenn
saman á einu kveldi.

Í Höfn á knæpur kom eg oft
kátr og hress í bragði;
“bullur” allar upp í loft
eg á gólfið lagði.

Hef eg og með höfðingjum
heldur verið talinn,
og í nefnd í útlöndum
öðrum fremur valinn.

Kenndi Hannes Hafstein mér
haglega’ í blöð að yrkja;
ljóð mín skulu hraustan her
hressa, magna og styrkja.

Vilji eitthvert illfygli
ofan í mig fara,
þá skal ég í ''Þjóðólfi''
því með stöku svara.

Hreppstjórar mitt heyri tal —
heiður mun það vera —:
eins og mig ég yður skal
uppdubbaða gera.

Verðlagsskráin verður lág,
vondu minnka gjöldin,
ef þið viljið lið mér ljá,
lemja hjör á skjöldinn.

Mitt skal öllum opið hús,
engum mungát banna;
ég skal vera faðir fús
föðurleysingjanna.

Sveig úr ljósum lárviðum
landið skal mér flétta;
ég af yður ómögum
öllum fljótt skal létta.

En munið og, að eg er sá,
sem að sér hæða’ ei lætur,
ef þið nú mér fallið frá
fleins við skæðar þrætur”. —

Orðinn var hann ærið hás,
undir flatt hann lagði. —
Bárður stóð þar Snæfellsás,
stilltur glotti’ og þagði.

Bændur góða gáfu von,
þá gladdi’ að fá í soðið. —
Herra Einar Hjörleifsson
hafði fram sig boðið. — —

Lárus kusu karlarnir
knáir þó á móti;
prófast bláir berserkir
beittu hvössu spjóti.

Hélt þar Lárus harðfengur
höfuðpaurinn velli,
en hann séra Sigurður
síðast trú’ eg félli.

Meira að sinni’ ei segir frá
sverðabrjóti slyngum. —
Stýrði Hannes Hafsteinn þá
hraustur Ísfirðingum.

Sá var fyrða fríðastur
fallega mjög sig bar hann,
kempa’ á velli, knálegur,
konunglegur var hann.

Talaði’ í ljóðum, skemmtinn, skýr,
skáldaði mörgum braginn;
og við skál var ósköp hýr
oft er leið á daginn.

Magnús bað hann leggja lið,
lífsins næði hafna;
Hannes bón hans varð nú við,
vildi liði safna.

Skúli átti’ og Hannes hríð
harða þar og langa;
ýmsum þótti í þann tíð
ógna-styrjöld ganga.

Sendi Hannes seiðkonur
saman her að smala;
kaldrifjaðar kveldriður
kepptu fram til dala.

Hannes kom á Horn og lét
hátt sinn lúður gjalla,
og með röddu hárri hét
hann á galdrakalla: —

“Surtur nú að sunnan fer,
sólu byrgir skæra;
í dauðans hættu okkar er
ættarjörðin kæra.

Hingað brunar Heimdallur,
honum Valtýr ræður,
blár og digur berserkur,
bændum gestur skæður.

Fram hann æðir emjandi,
eldi spýr úr kjafti,
lönd og sjóinn lemjandi
löngu axarskafti.

Hefur fjöld af fallbyssum
fantrinn til að stríða;
hér mun ekki’ á Hornströndum
hollt í kyrrð að bíða.

Skýrt hefr Magnús mér því frá,
muni ’ann þessa daga
landið okkar suðr í sjá
svikull ætla’ að draga.

Haldið þið, piltar, Hornið í,
hér þarf fast að standa;
sendið mig í málma-gný
móti þessum fjanda.

En ef þið hans eflið lið
eða fylgið honum,
danskir verðið þrælar þið
þá á galeiðonum.

Sonum verður skipað skjótt
að skjóta feður sína;
þá mun dauðans næðings nótt
nísta ættjörð mína.

Eg á “órótt ólgu blóð”,
eg skal standa’ og verjast
og með hug og hetjumóð
hermannlega berjast”. —

Hornstrendingum heldur brá,
hvítnuðu þeir í framan.
“Kjósum Hannes Hafstein þá!”
hrópuðu allir saman.

Gerðu’ að Skúla gerningar
galdramenn frá Ströndum;
enginn mennskur maður bar
megn við slíkum fjöndum.

Samt við krossa’ og klukknahljóð
kempan studdist ríka,
og til sæmdar þingi’ og þjóð
á þingið komst hann líka.

Lýðir hlýði ljóðasmíð;
landsins rjóðu dætur
hræðist blíðar blóðugt stríð,
bjóði’ oss góðar nætur.

Tólfta ríma (Kosningaríma)

Braghent

Um þær mundir ýmsir högg í annars garði
áttu, því að þing var nærri,
þóttist hver þar öðrum hærri.

Guðjóns áður getið er, sem grimmur forðum
biskup lét og landshöfðingja
ljóta títuprjóna stinga.

Veður skiptist skjótt í lofti, skaltu trúa,
landshöfðingja vinur vera
vildi’ ’ann nú og “agítera”.

Bjóst hann við, að máske mundu molar hrynja,
eins og komið er á daginn,
af hans borðum sér í haginn.

Kosninga var hríðin hörð þar háð á Ströndum;
átti ’ann þar við enga gungu,
Ingimund í Snartartungu.

Knéskít Guðjón hraustur hlaut, svo hermir sagan,
fyrir ungum Ingimundi;
óglatt varð þá mörgu sprundi.

Aftur tókst nú orrustan, sem allir muna;
eftir langar eggja-hviður
Ingimundi þvældi ’ann niður.

Höggorrusta háð var grimm í Húnaþingi:
Árni sleit í Höfðahólum
á hlaupum sínum fernum sólum.

Þaut hann eins og þeytispjald um Þing og Dali
til að æsa að álma-róti
alla karla Valtý móti.

Komst því ekki til á túni töðu’ að hirða
þessi fleina Freyrinn mætur
fyrr en undir veturnætur.

Þarna’ er dæmi, þjóðin mín, sem þú skalt læra;
haltu þér við hærri vegi,
hirtu’ um bú og fé þitt eigi.

Undarlegt er æðimargt, en einkum þetta,
að hér skyldi orkuslynga
Árni teyma Húnvetninga.

Svo hann villti sjónir þeim, að sumir vildu
vekja upp dauða og Valtý senda, —
virðist slíkt á æði benda.

Jósafat bjóst aldinn út í álma-hretið,
ætla kvaðst “með elli bleika
óskelfdur til Hildar leika”.

Hermann digur þrífork þreif, á þingið reið hann;
selir grétu gleðitárum,
gægðust upp úr köldum bárum.

Vöðuselur var þar stór og varð að orði:
“Hermann frændi, í þingsal þínum
þú skalt heilsa bræðrum mínum.

Vertu sæll, þér óskum allir auðnu’ og gengis.
Á því vota áttu heima,
aldrei máttu þessu gleyma.

Dauf mun vistin þykja þér á þurru landi,
verði þar ei vært, þá flýja
vínlands skaltu til hins nýja”.

Kom þá mikið kríuger að kveðja garpinn,
fast og heitt á koll hans kysstu
kríurnar og fæðu misstu.

“Dekorerað” hattinn hans þær höfðu’ og klæði,
svo að kempan sýndist prúða
sakleysis í hvítum skrúða. —

Skal eg þá í Skagafjörðinn skjótt mér snúa,
þar sem gengu þungu stríðin,
þar varð ljóta orrahríðin.

Innan héraðs ýmsir vildu á alþing fara,
og Stefán minn á Möðruvöllum,
maður sá er bar af öllum.

Hann er fríður, vaxinn vel og vígalegur;
bregður grönum, glottir tíðum,
gleðst hann oft af deilum stríðum.

Sá var mestur Valtýs vin á voru landi;
mælsku skorti’ og einurð eigi,
ótal þræddi krókavegi.

Herma skal frá honum Jóni’ á Hafsteinsstöðum:
norðr í Fljót eg frá hann ríði,
forna hitti töfragríði.

Mannsrif eitt þau magna’ og senda meginpúka;
Stefán á sá fjandi’ að finna,
ferð hans tálma’ og ógagn vinna.

Hafsteinsstaða-fjandinn fer nú ferða sinna;
mórauð hundtík mögnuð var ’ann,
með sér djöfuls-kynngi bar ’ann.

Var þá Stefán vestur búinn, — var þó áður
búinn fund að boða’ og lýði
bað sér fylgja’ í hörðu stríði.

Eina nótt það er, að Stefán illa lætur
svefni í, og sárra kvala
svo hann kenndi’ að mátti’ ei tala.

Þrútinn var og helblár háls og höfuð bólgið;
beinverkir og svimi sóttu
sárt á hann á þeirri nóttu.

Vætti ’ann kverkar víni á, en varla niður
— svo mjög tók hann kvala’ að kenna —
kunni hann nokkrum dropa renna.

Sent er nú á Akureyri á augabragði
Guðmund Hannesson að sækja
sveigi til að líkna mækja.

Sá hefr marga hölda heimt úr Heljar greipum;
lýsir honum lærdóms andi,
læknir mesti á Norðurlandi.

Með sér hafði’ hann hundrað glös af Hoffmannsdropum,
skurðarhnífa, skæri’ og tengur,
skyldi’ ei Stefán kveljast lengur.

Allt kom fyrir ekki þó; — þau orð hann hafði,
að sú veiki ekki mundi
einleikin í hjörva-Þundi.

Stefán býst nú bráðum þar við bana sínum,
mjög af honum mundi dregið,
maðurinn gat ei framar hlegið.

Ólafur Davíðs son var sagt að sóttur væri;
enginn maður manninn blekkti,
mætavel hann drauga þekkti.

Réttum beinum sezt hann svo á salar gólfið;
las og þuldi’ í hálfum hljóðum
heljar-feikn af galdraljóðum.

Sér hann Stefáns hart að hálsi herða fjanda;
eftir langar kynja-kviður
kom hann draugsa loksins niður.

Létti skjótast laufa-Tý, og langferð sína
hefur nú og heldur vestur,
höfðingjanna auðnumestur.

Stefán sigur frægan fékk og fór á þingið.
Ólafur frá Álfgeirsvöllum
einnig fór með kappa snjöllum.

Jón varð þá að hírast heima á Hafsteinsstöðum
og með honum Ullar skíða
aðrir þeir sem vildu stríða. —

Ögn skal nú á Eyfirðinga einnig minnast.
Hæst lét þar í Hildar sköllum
Hjaltalín á Möðruvöllum.

Þá var Klemens kempan háa kesju gyrtur,
og sterkur sá er stýrir plógi
Stefán út í Fagraskógi.

Allir vildu á alþing þeir og ótal fleiri;
allir þóttust “vissir” vera,
vitlausir að “agitera”.

Hjaltalín með hálfanker í hernað lagði;
kempan dýra, dáðum slynga
dreypti’ úr því á Svarfdælinga.

Glaðir kneyfðu karlar vín, en kjörþingsdaginn
loforð heima hjá sér geymdu:
Hjaltalín þeir flestir gleymdu.

Stefán ræðu hélt, sem heyrðist hundrað rastir;
margt af viti, margir sögðu,
margir brostu’ í kamp og þögðu.

Hné þar gamli Hjaltalín með heiðri og sóma.
Klemens bar úr býtum sigur,
burðamikill, hár og digur.

“Úníform” og augnaráð hans engir stóðust;
þinggjaldanna minntust margir;
meintu “líðun” helztu bjargir.

Stefán fekk til fylgdar með sér fleina Baldur;
annað sætið enginn vildi
autt á þingi’ að vera skyldi.

Eg er þjáður, eg vil náðir á mig taka.
Allt er láðið orpið klaka. —
Úti’ er bráðum þessi vaka.

Þrettánda ríma (Önnur kosningaríma)

Skammhent

Þá skal tjá frá Þingeyingum,
þá var dauft og hljótt;
drúpti Bensa dáinn kringum
dauðans kalda nótt.

Þá var allur “eldur dauður”
eftir voðaskell,
þegar Bensi hart á hauður
hinzta sinni féll.

Yfir sig þeir ákaft jusu
ösku’ og fóru’ í sekk;
þá í augun illa gusu
æði-margur fékk.

Ljótur gamli lengi hafði
legið þá í kör;
að sé rekkjuvoðum vafði
vopna aldinn bör.

Sér á vinstri síðu kló ’ann,
svo í brækur fór;
hart á lærið hægra sló ’ann
hét á Krist og Þór: —

“ “Æðstu þekking” ellin veitir,
á mér þetta sést;
heyri allar hraustar sveitir,
hvað mér sýnist bezt:

Setjið mig í sæti Bensa,
svo er bætt vort tjón;
enn mun karlinn kunna’ að skensa
kjaftfor þingsins flón.

Hörmung er ef hér á láði
heimskan skjöldinn ber:
eg vil Magnús minn að ráði
mektugr öllu hér.

Bankann þarf ei, Þórshöfn dugar,
þar er Snæbjörn minn;
eg skal flytja fegins hugar
fram þau stórmælin.

Ljótur hræðist aldinn eigi
atför Valtýings;
máske karli koma megi
kviktrjám á til þings”. —

Að svo mæltu út af féll hann —
úti’ um þingreið var;
enginn vildi’ í elli hrella’ ’ann —
og þeir kusu’ hann þar.

Pétur Gauti gjarnan sagðist
grípa vilja hjör;
allþungt stríðið í hann lagðist
undir svaðilför.

Norðmýlingar sóttu’ að sennum,
sveigðu vopnin stinn;
rauk sem gufa af rekka ennum
Rangár-samþykktin.

Einar beggja vinur vera
vildi’ í hverri þraut;
samvizkan hans sýndist bera
sannfæring á braut.

Jóhannes hinn furðu fríði
frækn sig heiman bjó,
þótti vera’ á þingi prýði,
þola flestan sjó.

Sunnmýlingar héldu að hildi,
hríð varð ekki löng;
Axel frækni, garprinn gildi,
geira herti söng.

Gutti hjá í liði lafði
landshöfðingjanum;
umboð hann og umbrot hafði
ill í maganum.

Ólafur frá Arnarbæli
austr á vængjum fló;
snerist um á hnakka’ og hæli,
hvergi af megni dró.

“Þarfastan” sig “þjóninn” kvað ’ann
þingi og landsmönnum;
heilla allra’ og heiðurs bað ’ann
Hornfirðingunum.

Í hans mælsku meginflóði
margir fóru’ á kaf;
séra Jón, hinn gamli, góði,
gat ei komizt af.

Skaftfellingar vestri vóru
víga búnir til;
tryggðareiðinn ýmsir sóru
ýtar Lauga’ í vil.

Skuggsýnt var og heljarhjúpi
hulin foldarból;
kúrði ugla’ á Keldugnúpi,
kveið þar degi og sól.

Doktor Forni fúll í svörum
fór með kukl og seið;
skaut hann mörgum eiturörum,
austr á Síðu reið.

Kampinn á hann byrstur bítur,
býður Lauga’ á hólm;
niður úr sorta himins hrýtur
hríðin galdra ólm.

Laugi bað sér dísir duga
djöfuls kynngi mót;
fyrsta sinn með hálfum huga
hjör hann þreif og spjót.

Hrakið lá í hrúgum víða
hey hjá bændunum;
uggði þá, að ótíð stríða
ættu í vændunum.

Kjörþingsdaginn röðull roða
reifar engi’ og tún;
glit af skærum geislaboða
gyllti fjallabrún.

Fáir kappar Forna mættu
á fundi þennan dag;
heyja sinna gildir gættu
garpar sér í hag.

Doktor Forna féllust hendur
fyrir sólarbrá;
hann varð þá að steini’ og stendur,
stór við Kötlugjá.

Laugi stoltur slíðrar vigur,
stál var ekki reynt;
frægan hafði’ ’ann hlotið sigur,
hélt á alþing beint.

Rangæingar rómu stikla
ramma þeyttu í gríð;
sendu Þórð og Magnús mikla
að magna geira-hríð.

Eggert svartur hempu hristi,
hleypti vindi’ á stað,
atkvæðanna megnið missti;
manninum gramdist það.

Á skal minna Árnesinga:
Ýmsir vildu þar
gildir, framir Gautar hringa
grípa Sigtýs skar.

Símon hafði beizlað bæði
Bakka og Flóamenn;
lét þá sprikla’ í leyniþræði
lengi marga í senn.

Pétur gapti’ og gleiðum túla
galli tómu spjó;
þóttust allir þekkja fúla
þaralykt frá sjó.

Skældi’ hann sig og skók sig allan,
skratti málugur,
hristi lengi ljótan skallann;
lá svo óvígur.

Hannes stóð á hávum palli
hampaði ''Þjóðólfi'',
eins og gamalt goð á stalli,
grenjaði: “Þjóðfrelsi!”

Upphaf sig og endi sagði’ ’ann
allra framkvæmda;
á hvert minnsta orð sitt lagði’ ’ann
áherzluna “''ha''” — — —

Móti Birni bændur stælti’ ’ann,
byrsti’ og yggldi sig:
“Eg er fastur fyrir”, mælti’ ’ann,
“flekar enginn mig”.

Í brjósti allir um hann kenndu —
inn á þing hann flaut; —
en með honum samt þeir sendu
Sigurð “ráðunaut”.

Um þær mundir ærnar róstur
urðu’ í Reykjavík;
fór sem vofa’ um hraun og hrjóstur
hundvís pólitík.

Tryggvi karlinn kunni’ að smala,
kallar hann á fund
sjómann hvern og hóf að tala
hátt á þessa lund:

“Standi þið, piltar, hérna hjá mér,
hefjum málmagný,
sjómannsbragur er nú á mér,
enginn neitar því.

Árin mörg í víking var eg,
víða’ um höfin fór,
stýrði Gránu og brandinn bar eg
burða’ og tignar stór.

Mig var á úr meyjaskara
mörgu sinni bent,
með eg þótti fimur fara
flein við turníment.

Nú skal Valtýr hörðum halla
haus á foldar svörð,
Arntzen-Warburg fá að falla
fyrir mér á jörð.

Flota vil eg fagran búa
föntum slíkum mót;
hlaða vígi, hafið brúa,
hefja siðabót.

Inn í bankans hvíta höllu
heim eg yður býð;
gull og gnægð af góðu öllu
gef eg mínum lýð”. —

Sjómenn Tryggva sögðust fylgja, —
sumir héldu þó,
geigvæn kynni undirylgja
á þeim rísa sjó.

Sankti-Lárus sagt er héti
síðan kappinn á,
og glóðaraugna-Gísli léti
guða’ á hverjum skjá.

Einar brátt og Búi fóru
um borg í leiðangur;
eiða hvorir öðrum sóru
eins og fóstbræður.

Agiterað inn við Laugar
er af pilsvörgum;
risu’ úr haugum rammir draugar,
riðu húsunum.

Gísli hljóp og engu eirði,
ákaft þandi hvoft.
Einar hausinn á sér keyrði
upp í háva loft.

Mátti ei jafnast Jón við slíkum
jötna’ og þussa-leik,
hné þar búin Herjans flíkum
hetjan föl og bleik.

Ljóðin enda, óðinn sendi’ eg
ungri hringa-Bil,
hvar sem lendir, héðan vendi’ eg
hróðugr þingsins til.

Fjórtánda ríma (Hafnarríma)

Ferskeytt

Um þær mundir undur stór
urðu’ og vígaboði,
huldi allan himinkór
háan frelsisroði.

Allt var bleki atað land,
yfir jöklum glóði
voðablika’ af vígabrand’,
víða rigndi blóði.

Blásið var í hornin hátt,
herjans vafin skrúða
mynd þar birtast mundi brátt
Magnúsar hins prúða.

Komu’ að vestan víkingar
vígamóði fylltir,
í báða enda og alstaðar
utan logagylltir.

Hittust báðir Hannesar,
hvorutveggi feitur;
annar hnarreist höfuð bar,
hinn var undurleitur.

Stikaði djarft með stoltar-svip
Snæfellingagoðinn;
margan sá þar góðan grip,
gulli skæru roðinn.

Valtýr kom og kappar hans,
kesjum gyrtir bláum;
hófst hinn mikli darradans,
dundi’ í sölum háum.

Danir höfðu fengið Finn
til fylgis landshöfðingja;
átti í felum “finnurinn”
Fjösvinns mál að syngja.

Faldist bak við eina eik,
örum spýtti úr túla;
gera vildi vondan leik
Valtý sá og Skúla.

Görpum mjög hann glapti sýn,
er geystust Valtý móti;
finngálkns ásýnd ekki frýn
ægði í Hildar róti.

Meginjötnar Magnúsar
máttu ei annað þekkja
en lygi, svik og landráð þar
lýðinn til að blekkja.

Illkvikindum, ormstrjónum,
eiturslöngum ljótum
þörf að eyða þegnunum
þótti’ á vopnamótum.

Bitra Laugi brandinn skók,
björtu veifði spjóti,
honum þegar Hafsteinn tók
harðfenglega móti.

Ball á Skúla skildi hjör,
skarplega varðist jarlinn,
Lárus ekki frægðarför
fór þar mikla, karlinn.

Nær því jafnmargt lýða lið
laufa háði gjálfur;
báðum fylgdi á sóknar svið
séra Einar hálfur.

Guðjón tók að gleikka spor,
grár fyrir járnum var hann,
og á Kristján assessor
Angurvaðil bar hann.

Dró þá Kristján Dragvendil,
darrablöðin sungu,
herti snarpan hjörvabyl
hann í skapi þungu.

Heitt var báðum, höggin stór
á hjálmum sterkum dundu;
Guðjón hét á guð og Þór
grimmur á sömu stundu.

Kristján vopna þóttist þá
þurfa’ ei framar viður,
keyrði Guðjón klofbragð á,
kastaði honum niður.

Warburg hétu ýmsir á,
aðrir sögðu: “Tryggvi,
athvarf þér vér eigum hjá
‚erindrekinn dyggvi‘.”

Lárus æpti og Hannes hátt,
hjörvi slógu á skjöldinn;
kvað við grimmt úr hverri átt
heróp: “Bara völdin!”

Valtýr stóð sem veggur fast
við þau feikn og undur;
loksins hvassi hjörinn brast
í höndum Lalla sundur.

Hátt í rómu hjörinn söng,
hart var sótt og varizt;
líka’ í ótal leynigöng
laumazt var og barizt.

Utan þings við áhlaupin
ýmsir vopnum fleygðu;
hvorir aðra eins og skinn
eltu þá og teygðu.

Sigur loksins Valtýr vann
við þær skjóma hviður;
undu sér við endi þann
óvinirnir miður.

Reiður Hannes Hafsteinn tér:
“Hvað er nú til ráða?
Fyrir kóngi klögum vér
kumpán þann og snáða.

Fái’ eg Tryggva’ og Finn með mér,
á fund skal stillis halda
og öllum þessum arga her
illar skuldir gjalda.

Georg Brandes á eg að
og Eðvarð karlinn líka;
held eg þori’ að hætta’ á það
að hefja útför slíka.

Það er mín trú, að maga minn
milding respekteri;
mælskan öll og málsnilldin
meina eg talsvert geri”.

Héldu þeir til Hafnar þrír,
hrepptu byrinn þýða;
skreið sem örskot Unnar-dýr
yfir hafið víða.

Konungs fund þeir kepptust á,
er komu af jónum ranga;
í humátt við sig hal þeir sjá
harla snúðugt ganga.

Kenndu Valtý kominn þar,
körlum hnykkti viður;
fullir ótta og undrunar
ætluðu’ að hníga niður.

Kapphlaup var með hörku háð;
huldir svita í framan
loksins hilmis höllu náð
höfðu allir saman.

Beygingum og bukti með
boð fyrir sjóla gjörðu;
til hans blítt með bænargeð
bljúgir allir störðu.

Sjóli ekki sagðist fær
við “svona” menn að tala;
kvað þó samt við kempur þær
koma mann og hjala.

“Mæðir”, kvað hann, “elli í
að eiga ræðu langa. —
Vilt þú ekki, Albertí,
út til dyra ganga?”

Albertí fór út á hlað,
ofan hinit tóku —
fengu honum heljarblað
höfðingjarnir klóku.

Gleraugun upp setti sá,
svo er lesið hafði,
setti’ ’ann hljóðan, svarar fá,
saman skjalið vafði:

“Þeir eru nógu þrályndir
þessir Íslendingar!
ekki vitund auðsveipir
eins og Færeyingar.

Ykkur er nær en efla stríð
og aldinn konung mæða
frið að eiga ár og síð,
ykkar njóta gæða.

Ég mun yðar óðalstorð
ekki móti vera, —
en fyrir sjálfra ykkar orð
ekki mikið gera”.

Svo fór þessi sendiför, —
sem var engin furða:
á þráðinn sinn þeim þótti gjör
þarna lagleg snurða.

Labbaði Tryggvi í landsbankann,
lán til þess að fala;
um afreksverk sín hafði hann
harla margt að tala.

Sagt er að kæmi England á
aldinn vopnarunnur,
og herra Thordal hitti þá,
sem hér er flestum kunnur.

Sá var ekki blankur, — bjór
bauð hann Tryggva og fleira.
— En hvað þeim meira milli fór,
mátti enginn heyra.

Atburður á Íslandi
eftir þetta skeður:
Hovgaard kom á “Heimdalli”
hroðafréttir meður. —

Kvað hann doktor Valtýs von
vera’ á hverri stundu,
og Magnús prúði Magnússon
mundi lúta’ að grundu.

Valtýr orðinn væri jarl; —
varð þá stjórnarmönnum
algerlega orðafall,
ískruðu og gnístu tönnum.

Hrikti’ í stjórnarstólpunum,
stundu þeir af kvíða:
hundadaga hilmi um
hugsuðu þegnar víða.

Vænka þótti Valtýs her
við það tækifæri;
sagði’ í greipar gengin sér
gæfan mikla væri.

Lygi raunar reyndist það; —
rótt varð allt að sinni, —
meðan komið ekki’ er að
aðal-kollhríðinni!

Allir mæna á Albertí,
Ás hins nýja siðar;
ætla’ að renni’ upp öldin ný,
öldin ljóss og friðar.

Allir höndum taka tveim
tíð, er stríð er þrotið;
en sumum hætta þrætum þeim
þykir súrt í brotið.

Kom þú svo með Fróða-frið,
fögur tímans stjarna;
skín þú broshýr vöggu við
vorra ungu barna.

Sé ég þú í skýjum skín,
skærust undir daginn. —
Þá er harpan þögnuð mín,
þakkið þið, stúlkur, braginn.

Source Colophon

Source text: Alþingisrímur, Rímur I–XIV. Icelandic Wikisource (is.wikisource.org, Flokkur:Rímur, síða nr. 49). Transcribed from print. Public domain.

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