The Rímur of Bernótus the Island-Champion

A fifteen-ríma chivalric romance composed in 1823 by Magnús Jónsson í Magnússkógum (c. 1763–c. 1826), a self-taught poet, smith, and wanderer from the Westfjords. The story is set in Phrygia under King Evagóras and his queen Blandíná. Their son Satíló grows in grace, but their neighbor's son Nectarus — strong, hot-tempered, and fearless — draws the prince's enmity. After killing the royal war-hound and escaping from a high tower, Nectarus is outlawed and sails into exile. Through fifteen rímur of adventure, he earns the name Bernótus, Champion of the Islands.

This is the first known English translation of this rímur cycle. The text follows the second edition (Reykjavík: D. Östlunds, 1907), which was revised and expanded by the publisher with a biography of the poet.

Fyrsta ríma — First Ríma

The mansöngr. King Evagóras of Phrygia. The ball-game. The war-hound. The tower. The escape. The outlaw's flight.

1.
Iceland's men of skill in former days
gave the folk no little measure
of Fjölnir's cup-fillings
through the long hours of life.

2.
Wise tales, precious examples,
some were able to compose,
and also fair adventures
that the poets sang.

3.
They shortened the day and drove on time,
men high in learning;
this gladdened the people of the land —
few found fault.

4.
In their footsteps we would walk,
offering pastime to the folk
and paring the hours, as is our duty,
we who wish to be called poets.

5.
Often I have offered the worthy people
Þulinn's toll,
and for heroes and foxes' paths
hummed a verse at evening.

6.
Now it is nothing to speak of —
I stir none of this;
Skrímnir's fosterling's counsel, rich
in fame, dulls the senses.

7.
I scarcely pluck the hard harp-string
as often as before;
I gladden neither lady nor lad,
bound by dull old age.

8.
I was lost inside a holy stone,
gladly would have rested,
thinking to mend the mind's hurt
more utterly than I should.

9.
Yet a learned bearer of books
has asked me to drag
Möndull's ship of speech from its berth
and shape a tale of glory.

10.
Little do I trust that I can
grant the boon he asks;
scarce am I able any longer
to float Austri's craft.

11.
Many a mark of glory I have lost
out on the sea,
though Bragi himself once showed
sun-bright staves.

12.
Yet I must show willingness
to the consecrated tree of cloaks,
and lead Lítar's wrecked vessel
to the wave of Són.

13.
I have no other counsel
than to go to Báleygr's norns
and bid them work a deed —
pour the ancient drink.

14.
I put my trust in them
that they will give me a sip
from Rögnir's cup, the red stream —
there lies counsel in the drops.

15.
If Mímir's friend's chalice
were brought into my hands,
veins, sinews, memory and speech
would be renewed.

16.
Let the dulled spirit find remedy,
let its powers rise;
all creatures under the sun
strengthen me for verse.

17.
In that faith, a gust of fire
moves Þulinn's boat
to the story-mark — the tale now
begins in this way.

18.
Evagóras may be called
a lord rich in learning;
he ruled the realm of Phrygia,
his fame surpassing all.

19.
That noble king
possessed a fair queen;
bloom-covered Blandíná
was the gentlest name she bore.

20.
The gracious lord with wealth in plenty
gave her an heir;
he was named Satíló,
famed sender of spears.

21.
His young son the ruler of the land
loved dearly;
all manner of arts the breaker of brands
he had him taught.

22.
Yielding to both ring-bearer
and lady, the prince was;
well-grown in stature and valour,
he won the goodwill of men.

23.
A farmer near the king's hall
dwelt, named Lúpus;
he had a son with his jewel-tree —
a keen feeder of battle.

24.
Nectarus was his name,
a worthy wolf-feeder;
in growth, strength, and beauty
he surpassed many men.

25.
He was thought rather hard-handed
when at play,
quarrelsome and stubborn,
often winning fame for himself.

26.
Often he walked to the hall,
met the prince's lads,
and threw himself likewise into sport —
Yggja's keeper of flame.

27.
It is told that the prince's men,
when they sought his company,
thought they received hard play
from the young tree of swords.

28.
They complained of it to the king,
the warriors' mother;
the lord gave it no heed
among his people.

29.
When the daring one could not
curb his temper,
the prince laid a word of rebuke
upon the tree of leaves.

30.
Nectarus, keeper of the hawk-cliff,
understood this well;
between them therefore grew
a quiet current of enmity.

31.
It happened one day
the king's retainers took up
a ball-game beside the hall;
Nectarus comes home.

32.
He went to the game with the prince's
men, as was his custom;
a few of the warrior-trees
the burden-bearer of Grani felled.

33.
One of the prince's men then
seizes the hard ball
and drives it full-force
into the forehead of the spear-lord.

34.
The farmer's son flares in anger,
grabs the ball,
and hurls it back at the man's brow —
the seat of his brain shatters.

35.
The prince kept a war-hound,
most savage it was,
tied at the hall-door,
the greatest bone-troll.

36.
The furious keeper of the court
orders the hound unleashed
and set upon the farmer's son,
that his life might end.

37.
The men do this quickly;
the prince's dog springs forth,
savage, running open-jawed
toward the oak of arms.

38.
It set its hard jaw of teeth,
biting with savagery,
and tore a piece from the calf
of his left foot.

39.
The hawk-cliff of Herjann's fires
full of valour seized
the hound by the tail
and dashed it down upon a stone.

40.
Its skull burst to pieces,
brains flew wide;
the grim prince commands
that the fair warrior be bound.

41.
The famed one thought to fend off
the fortress-folk;
with the ball-bat the tree of swords
defended himself long against many.

42.
Hard the thistle-warriors pressed;
men took club-blows;
the great tree of learning
was wearied at last.

43.
Mighty in defense he fought;
he dealt wounds that bled;
yet the host managed to seize him
and clap him in fetters.

44.
The bold leaf-tree was swiftly borne
by the prince's stout men
aloft into a room
that stood in a high tower.

45.
From there no freedom came —
all might attest it;
it was an old chamber
of wretched criminals.

46.
Then the men lock the door swiftly
and manage to depart;
quickly to rest at nightfall
the folk go, with the ruler of waves.

47.
Now shall be told of Nectarus:
he turned in his mind
how his life's peace, when it pleased,
would come to an end.

48.
With the hard blade of his wits —
the mind will not relent —
he works with his hands to free himself
from the swelling bonds.

49.
Upon the rafters there he sees
old garments hanging,
wretched rags
and a great heap of straw.

50.
He saw also a window
bearing the gable's gold,
with thick iron bars
set between the panes.

51.
From that opening, the tree of leaves
judged there might be
a full ten fathoms
down to the ground below.

52.
The shield-warrior takes counsel:
he cuts the ragged garments
and twists them into long strips
between his arms.

53.
He knots the strips together,
the ruler of steel,
until they measure by count
ten fathoms now.

54.
Then the spear-sender wraps
his body in straw —
hands, feet, and likewise
the whole scalp-ridge.

55.
He fastens the strong rope's end
to a rafter,
and binds the other end about himself,
gifted with wit's counsel.

56.
He told his plan to the tar-tree:
when the cord was released,
though stones of edges should come,
no harm would reach him.

57.
The shield-bearer breaks the pane,
though its space was tight,
and deftly lets himself roll out
through the strong bars.

58.
Though the warrior of weapons knew no road
down to the ground,
he lowered himself on the cord
as far as it would reach.

59.
When the rope gave out,
the lad let go,
let himself fall upon the earth —
all went perfectly well.

60.
Four fathoms, the tale declares,
the beam-shaker dropped;
the wrappings shielded the man,
though the fall was high.

61.
He tears the rags from himself,
counsel never failing,
stands at once upon his feet
and turns toward the gate.

62.
Before him there stood
two of the prince's watchmen;
they said the bold one would not
be going any further.

63.
The farmer's son struck swiftly —
as may be told —
setting a fist-blow upon the nose
of one of them.

64.
The prince's man took the blow
and crashed against the hall-wall,
skull-cloven, stripped of peace,
he settled into Hel's door.

65.
The nimble one seized the man's sword
and dealt death to the other;
the warm blood of the watchman
wetted Grani's bed.

66.
He unlocked the gate to great fortune
and went his way;
home to his father's house he went —
the lad wakes him.

67.
He told him the tale rightly,
as much as he could bear;
the old man thought this news
not fair at all.

68.
"Things have gone badly now — "
the warrior-tree spoke —
"the king will have men of Gautr's lady
hunt for you in force.

69.
I cannot keep you here,
I have no hiding place;
surely you will be given
a cruel death."

70.
"Your counsel," the young one said,
"I thought to follow."
The old man answered,
speaking to the young tree of skis:

71.
"I have looked upon a wood
of ancient oak-trunks;
hiding enough may be found there
for a tree of thorns.

72.
They are hollow within —
I noticed it before —
and so large that a thistle-lord
might hide inside them.

73.
Go there, I bid you;
there for some days
you may hide from men —
it can be managed well."

74.
The young one approves this counsel
and gives ample thanks;
he receives wine and provisions
and turns toward the wood.

75.
A great oak-trunk he found there
standing in the birch-clearing,
and the young spear-wielder
steps inside it.

76.
Now shall be told of the prince:
men awoke,
went readily into the tower,
and found the prisoner gone.

77.
Dead watchmen the company sees
presently at the gate;
the lord of lands commands
that a swift search begin.

78.
The search-party ranges over sea and land;
men toil at the task;
the glad serpent-tree
they cannot find.

79.
When the host gave up the chase
and those weary search-labors,
the famed ruler sets a þing
and summons all men.

80.
The farmer's son, who wrought the killings —
they were no small matter —
the lord pronounces outlawed
throughout his lands and realm.

81.
Likewise the king decreed plainly,
unwilling to soften the sentence:
wherever the warrior be found,
he shall be slain.

82.
The men depart from the þing
and bid the prince farewell;
then this talk falls silent
through the settlements.

83.
Now shall I steer toward Nectarus
the ferry of the North:
boldly he drew himself from the tree
when the searchers ceased.

84.
He goes to find his father,
the keeper of icy fingers,
and asked now what the leaf-tree
wished to take up.

85.
"The same as before," the old man answers,
"is in my mind:
follow, dear father mine,
your own fair counsel."

86.
"That will not serve," the old man said —
"I can see it plain —
a spear-bearer cannot think
to stay quiet in this place.

87.
You know I own a boat
fine upon the sea's forge;
take it, and with it
three of my house-carls.

88.
Over the salt herring-pool
sail with the lads
to the nearest islands,
so that none may know.

89.
Seek shelter, I say;
stay there a while,
until fortune shows a fairer road
to the ring-bearer."

90.
The young one thanks the old man warmly
for his counsel,
and in a moment readies himself
with the finest provisions.

91.
Prepared, he bids farewell to the folk
and to his parents,
then walks readily over Einar's flood
to the swan's earth.

92.
The men lower the craft,
then hold from land;
the breeze fills the sail-cloth,
waves wash the gunwales.

93.
Their vessel may run through the cod-sea
across the plank-ground;
yet my own broken ferry of Möndull
must hold for home.

94.
The tale of glory
wearies further to tell;
I set the drowsy chalice
of Oma down empty.

Önnur ríma — Second Ríma

The mansöngr praises Iceland's poets. Storm at sea. The desert isle. Return to Phrygia — ships and six hundred men. The summer's raiding. Hrani the sea-king. Battle. The wounded prince on the reef. The masked islander. Five months' healing. The revelation. Brotherhood sworn.

1.
I pour from Hárr's vessel
the flood of heaven's pillars
a second time, if the wise folk
would grant me leave.

2.
I sit often with merry mind
by Sigtýr's fine drinking-vessel,
ready by the ancient custom
to bear it to the people of the land.

3.
I wish that the people might
be gladdened thereby,
and that Valgaut's sweet wine
might cheer both women and sword-trees.

4.
If the folk thirst for Kvásir's blood,
cooling draught should be given
by one who may dispense
the feast of Mímir's friend.

5.
This plainly, with glory undiminished,
the poets of Iceland
wrought well in former times —
and so they fell to earth.

6.
Their name and store of honors,
which makes this known,
lives on — that we know —
with rightful esteem.

7.
Bergþór's kinsman I call the best
smith of verse;
his works and wealth of stanzas
bear witness to it.

8.
Þorlákr's poems I praise —
well wrought of Úlfar's saga;
others like and yet unlike —
the fair verses are composed.

9.
Learned Árni knew to deal
glory more than many;
Böðvar's son sent Són's sea
to those he loved.

10.
Snorri the priest often crafted
Hleiðólfr's many a roller-steed,
for he possessed
the fair gift of glory.

11.
Where now upon Herjan's lady
may their likes be found,
who left behind such leaps
along the earth's path?

12.
Yet there are poets who fashion
Són's seed here in the land —
wise ones still, and men of learning,
dispensing Hárr's mead.

13.
Their number I shall consider,
though it can scarce be enrolled;
the mansöngr's words from the speech-ground
may thus fall to rest.

14.
It was told before: the best fair wind
the prow-warriors gained,
when from shore on the plank-hound
they sailed across the cod-hall.

15.
One fine day's passage the men received —
the road of deeds was fair —
then it sharpened, and the dark wave
beat upon its mother.

16.
Ugly assaults with hateful threats
Ægir's daughters made;
their raging and their fury
the steed of the calm sea tested.

17.
The storm swells; for six days
the men were tossed
to and fro upon the shining sea —
land they reached at last.

18.
They set their ship upon a desert isle
and went ashore swiftly;
they explored and looked about —
the men grew glad.

19.
Thick with forest it was, as a plough
driving a fair furrow;
of birds, abundant flocks dwelt there,
and more besides that stirs.

20.
There the men now settle in,
build a fair hall,
hunt birds across the land's breadth —
so the hours pass.

21.
The ship of the gods shall try the voyage
back to the lord's Phrygia;
the son wishes from Herjan's seat
to begin a new journey.

22.
He wishes to wage war in glory;
he asks the mighty king
swiftly for ships
and famous warriors likewise.

23.
The king declares: "That you shall have" —
he had five warships readied;
six hundred men
he chose for him readily.

24.
He bids farewell to king
and fair folk of the land;
he stepped aboard — the bright sail
stands ready for the wind.

25.
Kólga and the storm, when he held from harbor,
bowed to the prince's heir;
wave and spray beat the bright timber —
the sails drank the breeze.

26.
The hull boomed, the mast groaned,
rudders creaked and strained;
wheels murmured, surge swelled —
the sea-steeds thundered.

27.
The fair gale sang in the rigging,
golden sails stretched wide,
until the lord's heir raised
a storm of edges with his blade.

28.
The hero among war-vikings swung,
hewed and tested weapons
the hot summer through, dealing death —
he had victory always.

29.
So in autumn with his fleet he steered
homeward to the ship-realm;
he laid his vessel by the desert isle
one late evening.

30.
A night's rest by the moon's gravel
the prince's heir deemed worthy —
a grand feast upon the mast-horse;
a halt he would not refuse.

31.
He then saw in the bright expanse
of the calm sea
the island's fair harbors
holding ships — two and four.

32.
On a wave-steed, bearing toward them,
a stout wolf of swords
came to stand in battle-guise,
most ill-tempered.

33.
The prince's kinsman on the leaf-tree
thought it no cause for dread;
he made the halberd in his hand
bitter-keen.

34.
Swiftly the giant's son asked
who commanded these ships;
this the prince's son
soon declared in warrior fashion.

35.
Then the storm-raiser asked
the name of the foe;
swift came the answer
from Óðinn's feeder of edges:

36.
"Unknown to you, I hear,
are the names of the sea-kings —
mine you do not know,
though I am the most famous of men.

37.
On the whale's field, among my worthy crew,
the folk call me Hrani the Keen;
I think you
a foolish, lumbering oaf.

38.
Before I part upon the eel's pool
from a wretched clown,
be it boldly spoken: you shall
come to know me better."

39.
"If you have courage and a warrior's heart
amid the spear-sea's waves,
come swiftly to the clash of brands —
we do not wish to wait."

40.
"That is to be expected," said the prince's son —
"you will scarce need to wait;
nor choose any boasting from it —
we do not fear to fight."

41.
The trees of brands prepare
for battle then;
they begin the fierce storm of war —
the sword cleaves shields.

42.
Hrani waded with Óðinn's ember,
sent the harm crashing;
nothing withstood the reddening of points —
neither terror, fence, nor byrnie.

43.
The prince's men fall,
meeting their life's ruin,
like straw when the scythes swing —
reapers upon the field.

44.
The king's son rages greatly,
seeing warriors sink;
pressing forward into the clash of spears,
he makes swiftly for the fray.

45.
He swings his blade with valiant hand,
the king's famed kinsman —
forty of the foemen
he felled in half an hour.

46.
Hrani saw the sword bite —
brave wolf-feeder —
raged then and rushed
upon the mast-beast.

47.
He hews at both arms —
the sword wounds the warrior;
the king's son stepped toward the mighty foe
and swung his blade.

48.
The bright sword strikes
the hard helm of the prince's kinsman —
a great piece with swift skill
it shears away.

49.
The blue steel upon the ale-horn
scores the collarbone;
the grey one briskly turned
and struck back with wounds.

50.
The foe's sword upon the helm-wearer's
forearm managed to fall;
the bearer of weapons, guarding his life,
took a cruel wound.

51.
The two of them fought on for a time;
wounds began to rain
upon the king's kinsman in the meeting of spears —
the war-garments tear.

52.
The wound bleeds, the arm fails,
he can no longer wield the sword;
into the sea, across the sound,
he had to cast himself and swim.

53.
From beneath the wave-horses
he swims desperately;
he found a reef at dusk —
high upon the earth's spring.

54.
Up there he crawled in ample pain,
the tree of the serpent's lair;
a mossy crevice lay there —
into it he sank.

55.
His men from the leaf-dance,
those who still clung to life,
swiftly on a swift ship
fled across the seaweed's heath.

56.
They reach the land of Phrygia
and pour out the tidings:
the lord's kinsman in the crash of spears
had fallen dead.

57.
The king and the noble queen
grieve their true-hearted son;
in all their living days
they had received no heavier news.

58.
The king takes to his bed,
drawn down by grief and anguish;
at last he died — the silk-ship
of Sigtýr steered the lady.

59.
Now with a turn to Satíló
the Southern ferry shall steer:
it is told that when he wakes
he can scarce stir himself.

60.
His wounds stiffen, streams of blood
ran over him wide;
his strength was mostly gone —
he thought to meet his death.

61.
He sees then upon the calm sea
men pulling at oars,
rowing gladly to the reef
to seek the land's prince.

62.
They said they had come
across the ship's field
to find the king's son;
he asked who had sent them.

63.
They answered that the captain of the mast
would in good time make it known —
on the wave's road
the lord's kinsman they bore.

64.
So every man plies the oar,
the ship's crew in full;
light across the wave-paths
they go toward evening.

65.
The warriors now row
to the desert isle;
from the ship's pool to the hall
they carry the prince's kinsman.

66.
The wave-steed was very great,
a wall built around it;
the men carried the lord of war
within the stronghold.

67.
A warrior great of stature
stood upon the hall's floor,
masked; he stepped forward
to meet the tree of steel.

68.
He took him in his arms and at once
laid the prince's heir upon a bed;
bright salve upon the known wounds
he applied with skill.

69.
The hall-dweller now shows
the care that is due:
wine and food to the spear-branch
he offers after this.

70.
The man heals and grows strong,
receives kindly provisions;
the fair lord of the flame-moor
lies there five months.

71.
One day when he is fully healed
the prince's words come forth;
he speaks up and declares plainly
to the hall-dweller thus:

72.
"Though my life here seems fine
and I may well be content,
yet I confess that two things
trouble the prince's ease.

73.
First, I do not know for certain,
brave warder of shields,
who it is that has here
helped me from my peril.

74.
The other, which weighs upon
my mind, spirit, and heart —
I cannot take my vengeance upon Hrani,
the wretched black knave."

75.
The other then replies: "I think
it will not take you long here
along the silent path to know me,
wielder of the finger-snow."

76.
"I must know for certain,"
the prince's kinsman said,
"the leaf-staff who gave me life
and deigned to grant me healing."

77.
The islander upon that
drives the words onward:
"There will be time for that later —
clearly then you can repay.

78.
Tell me: if that man
should hold grievance against you,
would you show him
honor and peace?"

79.
The king's son said: "I would do that
and forget all strife,
though the warmer tar-lord
had taken my life."

80.
The hall-dweller's mask —
the prince's son now saw —
he cast from the hawk-cliff,
and was able to speak thus:

81.
"Here may the kinsman of the Niflungs see
Nectarus — the lord
whom, sated with honor,
outlawry condemned, sheltered under Svofnir's couch."

82.
The king's son swiftly fell
upon the champion's free neck,
kissed him often and gave thick thanks,
and spoke to him thus:

83.
"Early this struck me, though —
that I would receive good
from the dwelling of Ymir,
from the grove of Yggr's fire.

84.
I would wish for your company,
O warrior rich in skill,
honored in deed over sea and land
as long as we both live."

85.
The other replied: "From the brand-keeper
I thought least of parting;
my following is yours, so long
as you value my will.

86.
Tell me what stands ahead —
what you plan, keeper of deeds."
The king's son declares:
"This you shall decide."

87.
The spear-wielder responds:
"I think you will approve this counsel —
for your thriving land,
sail to your kingdom.

88.
Strengthen yourself with men in the clash of points —
the prince's son can do that —
then seek Hrani's meeting on the swan's sound,
if that suits better."

89.
This counsel pleased rightly
the king's famous heir;
next it comes to pass
that they board a sailing vessel.

90.
They set the ship and fair sails
swiftly to the mast;
fire's brother stood behind.
The ríma ends now.

91.
You may listen to glory's tale
here no longer;
good night shall soon be bidden —
Þundr's catch is spent.

Ríma III

Mansöngr

1.
Baldur's mead-cup once again
I bear for women and men —
a third time now I think to pour;
it is my old custom of yore.

2.
Let the people drink of this;
in that meaning I gave the bliss:
that it stand in my memory,
and cool the worthy folk with glee.

3.
Those who will not take the cup —
neither shall I fill them up
with its coolness, for in here
none of them are worthy beer.

4.
Those who have the craving fast
and for rímur thirst at last —
I mean to carry to that company
the cooling of this poetry.

5.
To these I offer Baldur's wine;
it is both my will and design,
according to the matter at hand
that lies before me in this land.

6.
Now the matter's store is fair,
the saga long — and to me it will not spare
a praise-verse that allows for long delay;
I cannot keep from song today.

7.
Therefore to the saga I shall turn;
warriors, be silent — let me earn
your ear. Listen, lady, hear me through;
I think that I shall gladden you.

The Saga

8.
Regin's ferry reached the land;
the warriors caught a favourable strand;
in the harbours of fair Phrygia's shore
the glory-rich found mooring sure.

9.
The queen welcomes the noble son,
and all the people, every one;
a splendid feast was set aright,
and the wise heir was crowned in sight.

10.
The famous prince in peace then sat
with his fair court and rested at that,
until the spring gave life to land;
then he longed to test the brand.

11.
The prince then for the clash of spears
gathered a mighty host of peers,
drawing warriors to his call
from all across his kingdom's hall.

12.
Over that bold army's head
a wise commander Satíló set —
the shrewd king chose Nectarus,
his very saviour, glorious.

13.
Twelve warships on a fair wind ride,
splendid the fleet and burnished wide;
the wave and the host boarded the keel,
and Rán's daughter met them with zeal.

14.
Swiftly they raised the sails of wood,
the warriors laughed, the gale blew good;
white canvas stretched upon the mast;
the rigging hummed as land fell past.

15.
Rán's children through the walrus-bed
drove with fearsome speed ahead;
beneath the hulls, unquiet there,
Ægir's daughters churned the air.

16.
So the whole of summer passed;
the prince rode wave-steeds hard and fast,
waged his war with a fair company
right through autumn on the sea.

17.
The prince one day came sailing by
an island where he could espy
four sea-beasts lying at the shore;
he swiftly steered his masts before.

18.
The gift-rich lord bids warriors all
to guard their lives and heed his call.
Merchants they claimed themselves to be,
who knew but little of the spear or plea.

19.
"Greater glory for the prince would be,"
these men told him easily,
"to find Hrani the sea-viking bold
and offer him a clash of gold."

20.
"Here by the island's other strand
his sea-steeds in the harbour stand;
they number eight in all their tale —
wolves who steer through falsehood's gale."

21.
The prince said: "Go your way in peace" —
and bade his men make war's increase,
readying themselves for the sword-storm's cry;
toward Hrani then his ships did fly.

22.
Hrani saw the wave-beasts near;
the mailed warrior swiftly asked from here
who steered across the seaweed's road.
The giant stood where the mast bestowed.

23.
Nectarus was quick to say:
"Satíló, lord of peoples' sway,
glory-eager, out of Phrygia —
he commands this fleet today.

24.
For the last time he intends to thank you,
noble prince, for what you came through;
ill shall he repay the dealing then —
I know the price you'll get again."

25.
Hrani said: "I always thought
that our parting would be so wrought
that he would never seek my shore
or try his ventures here once more."

26.
The lord replied: "I would right now
that you might know beyond all vow,
before we part upon the mast-road's height,
that I dare to look upon you in a fight.

27.
Take your weapons and defend with speed —
I will not wait for any deed."
Hrani bids his bold men all
seize the war-tents of Odin's hall.

28.
A fierce battle then arose
with mighty courage in the blows;
Hrani charges at the men,
riding with his wound-rain then.

29.
The prince's warriors fall in heaps,
the planks are stained where dark blood seeps;
the sly one slashes skilfully,
the corpse-ward sliced like cut-grass free.

30.
Nectarus to the prince declares:
"Your host is falling — none is spared;
since we cannot win the fight
unless Hrani is dealt with right.

31.
Let us both board his ship at once
and wake the battle-dance with lance."
Then this they do, those two together,
wielding thin-edged spears in weather.

32.
Every man before them fell;
many got hard blows as well;
skulls flew clean from bodies there,
the dead lay heaped beyond compare.

33.
With each ship-board, fierce and fast,
Odin's fire blazes past,
riding hard upon the brave.
Hrani sees this from the wave,

34.
rushes at the prince with might,
raising high the bitter pike to fight —
he cleaves the war-ferry's shield right through;
the king took a wound upon his hand too.

35.
The prince strikes back at Hrani then
with Odin's steel and flame again;
the pike caught the blow beneath its guard —
the blade skidded on the planks and jarred.

36.
Nectarus came swiftly there
and swept the villain's feet from where
he stood — the nimble one struck fast;
Hrani fell upon his back at last.

37.
The prince seizes the pike and then
drives it clean through the viking-man;
he thrust it hard through Hrani's frame.
The saga turns from Hrani's name.

38.
The storm of battle then subsided;
the lord went to the men who bided —
those who still survived the fray;
their wounds were bound without delay.

39.
The prince across the flat-fish's plain
lets all his ships sail home again,
famous, home to Phrygia's shore,
laden fair with plundered store.

40.
The glorious prince then settled down
to rule in peace upon his throne;
a noble queen from Cappadocia's ground,
that fair lady, he had found.

41.
Róselía was her name, that ring-tree fair;
gentle in nature, mild of air,
courteous, wise, far-seeing, bright —
the lady won all people's right.

42.
The prince then in good peace bestowed
an earldom upon Nectarus, who glowed;
to that he went, the glory-grower,
who'd outstripped his own parents' power.

43.
A rich merchant's daughter true
the warrior-lord then wedded too;
Albína was that golden sun;
with her a fine son he had won.

44.
This worthy heir Nectarus then
had christened Bernótus among men;
no fairer child was ever born
in any dwelling of that land forlorn.

45.
The weapon-god grew up at home,
his growth and strength were clearly shown;
among the men throughout the land
none was seen his equal grand.

46.
Wise, shrewd, and beloved by all,
a better fighter none could call;
as a seal can swim the sea,
he practised honour, craft, and glee.

47.
Generous he was with gold,
helping the poor folk, young and old;
the earl and his lady fine
loved their glory-rich heir divine.

48.
Of Satíló now the tale must run:
with his queen beneath the sun,
when four years had come and passed,
the bold prince had a daughter at last.

49.
Faustína was the princess's name;
no fairer woman could lay claim
in all the land — her hair fell bright
as burnished gold to her feet alight.

50.
The maiden bore the finest grace,
and quickly learned each womanly trace;
above all others she did rise —
each one bowed before her eyes.

51.
She grew up in the prince's court,
that weaver of cloth of highest sort,
until she reached her fifteenth year.
Then once it chanced — now hear:

52.
The king, arrayed in dignity,
ordered his knights — so it was decreed —
to ride in tournament and play
upon the broad field near the high hill's way.

53.
The queen, the faithful king, and too
their daughter — they stood within the view
upon the wall and watched the game;
many a famous rider came.

54.
One there played the best of all,
rode hard and showed his prowess tall
above the rest; the princess's gaze
marked him well in the spear-field's blaze.

55.
That noble warrior in her sight
seemed, beside the other men, to light
the way in glory and in grace
above every man in that place.

56.
The ring-wise maiden asked and pressed:
"Who is this rider, of all the best,
who rides above them all right here,
and bears the glory and the cheer?"

57.
"That is the earl's son," the king replied,
giving the matter little pride,
"Bernótus is what he is called."
She then asked further, unappalled:

58.
"Was it not, my lord and king,
his well-intentioned father's doing,
when you fled the spear-storm's strife,
that he was the one who saved your life?"

59.
Satíló the prince then said:
"So it could be called, indeed.
Who has told you all of this?"
The fair ground answered, nothing amiss:

60.
"No man here has ever told
such things to me, nor been so bold;
in your own war-annals there
my eyes have seen it written fair.

61.
It would be fitting, lord of lands,
to take the brave smith of brands
and make of him a great man here;
let him enjoy what his father held dear."

62.
"His father was well repaid," the king
replied to her concerning this thing —
"the barren shrub of Fáfnir's fell,
I gave a kingdom and the name of earl.

63.
The linen-oak may know this well:
his father was an outlaw and exile fell,
before he came to Odin's bride —
a poor farmer's son with nothing beside."

64.
The jewel-field answers the king:
"To honour and esteem a man they bring
more by deeds of daring done
than by the father who begot the son.

65.
No one can determine hence
from whom a man receives descent;
it matters equally for one
if he bears the honour when all is done.

66.
Men I see here at the court
who hold high esteem of every sort,
yet hardly one among them can
be truly likened to this man."

67.
The king grows angry at those words
and answers thus, the treasure's lord:
"You shall harbour no thought here
of that steel-wielder — am I clear?

68.
Understand this plainly, maid —
you are born to higher grade
than to waste your thinking low
on farming families, high or low.

69.
Never to my ears again
shall you, my daughter fine, bring strain
of foolish chatter — understand?
Cast that notion from your hand."

70.
The gold-sun could do nothing then;
she walked into her castle den,
deeply sorrowful across the ground;
the prince sat down where food was found.

71.
The king's daughter, meek and mild,
spoke then to her serving-child:
"Go in secret, maiden free,
and find Bernótus there for me.

72.
Give him this ring from my hand —
let him have this golden band
for his fine feats of renown;
and bear with it my greeting down."

73.
The maid accomplished this with care;
the warrior was gladdened there;
he bade her carry greetings true
and his best wishes to the maiden through.

74.
He vowed he would remain
devoted to the king's daughter's reign
while breath was his, for all his days,
remembering the fair one's grace and praise.

75.
So wrathful had the king become
toward his daughter, that the spear-god's son
was barred from entering his hall —
forbidden, after those words, from all.

76.
The warrior must go home again
to his father's grounds and glen;
yet the fire's breeze could not erase
the princess from his memory's place.

77.
Yet he had no means at hand
to gain a meeting with that strand;
he found no peace at home to rest,
thinking of the lovely maid, obsessed.

78.
The warrior often walked the wood,
eager for the hunting's good
— sorrow always weighed his mind —
for some diversion there to find.

79.
Early one morning, on his way
through the forest in the grey,
beneath a great oak he could see
a woman standing; toward her turned he.

80.
In a trailing cloak she was dressed,
a wide hood drawn over the rest.
She wept aloud. He asked what ill
had caused her grief and brought her chill.

81.
The joyless woman made reply:
"I was here with my child nearby;
an ape from my arms the babe did seize —
it sits now in the top of the trees.

82.
Up into the great tree's crown
the ape carried my little one down;
I cannot reach it, try as I may —
surely the beast will make it prey."

83.
The steel-warrior casts aside
his outer clothes, all free of pride,
and nimbly up the green branches leaps,
climbing where the tall tree keeps.

84.
The ape saw the tree-god rise
and down the other side it flies —
afraid of the handsome sword-staff there,
it dropped the child into the air.

85.
Bernótus caught the babe with care
and brought it down to the green lair;
the woman's fortune was restored.
Here the verse-form must be poured

86.
into a new mould — the voice grows slight,
the flower of poems blooms anew in light;
the shimmer of rhyme beside me wanes;
the ríma finds its end, and silence reigns.

Ríma IV

Mansöngr

1.
Again shall Sónar's sound from Sigtýr's cups
gladden folk in poetry's halls,
give life to ladies and to men.

2.
I have heard it said that a measured draught
of horn-flood may grant
to the hearts of men a wholesome joy.

3.
Far better can fair poems quicken
the spirits of weary men —
a thousand proofs the world confirms.

4.
It was the old custom here in waking-hours:
worthy men enjoyed the pleasure of verse,
and many forgot their sorrows.

5.
The age grew restless and wakeful still;
now that is buried in dust,
the halls of glory locked again.

6.
In its place another custom has come:
some let the bed of slumber take them,
others glare with ill temper.

7.
Some talk about their neighbour and tear men down,
find fault with everyone,
do little of the better work.

8.
They think themselves the greatest men
and strut with pride —
if they can walk without a staff,
they hold good virtues cheap.

9.
They despise the poor and curse them harshly;
let that one sit in the shadows of houses —
hungry, he may doze in misery.

10.
So Lazarus lingered and died at the rich man's door;
some still practise the same custom,
tending the wretched little.

11.
Yet many remain among us still
who do not walk the crooked path of avarice,
who feel in their breast for the destitute.

12.
The king's daughter Faustína — her footsteps
every silk-clad one should follow
who desires a life of honour.

13.
The fierce gust of Ýma wills the matter onward —
let the fourth vessel set its keel,
if the folk will lend their hearing.

Story

14.
Here the poet ends his thread of verse.
Bernótus is the fair child
the brave one brought to the lily's slope.

15.
The woman grew full glad and spoke her mind:
"It is my greatest sorrow now
that I cannot repay you at all.

16.
I see that you carry grief
within your heart.
Speak of it, wise man!
What causes your unhappiness?

17.
Or what above all else would you desire?
Let me hear." The skilful
tree-of-bows answers the woman:

18.
"Above all things I wish that I might find
the king's daughter Faustína;
that would cure the sickness of my heart.

19.
Yet there is no counsel for it —
I cannot bring it about,
for many warriors of the prince guard the castle."

20.
The woman says: "I think it easy
to reach the maiden;
I shall teach you a plan
by which you may gain her company.

21.
You shall put on my beggar's cloak,
weapon-tree, and creep to the prince's fortress,
and beg for alms and shelter."

22.
This counsel pleases the tree of Rögnir's brows.
He dresses in her narrow kirtle,
can sew it at wrist and neck.

23.
So they part; he makes for the castle's arch.
Many a blow the clock could strike,
for the day was far spent.

24.
Men see a wandering old woman
struggling across the fields,
limping and hunchbacked.

25.
She comes home and straightway begs for board —
the ragged crone; though need presses,
some jostle and curse her.

26.
Some laughed at her and mocked her;
some managed to give her something,
and received honest thanks in return.

27.
The old woman goes at evening straight
to the castle,
wretched indeed and wrapped in affliction,
wanting entry from the guards.

28.
The men declared they would not let
a grimy beggar-crone slip in,
an island-woman of no account.

29.
The old woman said she would not leave
the castle gate
until she saw the noble king's daughter
and could tell her sorrows.

30.
Then she raises her voice loud
at the hall-door;
the noble daughter's ear
could hear that wailing.

31.
Out onto the wall goes the fair one
of the field of gold,
wanting to know what was the matter,
the better to see.

32.
The old woman caught the king's daughter's eye;
she spoke with a troubled heart:
"Grant me help, gracious lady!

33.
These wicked courtiers have driven
poor me away today, and clearly torment me;
it will not serve them well.

34.
I wonder that a noble lord, whom all men praise
when nations speak of him,
should keep such thralls.

35.
It is certain: if I must sleep out here,
the cold shall wring
the thread of life from me.

36.
Your goodness has been praised
by the warriors of the spear;
if the fair ring-oak denies me
even a corner to creep into —

37.
I trust that the shining web of witness
will save this wretch
from the claws of evil wolves."

38.
The king's daughter speaks to the courtiers, flushing:
"Let the poor creature creep inside —
let none of our people forbid her."

39.
Then they unlocked with great reluctance;
the old woman made her way in
and greets the young king's daughter.

40.
She stretches out her hand and says, heavy with grief:
"See — this deepens the string of sorrow:
she who was once in full strength is now spent."

41.
The gold-woman recognises the fine gold
that was sent long ago
with a fair young maiden,
a splendid flame-gift.

42.
The maiden answers: "You are sorely hurt;
I know you need the best of tending —
it will hardly do to delay.

43.
Follow me into my sleeping-chamber;
the wounded tree of the battleground
I shall myself bind in due time."

44.
So both walk straight into the bright hall;
the king's daughter locks the doors —
she will not spare the healing salve.

45.
The old woman casts off the beggar's cloak, and there
stands a warrior, wonderfully fair,
beside the lady, and speaks gently:

46.
"Undeserved is the grace I have received,
sun of the hand; what you were able to give —
it drove me to act as I did."

47.
"Unsatisfied indeed I was,
fountain of wisdom,
so long as I could not find you
and make my thoughts known.

48.
Your kindness has impressed upon me
a love so great
in my heart; I could find no peace,
lady, anywhere.

49.
The king's daughter answers the warrior thus,
and speaks her words:
"Welcome shall you be to me.

50.
We may not speak together long;
I see the hour of freedom passing —
soon the fair light of dawn will shine.

51.
The earl's son says: "I would have you know,
noble maiden,
I hold you dear in my heart;
let us keep our pledges warm.

52.
If I cannot win your love and your good grace,
I shall await death in despair."
The lady answers him kindly:

53.
"If I were to love any man,
yours above all others
would be the affection I choose.

54.
Between us we may bind a word of troth,
yet I think the heavy-hearted ruler of the land
will stand against it.

55.
That may prove the greatest hardship for you,
and a danger to your life as well,
if the storm of battle begins."

56.
The warrior answers: "No danger shall I dread;
if I might win your love,
I would have a deeper peace within."

57.
The king's daughter spoke: "Then I shall consent —
to no other man will I give my love
but to you, with a fervent heart."

58.
"Would it please you," asked the tree of steel,
"if I speak with the prince,
so that we may be granted peace?"

59.
The woman says: "Beware that the lord
of our retinue learns of this plan,
or may come to hear of it.

60.
If any vassal catches the slightest scent,
the long-remembering lord will brood,
and your life will end in destruction."

61.
The warrior and the scarlet-sun
spoke together, noble,
until the son of Dellingr
began to run his course.

62.
The earl's son dresses again in the old woman's cloak,
slips quietly from the ring-battle,
and sinks down in a corner.

63.
When it grew light, the king's daughter woke
her maidens without delay;
with grace she gave her orders:

64.
"Look in on that poor wretch
who begged for shelter's covering
with a pitiful plea;
she lies by the door in a narrow hovel.

65.
It is most likely that she lies
at the edge of death —
starving, wounded, racked with cold,
she barely made it into our hall."

66.
Back came the serving-women, and told the lady:
the old beggar-woman was fast asleep,
far from death's harm.

67.
So the old woman goes on her way at daybreak,
thanking the jewel of noble stones
for the nursing and good board.

68.
She said she felt better now, but wished
for alms. The gold-sun counted out
some small sum to her.

69.
She thanks the worthy woman greatly;
then the cloak-lady bids farewell
to the king's daughter and the chamber-maidens.

70.
The old woman hobbles stiff and lame
out of the maiden's hall;
then no one paid her any heed —
the men trusted no one would follow.

71.
When she had vanished well into the fields,
she left the old woman's cloak behind
and turned homeward.

72.
So at his father's home he sat in comfort,
more famous than any warrior;
thus some time passed.

73.
Hleiðólfr's stead rides now toward Húnaland.
Alkanus ruled that realm,
and rejoiced in his red serpent-bed of gold.

74.
The lord was old in years, but had a son:
Kastórus was his name, a warrior-like man,
a mighty champion, tall and broad.

75.
Ill-tempered, violent, quarrelsome
he seemed, and wondrously quick
at the foot-bite where the blade rings.

76.
In every bear-season across the whole world
he could wage war, hidden in armour,
and had victory in every campaign.

77.
He gathered riches of gold and treasure;
it was among his greatest torments
to stay at home with his father.

78.
Once, when the famous one prepares
to go a-viking —
readying men and ships —
his father spoke plainly:

79.
"I wish you would cease your warring
and clothe yourself for marriage,
win a fair bride,
and take up the rule of the land.

80.
I grow too old now to guard the realm,
barely fit for the meeting of weapons
if the storm of battle should arise."

81.
Kastórus answers the king, and asks:
"Where do you know a woman
worthy enough to swear me faith?

82.
You know well — you can see how I am —
though I seek a maiden,
I will not look at the daughters of petty kings."

83.
The king answers: "A famous ruler
governs Phrygia:
Satílus, who in the storm of swords
cleaves men with valour.

84.
The lord has a fair daughter
who practises all virtues;
no lovelier lady of the golden sand
has been seen across all lands.

85.
I wish you to ask for her hand, and it would be fortune
if you win the woman of snow-white fist —
I least of all would doubt it."

86.
This pleases the prince, and he lets
the deck-horse's sails unfurl
from the yards, and spreads the bright canvas.

87.
I cannot sail with him
upon Mævill's sea
in Reginr's sturdy ferry.
The matter is reckoned at its end.

88.
The shaft of song grows weary, the power of verse
runs dry — I choose my rest.
Speech falters, strength breaks,
the doors of answer melt again.

Fimta ríma — Fifth Ríma

Mansöngr — Prelude

The full cup of Fjölnir's norns I bear
after the old custom still
for women and for men.

It shall be drained after the custom
through one waking-time at least,
though it cool no one's thirst.

Come, gracious norn of noble song,
and sit beside my hand,
that my dull spirit may grow glad.

Worldly wealth and honour, finery and bloom —
these bring me little joy;
far rather do I choose you.

A likeness of heaven's bliss I hold it
to have peace and delight here,
and whatever I wish be granted me.

Many have chosen fair ring-suns
above quiet gold —
glory-hungry men in this world.

Some have lost their very lives,
warriors, for the love of women;
I know such tales are few to find.

Whether men desire honour, wealth, or a woman,
it is best when it comes with good;
good seldom grows from ill.

Pride and arrogance and overweening
have come to a wretched end often,
though first they climbed high into the air.

I could point to examples found far and wide;
before folk's eyes one tale
the saga now shall bring.

So toward it I steer my thunder-ship
and let the preface fall;
few will thank me for it.

Kastórus Arrives

Kastórus across the cold Vendil-sea
tried the fair doors of Rán;
the mast-rigging hums in the breeze.

Both of Fornjót's heirs followed after
until before Phrygia
the men could reach harbour.

The fair canvas of the masts falls down,
anchors may sink in the sand;
gangways are set swiftly to land.

The warriors then pitched their tents ashore;
around them played the light-red
meadow-embers of the fires.

The sea-warrior goes thus to the fortress,
armed with shield and wound-staff;
twelve men followed him.

He flings open the hall-doors with force,
raging as though he were mad,
in to the king's high seat.

"Hail, ruler," said he, "among your men!
See Kastórus is come,
who calls his father Alkanus.

"The high-mighty king of the Huns rules a realm —
that lord with fame's renown
holds light enough on the fjord.

"And I have come to ask for your
fair daughter, king, here;
I am a fitting match for her.

"I wish to know at once, without delay:
to this my suit what answer
the famed lord will give."

The king replied: "I see you are
a most valiant and handsome man
among weapon-wielders.

"My daughter, who outshines the sun on linen,
may, as touching your suit,
herself decide her marriage.

"The lily of rings I shall have fetched;
her answer you shall hear."
He said he wished that now.

Faustína's Refusal

So was called the prince's fair daughter.
She came at once, and the lord
told her the proposal.

And she could not answer this suit.
The prince's daughter said aloud:

"I did not think to marry so soon.

"To this suit, for my part,
it befits me to say no;
name no such thing again."

Kastórus, when he heard this, knew anger.
He spoke in wrath: "King! War
I offer you tomorrow morning."

The prince replied: "We have no strength
of sharp swords with spears
against your horde of warriors.

"I think it most right that you and the ring-goddess
settle this between yourselves in combat."
The fair maiden answered:

"Though I would not, lord, that you
be set in danger for my sake
before valiant men and war-women.

"My resources shall be small:
I have only one page-boy here,
Akron, as we call him.

"The king gave him to me in my youth
long ago; against a bold man
let this spear-clash be tried.

"If he falls in the fierce storm of hair,
then I must soften my will
and accept the lord's bold son."

This pleased the dragon of Fáfnir's hoard.
He went down to the tents;
the gold-woman went home.

The Disguise

Akron, the tree of rings, spoke to his lady:
"With Kastórus, prince's daughter,
you would have me join battle."

The lad answered: "Princess, know this —
such skill was never lent to me;
I have never seen man's blood."

"You shall go then tonight," said the lady,
"through the leafy wood, secretly through the town,
to the fortress of Nectarus.

"Greet the earl's heir with my word,
and I ask the lily-lord
to redden the spear for me.

"If he agrees, exchange your garments,
and also on his face
let a mask be set.

"You must wait meanwhile for his return."
Akron then was glad of this
and said he would gladly do it.

Before the gates were shut again,
the leaf-lord stole away
and went the road to the earl's fortress.

He found Bernótus, brought him the greeting
and the maiden's message with it.
The sword-tree decided to accept.

The warriors exchanged their garments;
Bernótus goes to the fortress;
the spear-lord waits behind.

All thought this was Akron;
so the spear-god got into the castle
and found the lady.

The king's daughter knew to welcome him;
the bold one received hospitality there
for what remained of the night.

The Duel

Well then, when morning came for the duel,
the famed one rides out through the town
and goes to meet Kastórus.

The one held to be Akron drives a hard lance
into the prince's chest;
the horse fell to the ground.

The brave king's son tumbled from the saddle,
took a heavy fall at speed,
yet sprang angrily to his feet.

He swings the sword with all his might;
Akron ducked the blow
and strengthened, struck with his lance.

The sword hurtled from the noble tree's neck
as when a twig is blown
before the force of a great storm.

So with his lance he struck down
Kastórus upon Kjalr's bride —
the spear-breaker seizes his hands.

The famed one asked if he would accept his life.
"Sooner shall another tale be told,"
said the Hunnish prince.

He then took a dagger from his belt,
meaning to drive the steel through
the spear-god with hate's force.

The tester of Sviðrir's fires seized the sword,
set it on his neck,
and sheared the head from the body.

When Kastórus's men could witness this,
the prince's army took to the ships
and sailed away in haste.

Bernótus, whom the men held to be Akron,
made his way home to the lady's hall
and received fair thanks.

She warned him, as she had before,
that he should take care for himself
lest the king learn of it.

He thanks for the counsel with fair words;
the young goddess of the gold-pouch
guards the famed one's deepest wound.

When the daughter of Njörfr could draw near,
the bold one bids farewell to the linen-goddess
and goes home to her father.

Akron took back his own clothes;
the lady went home to her hall;
the choicest woman welcomed him.

The Foster-Mother's Suspicion

It is told that the king had a foster-mother;
the ale-woman seemed cunning in many ways
and was bedridden from old age.

The king spoke with her from time to time.
She could take pleasure in it,
and therefore asked of many things.

After this, one time the king goes
to visit her;
the jewel-ground welcomes him.

The old woman knew how to press him with questions.
The noble king answered her
and told of Kastórus's fall.

And that the Hunnish foe, Akron had
slain on the broad field.
The ring-goddess answered the king:

"Strangely changed then must Akron be,
if he has now become
a champion beyond compare.

"Deceived, I believe, is the king in this."
He then asked her
how that could be.

The old woman said: "Does not your daughter
have more trust and heart's comfort
in Bernótus than in Akron?

"It is my guess that he it was who conquered
the royal prince Kastórus,
fierce in battle.

"He has been lured there by the promise
of wedding the gold-goddess;
I think the bond is sealed in full."

The King's Wrath

At this news the king grew wrathful;
he went into the hall, to his high seat,
and had Akron summoned.

When he came, the king had him seized
and put in fetters;
furious, he was able to say:

"With the greatest torments shall you be tortured
unless you tell at once
the truth of who killed Kastórus."

Akron grew terribly afraid;
he told the king the whole truth
of how it had come to pass.

The king said: "You shall keep your life
if you fetch me Bernótus's head here
and promise to bring it."

Then Akron said: "You shall decide, lord,
though I do not trust well
that the thunder of the shield can be given death."

The king said: "You must not see my daughter;
that is certain —
she shall know of this least of all.

"One of my servants shall go with you,
one whom I trust best of all,
to witness your doings."

They made ready to leave and bade farewell;
they walked out of the fortress;
Akron bore sorrow in his heart.

Akron's Treachery

When they had walked for a time,
Akron turned to the sword-tree:
"This road is unknown to me.

"It would suit me well if you walked ahead."
The servant did not suspect a thing
and did what he was bidden.

When he least expected it, Akron drew his sword
and sheared the head from him,
and spoke thus:

"You shall bear no tidings of my journey,
dishonoured one, home to the king,
nor know more of it."

Thereafter he covered the corpse on the ground,
went on his way, the free one,
and found Bernótus.

Now shall rest come — now to bed;
the boy and the lady sleep;
dark is the night-hour overhead.

As the light fades and begins to die,
so now my fame grows dim —
may I not stop, silken lady?

Sétta ríma — Sixth Ríma

The mansöngr praises good counsel. Bernótus and Akron sail to Borney. The fortress. The viking Grandímón. The king's plot. Akron's blade.

1.
Let the thread quicken, let the tale grow —
may the wise folk receive
one cup from Þundr's memory-sound,
if the poem spins fair.

2.
Let the goddesses of verse lend their aid,
let the power of scorn grow slack;
the blood-rain of Kvásis's vein
shall flow through the middle of speech.

3.
Let the chorus of women sing here
with good spirit beneath their thoughts,
the harp sounding close beside me
while the strings still speak.

4.
Then shall waking-hours be shortened
by a tale with honest proofs;
let sorrow's sting leave the mind —
let verse delight both men and women.

5.
Möndull counselled me, and Hárr
urged me likewise —
with the precious ale of Tveggja
to gladden the hearts of maids and men.

6.
I will not refuse the counsel
of that feathered one of fortune,
and so in grace I begin
to drain the pool of Boðn.

7.
Take these good teachings to heart,
brother, if the folk approve;
the mind grows gentle every time,
and the harvest of honour increases.

8.
Often a rash and unheeding man
shoves his luck away from himself;
but one who takes things well in hand
can steer his fortune into place.

9.
Many fair counsels were given
to men of the bright-shining rune
in days gone by — you will find them
written in many a saga.

10.
The famous counsel of Njáll
Gunnar once wisely heeded —
so that honest man on his ground
won a fair victory of words.

11.
The fine sons of Kveldúlfr did not
scorn their father's wisdom;
against a mighty, warlike lord
they strove, and suffered the loss of life.

12.
Oddur heeded Ármann's counsel
and thereby won honour;
the trickery of the wicked
crumbled swiftly on his ground.

13.
Likewise for Þorsteinn, Ármann's wholesome
advice became his shield —
the trolls' bones took to their foul broth
and roused a shudder in the cunning one.

14.
The wise Gestur, best of all,
laid down his counsel here
in the western districts —
most fortunate, and most attentive.

15.
But time does not permit me
to lengthen the mansöngr's craft —
so let that wait. Be welcome, friends,
and heed the tale that follows.

16.
Now let the praise-stream flow,
for there is matter enough.
Let the ring-flinger find
the famous Bernótus at home.

17.
Akron told father and son
of the king's foul plot —
scarcely held back his fury,
for power had seized upon them.

18.
He said he would never part
from the treasure-lord hereafter,
nor hide the smallest loyalty
whatever storms might come against them.

19.
The earl found a way
to speak with his kin:
"Here on this ledge, I think,
you two will need no long delay.

20.
The prince sends men swiftly
after your lives —
he spares no host across the land,
he lets the sword prove itself hard.

21.
It would suit me ill
if war should come to pass
against my foster-brother here —
to fight, and clash with him.

22.
He raised me to an earldom,
and honours me greatly —
it would be shameful if between us
the ban of peace should fall."

23.
The serpent-mound's keeper bade
his feathered son ask his father
what counsel the shepherd of men
might offer to guide them.

24.
The earl answers the lady's lord:
"I have thought on this before —
there is an island in the sea
off the coast of Greece.

25.
Of it I tell you plainly,
noble tree of leaves:
it lies far out, blue against the sea,
girt round with high cliffs.

26.
Horses may canter there
along a single path through meadow-land,
and the island stretches broad
with grassy seal-grounds.

27.
The finest stronghold stands there —
its defence could never fail —
though the greatest, glory-bearing host
should come with all their craft.

28.
The women of Borney call it so —
Borney, grief-island of Gefn;
there you must steer your course,
and there make your dwelling now.

29.
As you wish, you may gather men
from my realm —
then set off swiftly from here
on the bright ship this very night."

30.
The son of Kraki's seed thanks
his father's counsel heartily —
so across the land, grim of spirit,
the company chose their best.

31.
The earl gave five well-fitted ships,
steeds of the fishing-grounds,
to the brave youth —
the pick of his resources.

32.
Father and mother he bids farewell,
heavy-hearted,
the man now outward-bound
sets his course upon the whale-road.

33.
Four hundred men the famous
helm-warrior had with him —
so from the ground of the gold-house
his champions streamed forth.

34.
High into the mast-top they hoist
the sail-folds, the shield-heroes;
the dark wave lifts its brow;
the men hold course through Rán's field.

35.
The rollers of the plank-steeds
rode the swell rightly,
the wheels were set upon the ships,
the gulls wheeled thick and close.

36.
Rán's daughters danced
both day and night,
they stormed at Ægir's quarrels,
the joyful motion never ceased.

37.
The sail of the fire-of-life bellied out,
the timber ran smoothly;
Úðr washed the ships clean,
the keel's pillar fled the wailing sea.

38.
They lower the cloth of the dove's fountain
nimbly — the warriors drop anchor
off Borney, until the prows
slid all the way to ground.

39.
They found a good harbour by the shingle,
watered the steeds of the flood;
the reddened spear-men stepped
from the ships without delay.

40.
The famous earl's son explores
the fair swan-land of Þundr —
the young man of the surf-flame
sees no human work anywhere.

41.
The hillside was tall and overgrown,
the meadow-ground fair with growth;
roe-deer fled across the fields,
and birds adorned the oaks.

42.
A grey flock of hedgehogs
dwelt among the grove-women of Fjölnir,
apes in throngs went walking,
and many a great bird besides.

43.
When Bernótus had traversed
the bright ground of Herjan's bride,
he bids his men carry
the gathered wealth home.

44.
So upon the open fields of Borney
the lord of the shore-strand
orders them to build
a light-towered fortress there.

45.
Around it he has a high wall
raised with slung stones —
a true shield for battle-meetings,
a trumpet-call for sea-raiders.

46.
With the greatest haste he has
a ditch dug all around,
deep and wide, without delay —
the labour has wearied the men.

47.
Though the men endured the hard work
and stood it long,
at last all settled into quiet
in a joy-hall free from grief.

48.
Blessed days and a life
without burden were their portion;
little went amiss — the time
passed fair and mild.

49.
Akron followed the famous heir
of the earl all his life,
gentle tree of the serpent-fell,
mild of temper, eager for everything.

50.
I hear the island-folk still say,
threading my words together,
that the prince thought it strange
that no messengers came for so long.

51.
He suspected something must be
holding them back;
he found his old foster-mother
and told the woman so:

52.
"Why do the messengers delay
and not return home?"
The wise old woman answers —
that oracle of knowledge:

53.
"Bernótus sailed from your land
on a fair wind;
Akron, they say, went with him;
their fate is therefore hidden.

54.
But your thane Akron
slew them swiftly on your ground,
so the prince's report cannot tell —
Týr's fire tested its strength.

55.
If it is not so, then
the famous sword-swinger has killed
both of them here —
though I say the first seems likelier."

56.
"So it must be," said the lord,
"as you have spoken;
the gate-keeper's error, I judge,
shall be punished everywhere.

57.
It would be just if I gathered
an army across this land
and let my sword cut down
Earl Nectarus — my wrath demands it."

58.
The cunning old woman answers back,
wise among the worthy:
"You had best spare that game —
he is the one who gave you life.

59.
And you two swore brotherhood
in former days,
with open words and honest fortune —
mark that still today.

60.
Even the gate-keeper would counsel
mercy to his own child —
if that child might receive its life,
then no just man finds fault.

61.
If I may speak, the lord of spears
will scarcely permit
fortune's bright hall to collapse
upon Bernótus.

62.
It sits in my mind
that the virtue-swift spear-lord
will later be glad —
your son-in-law here."

63.
Wrath tormented the mighty king;
he could not abide the speech —
with cold fury he spoke these words:
"That shall never come to pass."

64.
Hard he sprang up, the ruler,
in the foulest temper,
strode away with the news —
cruelty would not ease his mind.

65.
With swollen spirit the prince
thus resolved to bide his time,
until later joy was found
in a message sent to him.

66.
A sword-thrower across the seal-land
drives his steeds upon the wave —
a servant of malice who wearied men,
whose name was Grandímón.

67.
He owned ten keels in all,
the troll's-kin hated by all —
they swam the whale-heath
under the sword-tree's command.

68.
The wretch raged on his viking-raid,
stirred up war often,
made the sword sing against the shield,
and heaped up plundered wealth.

69.
Before, he had turned his fire on Phrygia,
the flame of Fjölnir's field —
he robbed and felled the people there;
the edge-hunger harrowed the folk.

70.
The guardian of men made
the wicked outlaw's life hard;
from that ground the man-destroyer
was driven out in truth.

71.
The war-lord of the flood-island
knew the wide earth well;
the gentle prince of the seaweed-pool
invites the villain to a feast.

72.
The thunder-god of Yggr's embers
accepts the invitation;
the wretch's mind is gladdened —
he finds a powerful king.

73.
When they met, the viking cried
loudly to the prince:
"Bring a full peace upon the ground
and friendship between us soon —

74.
on this condition: that you
slay Bernótus."
The rogue asked the prince
where the bowman had his place.

75.
The warrior of the war-god answered
with words of weight:
"I have nothing to say on that —
Nectarus the earl suspects it.

76.
From him you must drag the truth,
compel him to tell,
among the warriors of Freyr's bride —
that course will serve you."

77.
The pirate declared his arrogance:
"So it shall be done —
lend me a hundred men
from your land, feathered lord."

78.
The prince of the war-hall
grants him stalwart warriors;
the spear-hurler of the giant's speech
then makes his wretched way to the earl.

79.
He found Nectarus,
and the thorn of the serpent-bed
addressed him thus:
"Your fortune will prove dull,

80.
unless you tell me the truth —
lest I strike you dead —
where your famous heir may be,
that I may find him here."

81.
"I do not fear your threats,"
the other answers back —

82.
"you will scarcely gain the prize,
even if you found my heir.

83.
She is in the Grecian sea —
the helm-staves say so —
wrapped in fair blossoms;
from rumour I learned this."

84.
"You have spoken well, friend,"
said the weapon-tree —
"but the last word I value much,
the rest I give little weight.

85.
Yet you shall live in peace
before me, bush of women."
So the spear-lord rode away
with his company after that.

86.
He brings the pirate the news;
when darkness falls,
the mast-horse sets its course
and the ships row out.

87.
A hundred warriors each ship bore,
the keen steed of the rigging —
the men dared to stretch their voyage
across the icy open sea.

88.
Fornjótr's kin whipped the wings
of the sail-cloth in haste,
the wave-hounds drove forward,
Ægir's maidens tore at the hull.

89.
The yard-arm shrieked, the wind bore hard
upon the gleaming masts;
the dark ships scored the sea —
until Borney, blue, came into sight at last.

90.
I set the harp-string down and still it,
the clamour of verse subsides —
I bid both lady and warrior wait;
to the peace of sleep I go.

Sjöunda ríma — Seventh Ríma

Mansöngr — Prelude

Into Gunnlöð's treasure-hall I shall go,
to visit Valgaut's horns cool
for wife and man.

Half-known to her am I, for she
has let me sip but little
from Löðungr's vessel at her side.

Often I met a fine woman
in the days of youth,
asked to swim Bálöygr's vessel
with gentle heart.

Release I got most often then
from a young maid;
now those graces are gone —
that strikes the mind.

Old age causes it, hardly fine; for my works
I get no Fjölnir's wine now
from the linen-brow.

Bölverkr lay with the bride, so the tale tells,
the lady therefore of the dear mead
let him drink.

I can scarcely trust the bright tale I found written —
that he got through with everything
in her dwelling.

If this story proves true,
and seems clear,
I think there will be a ban on gold
from the lady's hand.

If nothing from her I may gain,
then to Ásgarðr must I journey
and fetch the ale.

The Æsir guard the wine from me, as is wisest;
in Bölverkr's guise I shall not taste the beer here,
nor sample it.

Luck proves most unequal —
it is seen in many things:
some seize the most fortune,
while I get the worst.

The luck of some is light as breath,
and misses its mark;
to others, another's ruin
often becomes a jest.

No one can, by force of arms — so it seems to me —
though he thinks himself great,
grant himself fortune here.

Yet luck can help a man
hold fast and not be struck
with honour's ban.

Each man his own meaning and treasure-guardian
may rule — though my answers mark the arrow.

Now let Norðri's ship from the ridge of skill
run the right course to the matter —
where the ríma waited.

Grandimón's Challenge

Fortune-poor Grandimón, for the sake of trickery,
at Borney halts his wave-lion
in the sight of warriors.

He goes up the wall, a wind-borne fool,
asks who owns the surf-gates of the blade-steed.

Grandimón gives his name, equally stern,
says a small fleet of harbor-ships
should also be enough.

He asks who is the wielder of the brand,
and begs answer,
the strong chieftain of the castle and his champions.

The earl's heir answers the man in a speech of words:
"He who speaks with you — that shall be his name."

The sword-tree shapes his reply to the wire of speech:
"The warrior must have a name clear in the telling."

The eye-champion made the spear-one quick:
"Men call me Bernótus, breaker of swords."

The spear-breaker answered, eager for mischief:
"It is well that I found you, famous warrior.

For your head I have come here, I tell you —
truly I was sent with Sviðrir's host."

"Who has," asked the hero fierce at the sword-meeting,
"driven you on this errand across the ring of earth?"

Grandimón then gives answer, slow of speech:
"Satílus commanded it, swift in tale.

I may not leave here, nor see the land,
until I shear your head from your shoulders
with the blade of war."

The splendid warrior of Tyrfingr's edge then spoke:
"You would need to come closer, if that is to happen.

One might suspect from the sea of memory
that the hull does not roar with this idle talk."

The Battle at Borney

Grandimón with bold courage and restless spirit
had his crew launch a swift arrow-storm from their ships.

Projectiles flew fast on the grey shore;
spear and stone from high cliffs
were hurled down.

Bernótus and his warriors on the settlement's fortress
stood and watched the brand-breakers at the harbor.

The others sought to land, and long through the day
sent shots of the wool-axe upon the island-horse.

No damage did they deal on the island-moor;
the battle-rogue burst out, raging, at Bernótus:

"Little glory for wise men and hardy folk
to use Lítr's high tents as a shield.

Fight me then yourself, if you dare now,
and let me come ashore with my company."

The champion answers, pure of thought:
"You alone have business with me,
not your warriors.

I shall let you come ashore from your hull
to wake a meeting with me, if you dare the venture.

Under the sword and your malice — you wretch!
I shall not lay my people in the pain of death."

"I am ready for that," so the other answers,
"to prove my good prowess against your strength."

Up he came himself, clad in Sörli's coat,
foremost to wield the bright blade at the clash of spears.

Unafraid, Bernótus held against him;
the rogue quickly swings the brand
at the ring-bearer.

Báleygr's hall-biter, the sun, wielding full,
cleft asunder the war-wheel at the hawk-seat.

"You must strike harder than that," said the mound-husband,
"if you mean to shear my head away."

Then two-handed he swung the hilt-serpent down —
the foe he cleft through the saddle-pad
to the belt.

Bernótus spoke before the warriors: "At the villain's host
let us now press as hard as we may with fury."

He with his mailed company went to the harbor-mead,
where the host waited; they begged for peace.

"The raiders shall have quarter," he declared,
"if they will come under my rule
and stay."

Those terms they chose on the ship-field;
oaths they swore on the serpent-shore
to the young lord.

Treasure uncounted he won there, as fame bore,
hand-snow and wealth of the mound —
the hinds.

Now fortune played the hero well
at the spear-field;
it sent him ships of the flood, riches, and people.

After that, through the summer, he held
warfare across the belt of treasure,
and chased the wave.

Sea-vikings he robbed of peace in the clash of swords,
won ships, wealth, and warriors
in the way of fame.

Wherever he fared over fish-lake
and the earth's road,
victory in every sword-trial
he received.

Sea-rovers feared him across the world's hall;
fame-renowned that bold man
therefore became.

The leaf-named warrior was called across lands and sea
the best champion of Borney
with the keen blade.

The Suitor from Lydia

I steer the sail-claw southward to Satílus;
at home, sated with hand-snow,
he sat in peace.

The mighty keeper of lands heard
that Grandimón had gotten his life's end
at the hour of fate.

He grew wrathful and grieved in the hall of his thought,
yet the prince found little counsel
for that blow.

One day the ruler saw, and the world knows it,
six sea-beasts gaze at the land
over the bright water.

One was a dragon-ship that glided forth
over the swell-heath;
they held for the harbor where the wave was broad.

The host came to shore with fine equipment,
set up woven tents there
with great splendor.

Then six men from among them
walked to the lord's hall,
decked in gold, from the bright ship's hold.

They greeted the king with courteous words when they came to the hall,
so loud the people heard them, bold, and all the court.

He who stood before the warriors
at the throne raised his errand without delay in swift words:

"A prince has come with a mighty host
from the land of Lydia, fair, who bears renown.

Kastónus we call him, our chieftain;
no fairer man was ever born
in the world's hall.

Your daughter, the ring-bearer, with gentle choice
he asks for; the prince's answer
we receive, keen."

"Tell your lord this," the king spoke,
"I bid him home at once from the wave-glad ship.

With as many staves of steel as the free ruler
desires to have with the fire of the wave
and terms of speech."

The messengers bade the warriors' lord farewell;
at the shore they delivered
the king's invitation to the helm-ones.

Straight in the morning, the prince, great of heart,
walked to the fortress with a hundred men
across the ground.

The king welcomes the prince, and by his side
had him sit at the right hand
in the seat of honor.

A fair feast arose with dignity;
the prince brought forth his courtship
and marriage-plea.

The king spoke: "Loyal and fine is my daughter;
your honour shines before all
and crowns her well.

Yet you shall not have her in quiet peace
unless Bernótus's bane is done away.

He dwells in Borney with chosen men;
he tries Rán's beast along the reef-shores."

The prince fell silent at that answer;
at length he spoke thus, and was wary:

"He who takes that on his hands, I may say,
wins enough for the wine-lady
in that case.

The harbor-fire's victory-keeper — I suspect —
will scarcely grant me that fortune
in the clash of swords.

His valour and deeds are praised, I hear told,
everywhere over sea and land,
with fortune's counsel."

"Yet I will try this, and toward that purpose
let the course-horse run
over Rán's deep."

He bids the king farewell, and from there went
down to his tents and out on the great wave-steed.

Warriors hoist the white sails of fine silk.
Here I fold the page for a time — for I must slumber.

The cup of thunder is rationed short; from the sky-eel
the mind, memory, and speech rest
at the pole of praise.

Áttunda ríma — Eighth Ríma

Mansöngr — Prelude

Kvásis's vein, the dear blood,
streams heavily forth;
a new chapter of verse is nourished —
learning's study wakes.

The tongue's eloquence weakens,
learning's hunger abates;
Fjalar's heavy flood-wagon
I steered better when young.

Memory dims, sight grows dull,
weariness numbs the spirit;
my powers, I feel, wane —
strength ebbs from excellence.

To the hand-snow's young isle
I need not speak fine lore;
to the noble maid
my verses do not fall.

To that purpose I do not bend
the tumult of verse;
let the linden of the arrow's reign
repay the spear-warrior.

If the gracious lady of wealth's path
offered love and honour,
nimble poems would ring
bright from the beam-tree.

The wave-sun's portion
of the lord of war's fire —
many men struggled more for it,
much they dared to risk.

Some lost their fairest life
for the artful maiden;
others kissed the arm-ring's warden,
finding the joy of the meeting.

Some suffered loss of limb
at the leaf-tree's meeting;
others rode free through the land,
winning the lady's favour.

Fortune grants each man unequally
the necklace's fair course;
it can lull some unaware
who row that current.

To speak longer of this here,
the ring-clasp forbids;
the stretched string of another tale
leaves the hall of praise.

Kastónus at Borney

The mast's horse at speech-shore
steered for me across the sea
when Kastónus from the thunder's maid
drove his fleet-lions.

The keen keel sang in the rough weather,
Ekkill's spray-waves great,
over the treacherous heath
the wave-steeds raced.

Warriors sail day and night
deep through the heavy water;
the yards creak aloud,
the wheels and rigging moan.

Keen, with even courage,
across the well-known straits
he steered his vessel's raven-prow
swiftly to Borney's harbors.

Masts dip fast to the ground,
the reef-ships settle in,
as the wise war-timbers step
down from the roller-steeds.

Up on the ground he found a path;
the noble prince, well-decked,
came so beneath the castle,
armed with spear-trunks.

Loud he cried out there,
the wise spear-breaker:
"I challenge Borney's lord
to try the shield and sword."

The cry at the stronghold was heard
by the adder's keeper;
glad upon the wall he goes
and swiftly asks for news.

"What worthy warrior is this
who offers us battle?"
The prince of the king spoke
his answer bright:

"The king's heir of Lydia-land —
fortune favours the bold —
Kastónus, wielder of the brand,
offers the bright shield's clash."

The moon of war's wielder
sends the question on:
"What quarrel have I
with the blade-reef's keeper?

An unknown man raises war against me."
The envoy from without
resolves the sending:

"The stiff king of Phrygia,
laden with dragon-fire,
bade you be led from life,
and promised the lady instead."

The wave-fire's warrior asks
the rich stealer of blades:
"Was the weaving-lady content
with such a bargain?"

The other told the tale from words
the horn-keeper declared:
"She had no say in the matter here;
the wise king decided it."

The spear-warrior spoke then
for a time on one matter:
"I cannot mean you any harm —
try the thunder's stream.

Yet my suspicion is that you
will not win the thorn-ground;
for the thunder of the sword, you shall not gain now,
O swinger of war's fire!"

The Battle

Both the arrow-trees drew up
their hosts in battle-lines;
the clash of brands begins there —
the peace was broken.

Fair wound-serpents from their sheaths
slithered forth;
on both sides warriors fall —
they did not fear the hour of fate.

The bold warriors of the castle
sundered Kastónus's host;
long the sword-dance
the prince marveled at.

Forward then the champion charges to meet them,
cold in battle, tame of warfare;
he strikes death on Blindr's bride,
the grim shield-breaker.

The noble one meets Akróni
at the maiden of Ómi,
and from the saddle of courtesy hurled him
to the ground from his seat.

Akrón's other foot there
was hewn from the company;
the brand-wielder was bound
at the belly of Blindr's bride.

Bernótus saw the heavy fall
the fool-wielder received;
the leaf-breaker, craft-wise,
was quick to set him free.

Then the shield-keeper, noble,
put the man on a horse;
the fair hero lets the best brand
cut through the warriors.

Many fall beneath his sword;
the others call it wonder;
the bearer of Fáfnir's bed
scattered the whole host asunder.

When Kastónus sees this,
and reckons his losses,
he spurs the belt-lion on
after the spear-green land.

He found Bernótus at Freyr's bride —
swift the warrior closed;
marvellous-fast, the sea-lord's son
set his spear in the shield.

The earl's son, of iron root,
breaks the shaft at the moment;
with sharp mouth the spear-shaft
he cleft asunder.

With the edge of battle the hawk-ground
he hewed at the fire of Hár's;
around the other elbow
the brand of fire missed.

The shield-beam's tree gave up defence
and offered the wound-bloom;
he drove the staff of shields into the fray
and robbed the thunder's light.

The ring-wielders, when they see
their chieftain bound,
thrust their shield-beams into the ships
and flee, the warriors wounded.

They begged Bernótus for quarter,
the runners of the fire-slope;
without delay he ceased the sword-fume;
the sun of peace rose.

The raiders promised to honour
the gracious lord with good faith;
Kastónus they carried to the castle —
the warriors tended the champion.

Laid in his bed with care,
his pain and weariness wane;
the hero lets the Rhine's spirit
heal the prince's kinsmen.

The fair lord of counsel
was at last well healed —
one-armed for life,
yet still graced with honour.

Battle fell quiet as it would;
the people found their joy;
the prince of warriors judged
the roller-wagons, folk, and wealth.

Kastónus Stays

When the prince's son was healed,
fair fortune favours him;
he raised these words
from the bright tree of fate:

"You are now fit for travel,
nimble with the sword to wield;
if you think to shorten your stay,
that shall not be forbidden.

If you wish to go home
to the keeper's land,
folk and treasure of the bright land
I give you, spear-bearer."

Kastónus answers the spear-husband:
"If I had the choice,
I choose to stay quiet beside you,
keen champion, a long while.

I cannot steer Kjalar's storm,
still and gentle it suits me —
strength-poor, and nothing more
of adventures I attempt."

The fair hero answers the man:
"With us you may stay, content,
among the host in the hall —
in the days to come."

So the host settled in peace,
prospered in good fortune;
no hardship's grief long troubled
the men for a while.

The Prophetic Dream

The honoured guard of the fleet's floor,
cared-for among warriors,
is said one night
to have slept badly in his slumber.

When that slumber broke,
the prince was able
to recount his dream, noble,
one early morning:

"The king's daughter of Phrygia-land,
the fair one, I seemed to see,
at a sandy shore, quietly
the good one spoke to me:

'About you, spiller of weapons, it was told —
as worth and skill pursue —
a vile serpent from the sea
will seek to strike the thunder's maiden against you.

It thinks to deal you death
upon the field of strife;
therefore beware of it,
O glad riders of the mast-steed!'

Fairer I never saw
than that lady of Svafnir's ramparts;
after this I truly woke
from gentle sleep."

"Easily read, I think," said the other, glad,
"some wicked man will come
from the shore.

He means to doom you, that wretch;
then the staves of wine's care
must show fine caution
and prove their strength."

Satílus Sends the Traitor

To the southward their tale goes —
the talk spares no steps.
Rumour came to Kastónus's father
that the bold champion was captured.

The grudge-sickness cuts his heart,
fills his mind with grief;
yet the diminished ruler stills his counsel
lest the warrior's honour be spoiled.

One day he rode into the forest
to weather the storm of woes;
the warden of people wished
to take a fair hunting-game.

The ruler sees a fine beast;
it runs away a long while;
he must give chase, spurs his horse,
far from the noble host.

The prince could not catch it, fast.
Now wherever the man goes,
he sees himself joyless in the country;
he was lost indeed.

A cottager bore a dead mountain-goat,
wretchedly furnished;
the king halted his weary horse
beside the fellow.

The lord of the land asked,
and the fool declared his name:
"Men call me Lúpaldus," the fellow said,
"throughout the districts.

I dwell here by Hringr's bright land
in one small cottage;
we own nothing of note —
our wealth is at an end."

"Shall I grant you riches," the king said,
"so that you need not struggle
with heavy want,
O bender of the thorn-tree?"

The wretch answers: "I would want that,
if I could repay it well."
The hero answers with a generous spirit,
the keeper of the serpent-heaths:

"I know you for a thirsty one indeed,
heavy as you can bear;
you seem to me no small man
but the leaf-clasper.

Just so, under the brow, you look,
though you dress in rags —
crafty and clever in the mind's field;
scarcely is such a one born.

Fool-baiter! Bring me the finger-snow
and the serpent's field,
if you deal death to Bernótus
and use your tricks.

Wit's pride and sly cunning
can harm the sword-tree;
that serves better than renown
to attack him in battle."

The treachery-eager wretch replies:
"I will try this,
if the king provides me
one light ship.

Thirteen brave men,
provisions, and company;
for that purpose we need
a three-night's space."

This the wise king grants,
and sets it all in order;
with merry heart homeward through the hall
he tempers his horse.

The cunning-sated rogue through the ship's hold
went lightly on the way,
arrives right at the ruler's home
on the appointed day.

All was ready there —
what the villain wanted:
well-prepared, from the land
the fool-tree sailed.

Waves rise; the ship glides
fast over the swell's ground;
Satan shows the way
to the hand-ice Thunders.

They found a desert island,
easily from the wave-shore
they grounded the ship on the headland's clay;
the villain told his plan:

"To Borney's isle it is a short way, I reckon;
the beam-tree's seekers of light
stay here by the ship, but swiftly I will
sail to the thunder-maiden.

Let me take with me
two of the trusty company —
trust that I will return
across this ground."

He told his men to wait
three nights of Svöfnir;
then on the boat they quickly shot,
the warriors sped from there.

They rowed to a reef on the wave-ground of the eel;
the boat broke asunder —
the men cried out.

That cry the island-men hear,
those who serve with honour;
warriors launch a boat at once,
hasten to the spear-breakers.

They bring three men to land,
bind them fast with chains,
swiftly lead them from peril
to the brand-warriors' groves.

Greetings the warriors exchange there
in a speech of words from the shore.
But I must moor Fjalar's vessel
in the gale of the fen.

Now the mask draws over the darkened wheel,
the time of verse grows dim;
so is the ríma — sleep well,
the sun floods the horizon!

Níunda ríma — Ninth Ríma

Mansöngr — Prelude

Rögnir's fountain streams from the hall,
let the single cup run forth
over the ground of gold and stone;
let the tale of praise gladden the grove.

I must use my custom now,
the swift weave of Orana's burden;
if I find Gillingr's-bane's payment,
I shall gladden your Bolnir's rooster.

I have promised the lady this —
to give her fresh verse;
but the growth of praise around my speech's town
is small within my poem.

Therefore less may be expected —
if one pressed harder still,
the song-marrow's river would fail;
diminished praise makes one then.

I know the net-lady of the cup's load
sees the wiles of the mind's path;
I shall simply cease to shape verse
and lift no ale-cup to the people.

A man and a woman may shudder
at the world's ugly examples;
one should not gild a thing of shame —
ill do the faithless women fare.

Well remembered since is he
who lay grieving and fallen —
the one who healed his sorrow and pain,
he wished to strike down unto death.

Folk across the broad world's ring
should shun vile dishonour;
clear to them the sting of compulsion —
repay the good deed fairly.

It may be called worthy of thanks
when, openly before warriors,
some able man can accomplish
good with honest honour.

One may spend wealth to buy loyalty
in the cold frost-land's settlement;
the ugliness of treachery's bonds is loathed —
the works of deceit, falsehood, and lies.

Great grows the power of wiles;
the strokes of malice are grey and cold,
the halt of virtue increases in the age;
often does treachery earn its just reward.

The saga shows one example:
soon the hearing may grow weary;
often have the wicked acted ill —
it befits all to shun such clearly.

Lúpaldus was a swine of wiles,
a wicked casket of tricks his whole life;
he devised torment for the helm-tree.
— The prattle of the mansöngr fades.

Lúpaldus the Traitor

Thulin's ski across the silent town
steered its landing there;
the spear-trees of free men
came to meet Bernótus.

The sword-lord of warriors asked
whither they were bound.
The keen fellow from the word's reef
gave answer, while the other two kept silent:

"We were on trading voyages,
surely on a vessel over Rán's deep;
fortune favoured our cargo —
our wares were lent to us in the old way."

"We wished to hold the homeward course;
hard the waves rode our hulls,
the sea's grinding would have wrecked our keel;
the cruel cold waited for our death."

"Destitute of life's deeds,
we reached a boat on the fleet's mercy,
so that we drifted ashore here —
wretched, we struck upon some skerry."

"The flood-lord suffered loss there —
the vessel shattered on the reef to splinters.
We cried out for help across the land;
did you hear that lament?"

"We ask the fair keeper of weapons
for winter's stay among your host,
gentle-minded — so we wish —
to wait for spring, come what may."

"Then journeys may fall to us;
we'll get our hulls
back out across the thin cod-water
and away from the bright springs' keep."

The hero spoke and addressed them,
the strong ones, so the company could hear:
"Though you appear ill-fated,
you shall have shelter with us all the same."

Kaston put the matter thus:
"These fellows seem ill to me;
for wasting our provisions on these men —
the mind won't, and offers misery."

"On the shipwrecked," the speaker answered,
"it is shameful to heap scorn, I find;
therefore through the fierce frozen gale
let them shelter with us a while."

So the men sat among the host
in the blessedness of winter-tide;
no harrying storm could trouble
the island-folk with hardship.

The Ambush at Dawn

One morning, swift upon a certain path,
Bernótus walks out;
he bore no spear nor brynja then —
he happened to be gazing about a woman.

He heard a mighty sound
there on the land, and trod that way;
there stood a giant, revealed,
and two warriors with the fire of Týr.

All rush upon the famed one
at the streambed's bank straightaway;
the blade-trees shook their fierce leaves —
that was cowardice.

The hero, swift among the war-gear, grasps
quickly — for the sword was far away —
one he seized and felled him there;
the other he drove the dart beneath.

The wretch did not guard against this:
the wicked one advanced upon him;
the churl's sharp blade's bitter edge
struck through his belt-buckle clean.

Then the famous beast of valour
seized the Tjörgu-Týr's sword,
turned the blade's edge against the other —
off flew the head from the body.

Lúpaldus struck a hard blow,
the helm-tree dying meanwhile;
the cold sword of the warrior dealt
one wound to Bernótus though.

The valour-filled hero
leapt upon the maddened steed-of-glitter,
and on the battle-field's path
drove the gilded scoundrel down.

Kaston then came thither
and saw this thing, dear in the going;
the hand of kinship's land
would wring the neck of the thrall.

The other forbade it gently with speech,
the keeper of men, and gave oath:
"We shall have true accounts from
the reed of the wave-sun's staff."

Swiftly with a bold movement
straight upon the flat field there
was put in fetters
he who formerly bore rags.

Home across the ground, the honour-lover,
the prince's son, had strength to carry —
to bring the bound traitor-hound
into the castle truly.

After this, the sword-keeper
told, swift with word,
the true tale of his journey
to the noble ship-tester of Svofnir's court.

The serpent-lady's lord lets
Lúpald's bright eye-glass be stung
out of the ring of the skull here —
the hard torments work upon him.

Both ears from Herjan's moon
from his face's town he sheared;
from that time forward, the itch of sound
never troubled the villain.

Likewise the other hand as well
he hewed from Óðinn's cloak-tree —
the hero, fierce; hard was his mood,
who woke such a wound in him.

He ordered thus, clear and plain,
his warriors — it fell to their will —
to ferry the traitor across the sea-pool
back to his own people.

"Tell them the honour-grudging one,
I send the churl home to the king,
deaf across the ocean-deep —
he shall have wealth and plenty enough."

Baldínus Sails for Phrygia

The blade-twigs obeyed the hero's command,
eagerly carrying out the deed;
they led the coward aboard the ship,
straightway raised the sail-cloth.

They found his companions —
the slender trees of the fire-brand,
faint of spirit — bore them soon to land,
bearing their lord's message.

The warriors hold the homeward way;
the others drag themselves out to sea.
Journeys hasten across the fish-heath —
the flood-wagon slid toward land.

The men cut away from the deep,
lead the blind fellow home;
tales bubbled forth from them
into the king's glad hearing-belt.

Swift hatred carved the heart
of the dark lord of the court;
but good counsel was scarce,
he could barely contain his complaint.

This did not go as he wished —
like a blow that shatters a peace —
Lúpald received his wages;
I could not bear to look upon it.

I reckon it most right to record:
the king set the hateful smith of wiles
beside him at his side,
sated with honour, wealth, and peace.

In Morland there ruled a king keen,
Rán's steed-band here and there
on the river-band of Herðla;
he was nimble in the sword's strife.

Baldínus was that prince's name;
his sister Albínu one may
call fair — a goddess of gold
fairer to behold than the serpent's pillow.

The fame-swift finger-snow
drew land and serpent together;
unwed, young though he was,
the prince sat in peace and gladness.

Warriors counselled the lord,
the power-gilded friends of his,
that he should find a fair shield-maiden
to govern the land beside him.

His mind heeded the thought's grip;
he gathered warriors swiftly,
straight by counsel on the wave-cliff —
ten ships out from the land with fair wind.

The prince strode boldly onto the vessel;
every single sea-rover,
heavy-laden, then from the harbour
hastened the swift journey across the cod-tongue.

The wave spat upon them,
the wind bit often at the hulls;
the weather was bitter in the rigging —
it was as though it drove at the wheels.

The hull gleamed from the suns,
the beam played upon the prows;
ever the gale howled in the storms
as though it pressed upon the wheels.

The fish-land's meadow let the hulls slide
on the long sea-brands;
the wave-heath's spirits
whined in the bonds of the rigging.

The voice of the sea pleased that prince
on the deep of the skerry-plain,
until the bright mast-lights
touched fair Phrygia's land.

Swiftly the wind-field fell calm;
cold anchors bit the sand.
So the host set upon the shore
their gleaming, handsome tents.

The watch-man of the people got word;
the famed one bids the sea-lord fair
to ride home across the smooth heath
and adorn the hall's seat finely.

The sea-lord accepted the offer,
the sated ornament, and journeyed home.
With feathered hands the prince
received the two lords kindly.

The fine sea-lord sits at table
and lets the king rest a while;
the delights of joy enliven the spirit,
the precious cup-currents flow.

The serving-men bear the cups there;
the people grow merry with ale.
Over the palate's straits
the cup-rivers ran.

The king, known and glad, declared
to the noble one at the bench, fame bearing:
"What errand have you,
the steed of battle, here to us?"

The lord of the people, swift of word,
the serpent-slope's lord, answered thus:
"We come to ask for the fair ring-lady,
the best of beauty's treasures.

It is your daughter, precious,
of virtuous ways, the bright flower,
toward whom the glad heart
of the helm-tree turns, and does not ebb."

The swift prince answered thus:
"I give the maid and the kingdom,
to the arm's joy, the life-bane,
if he can defeat Bernótus."

Against the prince, the lord raised his voice,
the king, clever, from his course of speech:
"His equal, the people tell,
has never stood on the sword's field."

"A sure stronghold he has,
the people tell it truly,
and many a man chosen for him,
fiercely brave beside the sword."

"It may well seem a bold boast
if that dart-flinger manages
to withstand the battle's assault —
well if many come against him."

"This I wish to try, though,
if you'll lend to that purpose
the mistletoe-trees and the steeds —
and a hard storm of the spear-points."

The king agreed to this —
then with good means
he would supply ships, folk, and wealth;
the accord was struck in kind.

When the feast was ended,
the prince gathered an army
from across the land to himself —
he bore no sorrow in his mind.

The war-nations the king chose, silent,
sent into Týr's campaign with fire;
the king's chosen ones he counted for battle:
ten times four thousand.

Fifty vessels of the fish-mead
land on the wet rust-floor of the seal;
so the fleet was given to the wave-ruler
to offer to the fair wheel's Ullr.

He hastened from the people's court
and held his course toward the salt sea,
with the reddened swift warrior of the spear,
and stepped upon the flood-steeds.

The prince sails on his errand
with warriors and sea-lions;
he did not wait long — for the sword's sight
gathers a host of war-servants.

He gained anew a lord of men:
each was of generous spirit;
the famed army in the spear-tempest
was forty thousand.

Sixty chosen sea-beasts
the lord counted for his departure;
out upon the hall of the whale he turns —
the wave-cool prows surge forward.

The fleet moved and went its way,
treading the blue fish-heath.
The ship of Litar's course with that
cuts toward the silent land.

The fields of the verse-wrestling —
the gust wearies the tumult;
the speech of the rímur fades;
the goodness of the verse-gleam wanes.

Tíunda ríma — Tenth Ríma

Mansöngr — Prelude

The cup of Mímir's friend I may
pour out without delay,
and bring to the folk each tale I say,
filled with Þundr's ale.

It has become the custom here —
to the thirsty I have often served;
likewise some are eager for the art,
those who can attend to the verse-drink.

Men judge unevenly
my measure of Þundr's draught;
though none may call it foul,
others call it strong.

No one has yet succeeded
in serving the well of Óðinn's cup,
so that all at once
might find it to their liking.

I shall not presume
that all will be pleased
with this horn-cool stream of Herjann;
the greatest folly I call such hope.

Though I win small praise
for these verses shaped as refrains,
I take it to heart —
I give nothing for mockery.

The verses I have offered
do not seem worth noble praise;
honour belongs instead to those of the nation
whom the gift of verse has graced.

Had anyone given himself
his own gifts, honours, and skills,
he would be — so it seems to me —
worthy of great praise.

But since all is received,
there is no more duty
for us to heap on praise too bold;
we need not make it grand.

The mansöngr falls lightly now
from my verse, bound by custom;
I steer the ship of Suðri
straight to the story's course.

The Siege of Borney

Against the strife-host of the war-land,
I broke the oar-path of Þulinn.
Baldínus through the storm-ring of Bölm
tested the heavy surf-gates.

Straight toward Borney
the lord drives the beasts of Rán;
before him on the sea of Fjalar
other hosts likewise hasten there.

Bernótus spoke boldly to his men
one day, and said:
"Satílus, with his nature of malice,
will not let this rest.

My heart tells me this:
the anger-lavish king
will soon make his way here
with a worthy host of warriors.

Or he may send another
to test hard iron against us,
whichever man he can find,
for fiercely he craves my death.

We shall therefore prepare
without delay,
as best we can, at once,
to stand ready for bitter war.

I wish with great labour
to toil through long days
and dig tunnels under the castle,
in case the need for refuge should come.

Into the castle we shall first carry
as many stores as we can —
so that neither wine nor food
shall fail us when things are worst.

Up onto the walls pile stones
endlessly from the giant's bride,
likewise pitch and brimstone,
for battle is what we expect."

The thanes obeyed this swiftly,
though the work was not light;
both day and bright night
they made themselves ready.

It was upon a certain day,
some time after this,
that warriors saw a mighty fleet
covering the wide sea like herrings.

Into the harbours the host drove swiftly,
the bright sails were lowered,
anchors struck the bottom hard,
the army went quickly ashore.

That worthy nation managed
to raise fine tents there,
to settle with the best craft,
and busied themselves till evening.

Then sleep takes the ready host.
Bernótus said to his men:
"Do you know the like of this?
My riddle has come true.

Draw up the drawbridges now,
good men, so that here
none can reach beneath the wall —
the battle is about to begin."

The thanes obeyed his commands.
Then at dawn with speed
twelve men march from the tents,
counted men in war-gear.

The spear-wielders halt
near the castle moat.
Bernótus went at once
out onto the wall with his men.

He who leads the warriors
calls up to the moat:
"If Bernótus is at home here,
he will dare to give an answer."

The champion answers him aloud:
"Here am I with my host.
Tell me your name
and likewise your errand."

The other replies, that keeper of wealth:
"My name is Baldínus,
lord of Morland, as I declare;
Satílus wants you dead.

He therefore sent me here
the straight path of the sword-maiden —
to strip you of your life;
this I intend to do."

Bernótus then spoke in return:
"Against the king I have
little quarrel, though his heart of hate
would rob me of my peace.

But you I have never seen before,
nor do you hold any grievance
against me, steadfast warrior,
yet you have come for war.

You would do well to see in time,
lest you seek my stronghold in vain —
yourself and the king's men alike
earn foul shame and your own death.

Your slaves who have come here,
I shall not think it worth
marshalling my noble warriors
against them in the spear-storm.

We mean therefore to await
your assault now —
not in the least afraid
that you would dare attack us here."

The prince grew furious beyond measure,
and strode back to his tents.
He bade his army seize
helms, shields, and swords for the battle-yard.

The entire army held toward the moat
fiercely, streaming from the tents;
a bitter storm of arrows there
crashed against the high wall.

Though with fury they worked
at the aforesaid place,
they could achieve nothing.
The lord, seeing this, spoke:

"Fair warriors, go now
and fetch the largest trees;
bridge the moat quickly with them —
the best plan, I think it is."

The host does this willingly,
hauls the timber there readily,
bridges the moat soon enough;
many bore heads dripping with sweat.

Over the moat the prince's people
then on the timbers marched,
and around the wall they raged fiercely,
attacking with grim violence.

Those above hurled stones down,
hard as arrows could fly;
the king's host on the field of Fjölnir
fell in heaps then at the roots.

Brimstone and boiling pitch
poured from the walls over the host;
that too robbed men of life
on death's cold winter night.

The battle's fierce fury
raged on thus until evening;
the army then, at the lord's will,
withdrew wounded to the fine tents.

The next day, bitter in spirit,
the king bade his army:
"Carry great heaps of wood
against that fair wall.

Then set them alight —
that labour cannot wait."
The host agrees to this,
and sets about the work.

When the castle's garrison saw this,
they let arrows fly fast,
mightily upon the lord's company;
nor was there any lack of stones.

The fire could not be kindled well
by the lord's men around the hall;
many thousands then were sent to Hel;
ravens tore the fallen slain.

They had then at the spear-meeting
lost from the king's host
ten times twelve thousand souls;
they hew the shield no more.

The prince sees that this plan
avails nothing, and spoke:
"Let us now go and do a deed —
let us slaughter their livestock.

It may be that in time,
when we do as I say,
they will run short of food,
and their defence will weaken with it.

Five hundred men of the sword-goddess
may guard the war-camp."
The thanes do this now.
That, bold Bernótus saw.

The wise lord spoke:
"I will make them pay
the full price for this.
All of you — arm yourselves.

The watchmen — we shall fell them swiftly.
Stores and treasure
from the lord's tents
we shall carry home to ourselves."

They went thus to the tents;
the storm of Tyrfingr began to rage;
the prince's men at the wolf's pool
all together met their end.

When this was done, the islanders,
each man working with all his might,
swept all the stores at once
home into the castle.

Precious garments, wine and food,
the best of the war-field's harvests —
the warriors took them; now at first
they need not dread a famine.

The lord, heavy with the day's work,
ended the worthy slaughter-tasks at dusk,
turned with the army toward the tents,
to gather food and likewise rest.

The prince saw his watchmen dead,
his tents gone now;
he nearly lost his wits,
and turned homeward, raging at the war-god.

He shouts aloud to Bernótus,
his heart swollen with wrath.
The champion came quickly to the wall
and heard the king's words clearly:

"Gutless wretch who lurks in here,"
the king raged and spat —
"you dare not fight warriors
except by treachery.

Still I challenge you to battle
soon, with all your men."
The warrior answered the king:
"It is the same to me as ever.

I will not, for the sake of my lands,
let such talk pull me down.
Against your horde of thralls
I will not let my warriors bear sword or shield.

To you, tomorrow — this is clear —
when the sun shines bright,
if you are not a coward,
I offer you a hard single combat.

None of your men may then
claim the prince's fair daughter —
even if I should fall in the fight,
none but you yourself shall win her."

"So shall it be," the prince replied;
then he went his way,
slept that night on the sea-steed,
and let the morning come.

A thousand men followed the prince
across the sea-goddess' field;
and the warden of the castle came,
bearing the gleaming branch of sparks.

The warriors begin their duel.
Baldínus struck the shield
square in the centre with a great spear,
meaning to drive it clean through.

The other's hand turned the shield;
the spear-blade shattered apart.
Then at the tree of hands
the famed warrior thrust his mistletoe-shaft.

Through the sole of the prince's foot
the spear flew,
and through the arm that held it;
he fell to his knees at the blow.

Yet the prince leapt quickly up,
swung the fire of Sigr readily,
clove the champion's shield in haste —
the keen edge nearly found its mark.

Bernótus with the hawk-bright blade
drew his fair hilt-friend,
sheared through the shoulder-bone,
and the edge bit into the thigh.

The teeth of Tyrfingr stood in the bone;
the worthy prince fell;
he was then taken captive
and carried into the castle.

The lord of the sky-down bound the prince's wounds,
let him be treated with bright clear salve;
the burning pain subsided.

Then he bade his own people arm,
and swiftly went with the host
onto the king's fleet upon the sea-road,
and woke a hard clash of spears.

The champion's people in the fray
hewed and carved through the king's host,
cleared one ship after another;
corpses covered the salt sea.

Bravely the lord's men at first
fought in the tempest of spears;
the ships of the wave-lord caught fire;
at last they surrendered.

The sea-people, glad of the truce,
gave themselves into the champion's power;
that company could not be counted
which fell in the clash of spears.

Bernótus and the lord's men,
noble after the battle,
he and his famous warriors then
return home to the castle.

When the prince's wounds had healed,
the precious champion spoke to him:
"So it has come to pass, honoured lord —
the prince abides in my power.

Your men who tested the shield
have stumbled to the same stand.
Life from my hand you shall receive,
and leave to go back to your land.

On this condition, however:
you pledge your faith to me,
and never again seek out Satíló,
who sent you here.

And this further, by the road of wisdom —
so that all may come to good order —
your sister's hand I wish to see
settled hereafter for a marriage-bond."

The prince agrees to this clearly,
thanks the famed warrior of steel;
then he steps upon his wave-steed
and sails away with his men.

He sails home to his kingdom;
the men of the land welcome the prince.
I will not go further with them —
the ship of Þulinn runs aground.

Best that I fasten sleep awhile;
the sight fails, but the hand grows weary.
I bring the small meeting of Þundr to a close;
the silence settles in the halls of thought.

Ellefta ríma — Eleventh Ríma

Mansöngr — Prelude

The eye-price of the All-Father —
though my verses grow stiff in sound —
I must bid the linen-goddess
and the ring-ruler hear my words.

Often I have raised a song of praise,
though the lady gives me little glory;
unless the rose of the cold wave
should grant her favour freely.

I weary of the field of silence,
labouring to bring forth new verse;
the ring-tree does not seem glad
to warm my spirit with her love.

Truly I can see
the sun-water's kinswoman, well known,
desires another man, no doubt —
the fair steel-tree enjoys his love.

It is no wonder that a noble maid
should not fling love at a dead fellow
in a cold tempest's rush,
though fair speech might suit the matter.

Yet I shall, from the wealth of words,
fulfil the pledges I have spoken,
and pour a cool cup of Kjalar
to the woman, while I yet stand here.

Many a fair woman in former times
was cherished by the ring-lady's arts,
who guarded the graces within her
and held fast to the deed of faithfulness.

Their sworn words about the stolen field
they kept with honour well;
so among the host of warriors
the serpent-bed's land has been displayed.

Fair examples the women greatly
and finely attended through their lives.
The matter of poems is laid out —
may my thread of substance find its line.

The Story Continues

On Dvalinn's road I choose the best —
I dream that the ring-goddess,
Baldinus, to the hall of brightness,
had come home among his men.

The worthy guardian of the land
sat himself down in peace upon his ancestral earth,
freed from sorrow, though the voyage
had gone hard across the ocean's belt.

I let the horse of Hleiðólfr run
away from the hare, as the maid bade;
I must cut a clever path
and turn now swiftly to Borney.

Bernótus spoke thus to his men,
gentle-natured, one day:
"I grow weary at last
of this island-guarding war of siege.

"I wish therefore to sail from here
upon the ocean's foal, with you both,
and challenge the wave-people to the storm of spears;
the spirit cools when change is seen."

The warriors answered as was fitting —
the hero should decide, they said;
they declared themselves eager to go
and test their courage in the deed of arms.

The steel-biting company of warriors
now turn their course, nothing diminished;
the host seeks from field to sea,
the folk of lyres out upon the deep.

Swiftly the crew raised
the wind's cloths, cool and soft;
they rowed in the calm, they tested their strength;
the waves smoked around the mast's peak.

The weather bears the fleet across the bright bed;
soon the island disappears;
the fair wind gladdens the hearts of the thanes;
they found harbour by the king's land.

The brother of wealth then stood bright,
brought the fleet sharply to land;
the people move onto the Pundr's river,
and raise tents there by the sea.

The earl's son, with a seemly bearing,
as soon as he had landed,
spoke with Akron thus aloud,
and in this manner had his say:

"You, to Þundr's bride of the sea,
twelve men likewise —

"now you shall go, this is the message,
promptly with this errand:

"I offer him the storm of swords
here, or else let him give me in marriage
the fair fire-flame of the hawk-field;
then all shall go as we desire."

Akron found his way right home,
entered the king's hall and walked in;
the lord sat over his meal,
and asked the man his name.

To the wise king the other
could truly answer back:
"Your old messenger,
this once, you see before you here.

"With ill terms and a bitter journey
your deep hatred drove me,
to rob the body of its life;
rumours fly thick from that disgrace.

"The lord's nature, turned from malice —
I remember your enmity —
the noble villain's works
you wished to make me do that time.

"The lady of life spared me,
doing in all things better than you,
with honourable and gracious terms;
that is worthy of repayment here.

"That man you have wanted
to murder often, your stubborn folly;
I wish, therefore, upon the hall of joy,
that you and your court be slain.

"But know this, the fire's ruler:
the champion's matter harms nothing;
about his neck, free of care,
hangs a fair wealth of locks today.

"He now offers the king war —
sharp, those were my errands —
or else let the fair headdress-slope
give your daughter in noble marriage.

"Three days' grace the king shall have,
if the grey-spirited one desires
the storm of spears on high;
I wish to hear the wave-lord's answer."

Oramur grew greatly angry,
forgetting to answer them at first:
"Bold you are in folly's shape,
shameless, to crawl home to us!

"Your impudence, you treacherous swine!
is dishonour by all men's judgement;
my eyes smart before me —
a wretch of little worth with talk of shame.

"It would be fitting, you foolish wreck,
to be put in a tightened noose;
your back bears charges enough;
that is plain and worthy of revenge.

"Overcome by insolent folly,
the hateful lout presumes
to thrust his thick-packed torrent of words
here into our ears.

"I marvel in every way
at the errand you bring before me —
should I think to give my daughter
to a highway robber here?

"Far from it, you creature full of shame!
All can plainly see:
robbery and thievery, devoid of honour —
that one has always lived so.

"Driven into outlawry with sorrow
before, for his shameful deeds,
swollen with the dregs of vice;
the land shall never accept the ring-lord."

"Sooner shall every man
fall dead in the storm of spears upon the rack."
The tempest of hatred blows;
that speech-babble shames the court.

"Try, if you dare, the king's lance,"
the warrior answered the king in reply;
"I think big words alone
will not serve you on the bench."

So he went out of the king's hall
and held to his own tent;
he came with true tidings,
telling the cold news to the sword-ruler.

The husband of the heath sends out
a war-summons hard across the land, swiftly;
the people go, and they are eager;
the war-gear grows well and strong.

The lord of the wave sent Freyr's messengers
to Earl Nectar's son,
bade them drive into Pundr's tempest,
bringing him word from the court of battle.

"Against my worthy kinsman I will fight?
Hardly!" said the earl;
"Troops from me in the leafy pass
shall never fail the earl."

The king thought this was ugly,
that the earl would not take up the shield;
warriors drive to him day and night
regardless, into the strife of spears.

When the folk saw the harm that loomed —
the earl would not, across the ground,
attend to the terrible storm of shadows —
he hastens with fewer men to the king's meeting.

With little host upon the leafy field,
the husband of the heath lets fortune play;
four and eight thousand men, without truce,
he now leads out to battle.

Age-bowed, blue with fury,
he bore in hand Þundr's wound;
three battle-ranks the vengeful elder
sets the host in formation.

One rank the prince wished
to lead himself, not slow,
the row of warriors where the lance flies straight
across the field of the father of ages' ring.

The second a champion commands —
Kílon was his name, with no deceit;
steadily he wielded, always tame to hand,
the sure and bitter staff of wounds.

The third a stiff warrior,
Helanor, shall steer well;
in the labour of battle that one
often sent the folk to Hel.

At once, to the meeting of spears,
at that same time the fair
son of the earl, bold upon the ground,
drew up his host with little fear.

Against the king in the root of shields,
the mistletoe-breaker thought to test
the steel-wielder upon Báleygr's bride,
directing the branch of renown.

Let Akron in the storm of swords
test his spear against Helanor;
and Kaston, against Kílon on high,
at the root of brands, the tree of clubs.

The war-horns blast aloud across the field;
the call to battle was blown then;
the tumult of shields rang, not slack,
in the meeting upon Herjan's floor.

The cry grew with a terrible shout,
the goading at the hail of spears;
the biting sweep of wounds wrought
ruin upon many a warrior's life on both sides.

First Kílon burst forward —
few could stand against him;
the brain-pillow's benefactor
shakes the fearsome storm-blast.

Furious, Gautr wades with fire
through every rank of the entire host;
he felled the people with great wrath;
mighty, he roused the rain of blood.

Kastonus, standing near the fury of spears,
found it going poorly;
he therefore wades into the clash of weapons,
though one hand was far away.

Swift Kílon charged at him;
the elder draws his sword, quick;
the blade of the ogress's sole —
it cut that thing clean in two.

He cuts upon the breast, the shield-tumult bears
a wound deep into the bone;
the angry lord of shields therefore
strikes again with the wound-twig.

The blow falls hard upon the edge;
the whetted blade wrought harm;
the cheek-guard, bound fast, shattered —
the shoulder-bone split apart.

Then from his horse fell, at the trial's end,
the Þundr of steel, his wound bleeding.
Gautr drove his halberd across the field,
the earl's son, with a boar's fury.

The helm-diminisher, girded for the deed,
makes the famed one turn his sword;
down into the shoulder the blade had its course,
the trusty sword upon the spear-bearer.

With both hands the hilt-wand
he could then swing again;
across the lands of war he tested the shield;
then the blood-sprinkler's vein ran free.

That most ungentle gauntlet-guard
caused the folk great hesitation;
heads fly off their bodies;
the quick star of Þundr gleams.

Gautr cleared a wide path
of the blood-hawk across the slippery track —
many a one tumbled into death's hollow —
and heaped a cairn of the slain host.

The man who bore the prince's banner,
gifted with skill,
he could hew asunder;
the war-garments burst, those noble things.

Helanor at the storm of battle,
swift, could see that;
the valiant one does not delay —
he wades forward with the wound-thread.

He deals the men quick blows,
swelling the waves of broken peace;
the war-plague of Tyrfingr's jaws
bites the teeth of the spear asunder in the fray.

Akron met with ruin; the wreck —
his hatred showed itself ugly —
drove through body and back
a mighty spear of the sword-breaker.

So his life received its ban;
he was made to fall crashing into gore;
the tooth-fee of the king's daughter
was lost thus in the gap of death.

The tree of storms in the psalm of edges
then furiously cuts the host;
he shatters helms, he grinds the metal;
the flood of wounds swells great.

The earl's heir sees the labour of edges,
the binding of the arrow-stream, clear as day;
the bold one must find the warrior,
and turns that way with his beast of the field.

Those who meet — the thistle-lord —
who first tested the fray:
he drives the spear into the neck through the helm,
the mead of fire with a grim wind.

Part of the edge, the sword cut hard
across the hard falcon-earth,
so sharply that the bright blood drummed
off the board of battle's steel-Njörðr.

The champion of wounds could
truly swing again to strike;
he sheared the brain-moor from the skull;
so the man fell dead.

I weary of the field of silence,
pouring Pundr's cup across the sound;
I change the song, so the host of warriors
may slumber for a little while.

Tólfta ríma — Twelfth Ríma

Mansöngr — Prelude

Many praise the fine mead
of Þundr's cup in their time;
swift thought bears it onward
to the folk of the cold desert.

The verse-field grows pale,
the lilies of words are falling;
the well of gifts has grown shallow —
who will pour from the table's planks?

Men are accustomed to remember my fame,
to hear bright praises;
the swift burden-bearers of Grani
praise the story above all.

We know the verse-bowl's measure,
the bent shape of the poem;
they think themselves better
at understanding the wise old tales.

Bold ones recite another's praise —
the glory-writing gladdens;
all men understand the bright poems,
folk know as much.

The praise of garments might clothe me,
driven by the slow weight of learning,
but the gloss of lore is not bound
by the branches of the Edda.

The maples of the Rhine's moons
often show fair lore to joyful women,
with carefully chosen beautiful words
wrought in the finest measure.

Clever ones debate praises together,
bring poems to their friends;
these learned ones then
think themselves better than the rest.

A man's poor skill may be judged
a fair speech nonetheless;
the bright bow of verse serves
the people of the land better.

The folk know my impure brightness
of the praise-speech;
the story itself conceals the glory —
the weary mind grows thin.

Slowly the cold ship
is long driven together;
may the gentle arrow of words
wake joy in the host.

The struggle of the mansöngr ends —
the weary fair folk miss it;
the story offers wise tidings
to the people, as it always does.

The Story

Sorrow sold the mist of skill,
the glory-speech's splendour,
when the earl's noble kinsman
felled the spear-branch on the field.

Hard labour rang around the war-shelf,
tormenting the warriors;
the prince witnessed the famous fall
of his own men.

The furious lord raged wrathful
through all the host;
tame in battle, the fire of the Gauts
dealt harm to the thanes.

Wonders arise: Sigtýr's sun splits,
helms are cleft asunder,
the war-wheel breaks apart,
the elm of swords falls to sleep.

Long thirsting on the field of war,
the swift prince hurls his weapons;
warriors lose the hall of the brain —
the sword chews many.

The prince defends the castle-folk,
cuts down the many bold.
The earl's fair son beholds
his own warriors falling.

He means to repay the grey gift
of Yggr's beam in full;
angrily the breaker charges
against the prince's brow.

He accepts the sheath's leaf,
seizes the stout shaft;
the rigid Ullr of spears
rides furiously at the prince.

He meets the brave ruler of men;
the weapon-Njörðr speaks:
"My lord, the head is mine,
along with the hawk-land."

Then he made it hard
for the evil wretch, swift and sure;
from few of the men
was the ski-breaker flung away.

The gold-bender enjoyed a prize;
the enraged feeder of men
rushed a long way and fast —
took a stiff tumble.

The wounds' bitterness forces its way;
the warriors were brought to weeping;
three strong rib-bones
cracked apart beneath the prince.

Seized by hands, light-hearted,
the prince is fallen;
with strong ropes the warriors
bound the man fast.

Neared by the storm of battle,
evil woke its pain;
then carried to the tents,
the splendour begins to wane.

When the bold warrior of weapons
captured the ruler of men,
the army accepted grief;
the clash of spears fell silent.

Laden with wrath, the exhausted prince
thought of granting peace;
the folk rushed into the fortress,
barring all the gates.

The worthy hurler of wealth
makes the chosen bold ones seek;
Kaston's warriors
find their lord at last.

The joy-bearer withers there —
the bold thane is found;
he was alive still, the brave one;
his wounds were bound.

The guards found weary men;
the might of hardship wanes;
the wounded bound their red wounds still,
tending what was torn.

The bold fame-breaker of the brand
bade the men
seek all comfort
for the hard-pressed warriors.

The elf of shields lets
the prince's weary host be served;
the land-guardian himself
raises a gentle speech.

Night passes; the whole age
with the arrow-Ullr is at peace;
in fair calm he rows home to the hall,
treads the Herian's path.

He tells the prince's host swiftly —
the hurler of worth sends word:
the gates must open at once,
or else they shall endure battle.

Many fear the harmful reef;
the talk is told openly.
He goes to find the prince's daughter —
asks the lady to advise.

To the gold-bush he directed
the driven speech, twisting;
"I will go with you
to find the sword-Þundr."

Quickly through the streets she hurried,
she walked with her folk
safely to the castle gates,
and bids them open to the host.

The host may accomplish this;
the fear that was shown diminishes.
The prince's daughter then speaks
to the linen-step's lord.

Then she led the mighty warrior
into the broad hall;
he received warm and gentle welcome
from the gold-adorned tree of women.

The fair clever one,
making linen-games, speaks:
"I may call myself blessed
to behold the sword-bearer.

"That stubborn longing is ended
which the prince endured so long;
now wealth, lands, and people
are all in your power.

"I most gently beg the shield-Njörðr
to soothe the bitter pain of his spirit —
to grant life-peace
to my father, the land-guardian."

The snake-hurler of the steps
speaks words to strengthen peace:
"For your sake, mantle-prop,
I say this is my duty."

The sword-spoiler of speech,
urged by a wise spirit,
has the shelf-guardian fetched —
wrapped in hard bonds.

The land-guardian, bound straight,
was carried into the chamber;
the mighty shield-Njörðr
spoke to him thus:

"Fortune deigned to meet me,
to choose this way of judgement;
now, prince, I can strip you
of your life at will.

"This malice has been crafted
against me long, mild one;
it demands hard vengeance here —
would that retribution might come.

"The flax-branch of the fair land
thirsts less to harm your life
than you have thirsted
to increase my trouble.

"Yet the gentle prayer
of the prince's daughter stirs me;
such a prayer quenches the storm of vengeance
in the keeper of Grótta's seed.

"Mildness soothes the cold strife;
joy finds the mind at last.
Life shall be given to the beloved,
if the prince will accept.

"The remedy befits the prince anew —
the power of hardship is stripped away.
But against that: you must consent
that I marry your daughter."

"The fair life," the king said,
"I choose it eagerly in obedience;
the gentle wife — she shall be yours,
brave man of fame.

"I did not conceal the stubborn rage
that mixed heavy pain;
I tried both secretly and openly
to harm your life.

"It is fitting to end this strife —
let obedience serve as shield;
this quarrel shall not burden me
as long as I draw breath.

"My warm thoughts are noble —
you deserve to prosper in gold;
your like is not born
in all the world."

The brave one won the prince's grace
by Yggr's sun;
he can accept the offered terms —
the sun of thought rejoices.

The biter of brands
lets the evil be restrained;
the stiff lord of the land
is loosed after this.

The prince accepted the greatest joy thereby
and stood up straight;
in the highest seat
the nobleman also sat down.

The thicket of anger wanes;
the nobleman values honour.
They remember their bravery together,
set in the guardian's gleam.

The leader sat down to drink;
wine gladdens the host.
The weight of memory's mark lightens —
no malice befalls them now.

The speech's whirl may grow;
most taste the mead.
The prince then pledges a gentle bond
with the earl's kinsman.

The greatest bane is destroyed at last;
the shield-Ullr, at the betrothal-ale,
says that the feast
should be held forthwith.

A day later the famous warrior
rode through the sea's streets —
the thorn-Þórr fared
home to the father's castle.

The earl welcomed the worthy kinsman
when honour was the purpose;
the saga-speech wakes,
granting the bloom of joy.

The sword-tree grants honour;
weather threatens storm.
He bids to seek moderation —
he rides onward with him.

The fair prince invites the folk;
longing shortens thought.
The people ride the smooth road —
the castle meets the prince.

The company sat down to drink;
joy thrives among the folk.
Ale is poured down swiftly,
breathing wide across the streets.

Long art gladdens champions
with garlands of luck;
the harp sounds a symphony's song —
some chose to dance.

Many push grief away;
the gentle joy grows strongest
when the best linden-birch
adorned the bench.

The feast-lords beheld the lady,
the daughter honoured most;
the flame of the sea's light cast beams
most like the bright sun.

Bright around the halls, the silk-sun
showed a fairer gleam,
bred delight in men's hearts,
lovelier than all flowers.

The fair feast at last
found its end;
Kraki's seed is offered to the warriors —
folk turn to depart.

The richly feathered earl holds homeward,
bids farewell to the fair couple;
all expressed their thanks
with gentle kindness.

That year, with honour met,
the earl ruled with good repute;
then the tight peril of death
struck — and he fell.

The noble men drink the funeral ale;
the prince's kinsman holds the feast.
Warriors drain the cup together,
receiving consolation.

Baldur's funeral ale is drunk
from Þundr's cup;
the shield-cry hurls the spear boldly,
though time presses on.

The power of playful breath
empties my praises to the linens;
the smooth-meter here, stirred,
moves onward to its friends.

Þrettánda ríma — Thirteenth Ríma

Mansöngr

From Reginn's prow of the speech-ward
I let the crane run —
the ring's wave with the tale's answer,
as one might choose her.

I trust in Þundr's lady,
she who is known among the host;
old and mouldering now,
she has long known how to turn.

No such thing, nor anything like it,
does the east wind of Austr polish —
no tongue from the bay, no jewel-board
offered to the art-rich.

It would amaze most men —
those who think best —
that a priest should accept Hleiðólfr's horse
from the vessel's runners.

So many would say then,
those trees of the brain's meadow:
"Why does he not win a fairer one
of Fjalar's sea-maidens?"

Many men wait among the folk
to forge Möndull's boats;
these fair, fine vessels
they let sail far and wide.

Better it was to ask of Bifur's ferry,
to bid the sword-reddener's
art-swift one — what the people there
do not spare to offer.

One who loves foolishness,
Hleiðólfr's light-footed runner of the surf
cannot improve
through life's lean days.

This matters little to the fine folk —
they thank what learning is new;
but the bone is often thrown on the rough floor,
gaping wide in the dogs' mouths.

Here I can push the scroll of praise
no further than this;
let him break the high song open
who strikes as he comes.

Into the pool of Syrpa
I fill Suðri's oar-pin;
with skill through the word-gorge
once more I will race.

Listen to me, ring-maiden,
to what I tell you next;
fair to see on brow and lash:
a gleam falls upon the sea.

The Story

My so-called fame-speech
turns from the ridge of talk,
when the glory-bold one fell
and the earl departed from the realm.

The young serpent-bender
then asked that after this
the fine one should ride swiftly
into his father's place.

Gylfi spoke: "I am old;
therefore let it be your task to rule here,
in peace — but thither
it pleases me to withdraw."

The fair prince then summoned
the people together,
bidding the folk in this season of life
to heed the lord of the lily.

So the swift sword-tree was chosen
and crowned as king;
in Nectarus's own hall
the old warrior took his seat.

Joy and glad peace
few things could diminish;
well-loved, with the custom of honour,
the king swiftly became.

After trials he found delight
with the serpent-path's goddess;
the mantle of honour fell upon the lord,
and luck was his in all things.

He did not let the slingers of the land's ring
lie around his realm —
he struck hard at vikings
at the assembly of the sword.

He and the glorious prop of the ship-boards
won a fair reputation;
on that earth of Ullr's hoard
none dared make war.

New fortune filled the city like a farm
with the finest customs;
the prince was free, and the people therefore
lived thus in peace.

One time — I heard it told finely —
among the stiff host of the folk,
a certain woman came in,
greeting the wise king.

Clad in rags she stumbled,
through the lord's courts of Týr;
the knot-drift's bridge
the king now asked her name.

"Gríður I bear as name here,"
she said, and told her story:
"I am Lúpaldur's wife,
who suffered torment from you.

"I hastened to seek the lord
of Rögnir's maiden swiftly;
I would now receive amends
for the foul deeds and the threats of rage."

The lord of maidens spoke:
"He earned what he found —
the sword-bearer, fierce with malice,
sought to strip me of my life.

"The false one chose his fate."
The gold-ground's maiden
stiffened, and gave answer:

"That brave man's friend,
men accused at the meeting-place —
they stripped the leaf-span
and took the hair-hall from him.

"Before the sword-tree it was shameful
to drain the warrior of his health;
in misery and want through the span of life
they suffered long and ill.

"Then from my fine husband
your malice stripped
hearing and sight, and set fast
a hard torment that never fades.

"In hardship and the surfeit of need,
humbled by your torments,
far from mercy I beg relief
from my people's aid.

"Your highness, my lord,
the wise would think it fitting
to do what amends are best in time,
that rescue might be found."

The king spoke: "Far from it,
woman who speaks thus;
it begins for me to set you straight —
amends here without delay.

"We bid that near this city
you settle your dwelling,
so that amends may be rendered
finely upon Báleygr's maiden."

Gríður sang thanks to the prince;
quickly she prepared to depart;
she carried her poor hearth
home beneath the king's seat.

Gylfi now gave the lady of Gautr
a good homestead,
a jewel-bridge, so that she might thrive,
the maiden of the flour-drifts.

The veil-slope through the span of life
need no longer dread poverty,
since beside the folk
she was settled thus.

After this the king, faithful,
begins quiet talk with Kaston,
and asks what the wind of Besla
thinks best to steer toward.

"It seems to me the time has come,
sword-lord, to settle
your match; if luck will smile,
little should you delay.

"To me it is now plain —
in Fjölnir's wisdom,
fidelity and trust of power —
that such service would gladden us.

"Go with lordly pledge
to win swift aid;
the spear-breaker bids his duty,
that he enjoy your skill."

Kaston spoke: "I thank you;
at your counsel here
I shall go, and follow me —
fortune lends its deeds."

"I wish then," the prince declared,
"fair sea-steeds —
let the blue ocean carry
twelve ships and four.

"To Mórland across the whale's pool
I will gladly sail,
to find the maiden of the ring and the moment,
and speak the proposal swiftly."

So it was done; across the sea quickly
they drove the hearts of the keels;
the dark ships with bright sails
swam on Úðr's waves.

Kári long tested the road —
the topsail-path heaved —
high in the masts the sail sang
its shrill and long-drawn note.

Ekkill's waters were waded,
the sea-path, wet beneath the folk,
until they stood at the land's edge,
the weary flood-runners.

Baldínus now received tidings
that the prince of Phrygia
had landed, dear, beside the linen-maiden —
the serpent who empties the lair.

The wealth-prince rode out
to meet the lord at the gold-ring;
he flung his greeting across the meeting
of the helmet-singing benefactor.

In a cup of affection, if it were pleasing,
a feast-game to accept —
from the wave's pool to the city
he bids the king come.

The brave prince could not
refuse the offered speech;
so into the hall across the ridge
all the men trampled.

A fine new feast arose with praise,
the fair one, which gladdens.
The lord chooses to declare his errand;
the weather of tumult stirs.

"A word, Baldínus, my lord —
do you remember the fine one you heeded? —
about Rín's fair linen-sun,
your lovely sister?

"In the mind's meadow a swift thought
has wakened beside me:
to wed the treasure-rich one, gifted in deeds,
to the seed of Kraki's gold.

"Kaston, praised among the folk,
dear with good intent —
I wish the moon-path's spirit
to be my foster-brother's lot."

"I remember my words and know them,"
the host-warden said,
"nor will I deny the field's lord —
the yielding lord of blows.

"Yet her own will here must also
be heard, as is right;
let the ring-maiden likewise hear
the proposal of the wave-heir."

So the thorn-tree was called;
with all her handmaids
she came unspoiled into the hall,
greeting the bold ones fair.

The king presented the proposal
gently to the maiden.
Quiet in spirit, Óðinn's bed-Þundr
answered thus:

"Least of all did I expect — truly —
it can stir up grief —
that you would wed me
to a one-handed man.

"The grievous plans that I would drive,
men hear at once:
unmanly in every way
this matter went for you."

Then Bernótus answered:
"Maiden of gold, I say to you:
whole-handed at the spear's meeting
warriors are few."

"Let it be tested then," the lady said,
"Kaston shall ride swiftly
out against the serpent-breaker
who commands the stronghold's men.

"I have a foster-champion;
in the rain of spears
none is more famed than he —
the folk call him Karbanus.

"If the king's son can defeat
that snow-drift warrior,
he shall have the gentle maiden's love
and the fire of the surf.

"If he takes shame on Herjan's maiden,
she shall not be his —
the dear champion's love
he shall not nourish as he wishes."

Oramur's son spoke: "That pleases me,
gold-sun who speaks here;
I defend myself, and gladly ride
to the spear's meeting without delay.

"The sword-destroyer, hard with skill,
at the battle-field's still;
my spirit does not flinch — I will not be
your suitor long."

The prince's kinsman and the jewel-maiden
resolved this matter between them.
Grace was found concerning Njörva's lady
at the serpent-Þundr's cliff.

When morning-tide lit up the folk,
the lord's kinsman rode out
into the harsh storm of battle,
while on the field the other waited.

Practised in strife, against the foe,
straightaway across Grani's saddle
Karbanus let his swan of the buffet
charge thither.

The warriors rode together at once,
their lances tightening;
Hár's tent-walls burst asunder;
men watched the outcome.

They tested their spears a while,
wonders in the storm of battle;
the lances shattered apart,
the green ground found them broken.

They took other, greater
lances of Ullr's spears again,
clashing together on the land's clay;
so the two increased the game.

The wonder-swift one managed
to thrust at the king's son —
into Ullr's ferry, he who bore the strength,
the waster of Tveggr's host.

He lost his grip, and stiff he fell
upon the horse's mane;
the king's son swiftly with a skilful hand
seized the axe from the saddle.

The gold-Þundr at the same moment,
as his spirit was whetted,
hurled them both to the ground
from the horse's back — the wave-prince's throw.

The sword-reddener rose up hard,
bearing a vengeful spirit,
waded to the ring-goddess bravely,
wielding Báleygr's flame.

The other drew himself off the horse,
readied his blow, and under
the sword he struck — from the hawk-moor
so he flew to the ground.

With swift action and fierce threat
the helmet-lord steeled himself,
flung the flat of the spear at the breaker
of Freyr's maiden, and spoke:

"Luck lends me aid now;
you are freed from your torment;
I hold here, lord of weapons,
power over your life.

"Yet I would not cast dark shadows
of ill upon the mist;
let the leaf-Yggr accept
life in return for the prince's sister."

He rose to his feet, that one who tested spears,
and did not waste words;
swiftly the spear-lord walked
from Gautr's maiden to the hall.

The fair crane of the land's brain
he finds. But the recitation —
the ríma reaches its end;
Óðreyrr's wave is hidden.

Þundr's cup in my hands —
the host sees it emptied;
therefore here one must rest,
O treasure-lord, as it is judged.

Ríma XIV — Fjórtánda ríma

Mansöngr (st. 1–18)

Under Kvásis's stream anew must open
the flow,
if I could manage to enjoy some,
as one draws it out to pour.

Before, I could open his veins —
up in the air beside the leafy tree
the wound-water stood, still thin.

Out and south the red river also
spurted;
that blood-letting was by no means wasted;
some found amusement in it.

It goes for me now as in former days
for Suðri, whose hand was deft;
the wise god could lament that.

He could not find a single vein
on the brain-field;
it goes the same for me, though I whet the blade
and seek the wound-places.

Even if I were lucky enough
to find his veins,
my guess is, to my sorrow,
they would bleed very little.

It is also not unlikely, if we observe,
that in his blue wounds
the blood would diminish so we could not reach it.

Long since the sons of Litr did slay
him; I think this
is known to the sages of Þundr's brain-paths.

They let the blood flow into Boðn and Són —
they drove in the spear —
two vessels so called, I hear —
and the kettle which was named Óðreyrr.

These sons of stone mixed
the wound-river
with honey of wisdom's good,
so it would taste the better.

That mead was made therefrom, so that those
who drink it
become poets with wisdom's skill,
able to compose verses about warriors.

But when the Æsir managed to ask
after him,
they said Kvásis had suffocated
out of sheer wisdom — the learned one was dead.

The workers of Möndull could not long
keep the mead,
for they bought the precious life;
as the ancient tales make clear.

Though I know well who received
and is deemed to guard
the precious mead of the word-home,
it will not stream to me.

Suttungr will deny me
a taste;
though Baugi should plead for me,
I expect it will avail nothing.

Even if he bored through the mountain
with sharp Rati,
so one might quickly hasten the journey in,
for me the way would be too narrow.

There I cannot find the maid who
guards Hárr's mead-bowl
with faithful care;
that causes a ruin of praise to brew.

Therefore it is best to steer Suðri's crane
to the saga;
by ancient custom among men
I must go on with her.

Story (st. 19–76)

Where the ríma fell, the maiden of finger-snow
remembers it:
Karbanus then came to the hall
and to the king's daughter thus spoke:

"I have now tested the king's descendant,
though I know my trials;
I counsel you, gentle maiden —
do not refuse this man.

"Those who hold both
sea-strands
hardly match him; in the sword's harm
I deem him unconquerable by most."

"He had power over my life
with the flung spear;
he gave me that, and let me enjoy
the excellent lily of Sóti's words."

"I saw early," the sword-woman said,
"that the keeper of shields
surpassed the trees of the wave's light
in both valour, stature, and honour.

"But I wished that it become known
to the people,
before the fair heir of the king
could be pledged in gentle vows."

"It was also plain, there where the guardian
of the people stood,
now the most famous across the wide world —
he esteemed the fair champion greatly."

"Go now into the high hall and announce
this truly,
so that the host of men may hear."
The tree of the wave's fire agrees.

Karbanus walked into the king's hall and
made his greeting
to the famous guardian of the land;
then the keeper of shields spoke:

"Your honoured sister, with a wise
spirit,
born in a fortunate hour —
the sea-prince weds her."

"Few can be found his equal, though both
hands they bear;
the enjoyer of the serpent's lands —
he had power over my life."

Bernótus gave a wise answer, and
thus did speak:
"Well I knew the worthy champion;
I could therefore truly praise him.

"I would not deceive the king or the cup-
giver,
least of all in the matter stated,
as I declare before the king's son."

Then was called the wondrous woman
of Fenja's toil,
and at both parties' will, with bright splendour,
the lord was betrothed to the precious heir.

A feast is straightaway established with
great magnificence;
the rich folk of the land are bidden;
it is lightly said that many rode.

The wedding-folk sat in the lord's
hall;
wine was poured for the noble company;
there was also enough of everything.

The glad staffs of the mast-field stretched forth
their cups;
the fair sound of the instruments
satisfied the ears of all men.

The wine enlivened the warriors
among the host;
glad the lords sat long;
the play of delight touched every man.

Both men and women from their cottages
crept out
to the hall across the land's ways
to get themselves a cup of the ale-flood.

All received plenty enough from the mighty
lord,
the maiden and the cup-bearer's lady,
the festival-guests also likewise.

When the feast ran dry, the lord
gave to the men
Fáfnir's land of the earth's waves
and the finger-snow in the drinking-rows.

The bridal couple bids the guests and
the lords farewell
with grateful and gentle custom;
they hasten away across the maiden of Grani.

The king's kinsman Kastonus with
his dear maiden
likewise went upon the lung of the wave —
he bids the dear helmsman of men farewell.

His foster-brother likewise with
wishes of good;
he lets the dark horse traverse
the fish-roads, threading the deep.

The ocean's bear — the wolf of the sky
stretched forth the sails —
until they found the harbour of Lydia,
the king's son and his free company.

The lord of the land had died, and
the weapon-tree
was straightaway taken as ruler;
mighty he reigned for a spell of life.

The couple loved each other with affection
all their days.
No further story goes from them,
who knew how to shape fame.

Bernótus sat beside his bride in prosperity
and splendour,
after the fair lord
departed with his company.

At last the famous lord wished to journey
homeward;
he made his farewell swiftly;
he went upon the wave's unstable horse.

The warriors hoisted bright sails
on the ship-houses;
the keel ran on the cutter's fields;
the cool wind sang in the twisted ropes.

Some days they sailed thus across
the wide sea;
the breeze did not last long;
they met calm and fog.

Sometimes a blast of chill arose, so that
the mountain's wedge —
the horses of the deep were hardly still;
the warriors of finger-snow were lost.

The worthy staffs of the mast-field did
not know,
across the sea's path, where to steer,
though the lord wished to get home.

After this, the greatest storm of all
arose, so that it astonished most;
the flood sundered the horses of the sea.

The warriors could do nothing on the road-
steeds;
they were scattered on the seal's shores;
the sails tore; the rigging screamed.

The lord of the land was left with a single ship
and brave men;
in that storm on the pike-field
the chariot of the wave was tossed long.

The ship was driven to an island — the chariot
of planks —
it splintered against the island's stones;
the staffs of the spear saved their lives.

The lord came ashore with his company
and their weapons — the lord of men
now wished to explore the island.

When the lord had walked a while on
the battle-bride's land,
a vast host the proud ruler
saw, clad in war's gear.

This lord advanced to meet him, and the steel-
lord —
huge as a giant, likewise ugly —
the folk before him fled swiftly.

And when they met, the mighty
one spoke:
"Borney's champion, well-known,
has come into our hands."

Oramur answers: "It is good to meet
fine men
for those who long were tossed
on the fish-field of the low sea.

"We are wretched shipwrecked men
of Ullr's shields —
you would heap disgrace upon us;
we have endured a cold misery.

"Your name we wish to hear, you
brave man."
The sword-lord answers swiftly:
"Svaðólfur is what I am called.

"This island I rule alone, and several
others,
which here on the bright shore
lie and are greater than this one.

"Borney too, the maiden of the brain
may know,
was once under my dominion,
when you were there with your host.

"I had my livestock there on
Fjölnir's maiden,
which you plundered and took
all under your swift hands.

"Well I knew your ways,
O breaker of brands;
I never dared show open war,
though you had thus seized my property.

"I also knew a good fortress and brave
warriors
you had in battle's company;
long I delayed my vengeance.

"Now I shall repay you for that and render
fitting thanks,
so, lord of shields,
you may await the cold death."

The lord answers: "You will not wish
to enjoy the upper hand
over the serpent-mound's wealth;
a coward's works bring no honour.

"Rather from the prince's hand you shall
take peace and truce."
The weapon-lord
thus answered — the thrall made known:

"If the lord will," the giant said,
"come under my power,
the tree of golden clasps
among men — I shall do as I like with my catch."

The famous lord grew very wrathful, and
began to fight:
"Until now, you shall learn,
I have never begged peace of a subject.

"Nor do I beg it of you,
you wretched troll;
someone will redden your blood
before I am called dead."

Then the king drew his sword, and struck
asunder
the man who stood foremost on the ground;
a stream of blood welled from the wound.

A fierce battle begins there with
hard assault.
Here shall Litr's horse of the fjords
go into the shed of silence.

Of the song for Njörðr's child of arrows I am
weary;
the sorrow-threads of verse earn hatred therefore;
the works of praise grow sluggish.

Ríma XV — Fimtánda ríma

Mansöngr (st. 1–13)

The Norn of songs grows weary
of meeting Löndungr's people;
therefore the last horn of Herjan
I hold now in my hands.

This I must carry before the free folk,
as is my custom;
yet I think very little
will come of it.

At the drinking of Hárr's horns
the people have long sat;
all may know this —
most things run dry in the end.

There is every expectation that here
Óðinn's memorial will be spent;
the saga's substance too
is already exhausted.

I do not know, and give it little thought,
though the matter presses on —
whether Herjan's draught of dregs
will last me to the end.

Nor do I know the other thing:
here beside the chatter of verse,
whether my life so long
the lord will spare to diminish.

But if it were granted to me
that the end of the tale would come,
then from this matter here
I would cease my toil.

Some vessels of Fjalar
I have managed to build,
and let them from the word-haven
slide across the fields of the land.

When this one is well finished,
the people may see:
I count a great hundred and ten,
two more than eleven.

If they do not seem well made
to the wise sons of men,
they will build better vessels of Bifurr
than one might expect.

Had I through my life had
nothing else to do
but to shape Möndull's ships,
they would have been better.

Luck did not grant that,
though little I complain;
nor was it fitting for me
to have such days.

On that matter to weary the talk further
seems hardly needful;
thus shall my mansöngr's recitation
fall to the saga's matter.

Story (st. 14–69)

Where Fjalar's ferry last was seen,
I received a day of rest;
now the tale begins again:
the famous lord was fighting.

The king fells a multitude of men,
nimble in the storm of steel;
his hand flung many a Baldur of helmets
to the dead.

The war-caps of Herjan burst apart,
the shields split asunder,
the fair foot-biters sing,
the ranks break open.

The king's hand, wondrously swift,
woke wounds among the warriors;
the leaves of Hrungnir's soles cracked;
blood stains the ground.

The king heaps the slain
boldly to both sides,
just as a lion in the dales of the valley
slaughters a multitude of kids.

Svaðólfur looks darkly
on such deeds of the spear;
the giant's wound-stick
dwindles the lord's men.

Forward into the army he charges then,
so to both sides
he fells the battered king's men;
fifty yet stand.

All of them wounded there,
drained of their fair strength;
Viðrir's warriors could scarcely
bear weapons in the fight.

The precious prince sees this —
things cannot stand so —
against Svaðólfr the wise one turns,
swift into the fray of shields.

The king's hand swings the sword;
the terror of the sea burst asunder;
the blade sheared the other hawk-strand —
the helmet-slice from the tree.

The wound made a wound-river
for the bride of Ómi's bed;
up the giant let out a raw shriek,
furious, he draws his sword.

The lord does not wait for the blow;
he swerved aside swiftly;
up to the hilts, Óðinn's maiden —
the wound-serpent swallowed her.

After the blow the weary one sank —
Löndungr's tester of fires;
swiftly the corpse-lord swings —
the keeper of giant-speech.

The blow comes on the giant's spine;
monstrously fast he rides down;
through the middle the tree of swords —
Þundr's fire cuts him asunder.

The halves fell to the earth;
the foul one lost his breath;
that villain, called away,
now dwelt in Hel's domains.

The prince levels his spear, so
fiercely into the army he charges,
hewing men in halves;
they sank to the ground.

The lord a long while lets
the leaf exchange with shields,
waking wounds for the island-men
fiercely, those who raised their brands.

Svaðólfr's company begins to fear,
meeting the swords' ruin;
never before had they seen
such a champion on the earth.

Terror-struck, the island-men
who wielded Óðinn's fire
cast down their weapons at once;
they begged the lord for peace.

"If you will come under my power,"
the lord said, "and go
and give up the island — then all of you
shall surely receive quarter."

The warriors agree to this;
thereupon they swore oaths;
so the king and his men
were led home to the fortress.

There before them was Svaðólfr's wise
word-goddess,
together with her young son —
him I call Geirviðr.

The weaver of Skrímnir's songs
received the lord well;
with gentle spirit the maiden could
comfort all his men.

There among his warriors then,
in good keeping,
eight weeks by the wife's side
the famous lord lingered.

Then he prepared to journey home
across the wide sea;
five ships on the deep
the men made ready.

Oramur then bade farewell
to Svaðólfr's son,
saying he should have Óðinn's bride
as recompense for his father.

Also, when the brave young warrior
of Ullr's shields came of age,
he should be called the king's earl,
and pay him tribute.

The lord bids farewell to the wife
and her brave son
with friendship and honour's custom;
then he sailed away.

Away from the said bride of Báleygr,
across the birth-fields of the land,
the keen hounds of the sea run
under fair sails.

Wrapped in gold, the sailors' falcons
gleamed;
Ægir's daughters danced,
massive and cold of spirit.

The sky-wolf blew
into the fair sail-roofs;
thus the lord had no delay
across the fish-moor.

Fortune smiled upon the worthy lord;
the waves eased;
they found harbour by Phrygia;
the sun burnished the sails.

Then had the lord's company arrived —
those who had been battered before;
the famous prince, noble of heart,
was glad and honoured.

Most things fell out as he wished;
the hidden weathers of life cleared;
the king walked to the hall
with all his host.

The glorious queen welcomed
the precious lord of the land;
she had thought the prince lost —
the oak of the band's counting.

Then the lord had passed away —
her dear father —
buried in a fair barrow
with honour, as was fitting.

The lord settled thus in peace,
with honour's custom,
kept a great court about him,
and tended the treasure-governance.

Two sons with the silk-goddess
the lord fathered:
one was named Felix,
the other is called Reinald.

The fair sons of Freyja's tears,
both famous trees,
surpassed the warriors of Ullr's boat
in beauty, and also in valour.

The lord gave gifts of the land
and fine garments to the men;
the arts-rich trees of the brand
were the image of their father.

Geirviðr, of whom it was told,
paid the tribute to the lord;
while on the island
the serpent-Týr had his dwelling.

He held friendship with the lord,
loyal of heart;
the saga attests: he became
a valiant champion.

The famous lord ruled his realm
through a long life;
fair, with great honour,
he passed from the world.

Through his days the lord won
the riches of serpent-streams;
and his sons after him
inherited lands and realm.

So the saga comes to its end,
set in the bows of verse;
and also spent is all
the liquor of Óðinn's cups.

Five of Prór's well-fitted keels
I have let the ships course
from the word-haven through dim days
upon the saga's roads.

If they do not seem well crafted
to the wise among the host,
stranded on the shore of silence,
they shall linger there long.

But I suspect
some tatter of Ullr's sea-frost
will carry them onward
in the mead's time of need.

The famous poets, skill-bright,
who look upon my verse —
may they draw the wire of song
with arts in good measure.

I ask them also, beside that,
with gentle words,
to let my composed verse-work
lie in settled moorings.

The ugly venom-ships —
their maker, all of them,
gives them to you: Síra Gunnlaugur,
son of Gunnlaugur.

The said maker, with gentle spirit
and an earnest heart,
asks you to judge them well,
though not crafted as they should be.

Likewise every time he asks,
he who managed to shape them,
that fortune embrace you
all the days of your life.

The year men may reckon,
and it pleases me to note:
eighteen hundred and ten
plus two, and add three more.

The thaw of spears, the fair fields,
the sore wound opened;
pillars, spray, and gentle sun
composed the songs of the year.

May the world's age and the snow-maiden
of the land enjoy peace's bounty
more than my mouth declaims.
The hall of praise is ended.

Colophon

Bernótus rímur Borneyjarkappa (The Rímur of Bernótus the Island-Champion). Fifteen rímur composed in 1823 by Magnús Jónsson í Magnússkógum (c. 1763–c. 1826). Second edition, revised and expanded, Reykjavík: Prentsmiðja D. Östlunds, 1907.

Good Works Translation from Icelandic by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, with scribal labour by Claude (Tulku). Gospel register. Kennings translated by meaning. No existing English translation was consulted — none is known to exist.

Translation complete. All fifteen rímur translated (Ríma I: 94 stanzas; Ríma II: 91 stanzas; Ríma III: 86 stanzas; Ríma IV: 88 stanzas; Ríma V: 87 stanzas; Ríma VI: 90 stanzas; Ríma VII: 86 stanzas; Ríma VIII: 92 stanzas; Ríma IX: 83 stanzas; Ríma X: 87 stanzas; Ríma XI: 79 stanzas; Ríma XII: 78 stanzas; Ríma XIII: 86 stanzas; Ríma XIV: 76 stanzas; Ríma XV: 69 stanzas). First known complete English translation. Source text numbering in Ríma II has minor discrepancies due to printing errors in the 1907 edition; stanzas have been renumbered sequentially.

🌲

Source Text — Fyrsta ríma

Fyrsta ríma.

1. Snælands forðum snillingar
   snotrir veittu meingi
   Fjölnis kera fyllingar

fjörs um dægur leingi.

2. Fróðar sögur, dæmi dyr,
   dikta sumir náðu,
   einninn fögur æfintyr,

af sem skáldin kváðu.

3. Dægur styttu' og drifu tíð
   dreingir mentaháir,

þetta kætti landsins lyð,
iasta gerðu fáir.

4. Peirra feta þau í spor,
   þjóðum skemtan veita

og skerða tíð, er skylda vor,
skáld sem viljum heita.

5. Hef eg tíðum þægri þjóð
   Þulins boðið gjöldin,
   fyrir rekka' og reflaslóð
   raulað stöku' á kvöldin.

6. Nú er ekki að nefna slíkt,
   neinu þessu eg hreyfi,
   fóstra Skrímnis ráð með ríkt
   róm og sansa deyfin

7. Hreifí' eg varla hörpustreíng
   harðan títt sem áður;

kæti' eg hvorki drós né dreing
daufri elli háður.

8. Horfinn var eg í helgan stein,
   hvílast feginn vildi,

hugði' að bæta hugans mein
helsárari en skyldi.

9. Pó hefur lærður bókabör
   beðið mig að draga
   Mönduls snekkju máls úr vör
   og mærð af sögu laga.

10. Lítt eg treysti til þess mér
    téða bón að veita,

fær því varla orðinn er
Austra gnoð að fleyta.

11. Mörgum hef eg miðum týnt
    mærðar út á hafi,

þó Bragi hafi sjálfur synt
sólarbjörtum stafi.

12. Viljann syna verð eg þó
    vígðum höklarunni,

og Litarssnekkju lasið hró
leiða Sóns að unni.

13. Ekki hef eg önnur ráð
    en til Báleygs norna
    fara, og biðja drygja dáð,
    drykkinn veita forna.

14. Traust eg hefi þá á þeim,
    þær mér gefi sopa

af Rögnís kera rauðum geíni,
ráð því hafa' á dropa.

15. Mætti vinar Mímis skál
    mér í hendur færast,
    æðar, sinar, minní' og máf
    mundi endurnærast.

16. Láti dofið lyndis bót
    Iffna kraptar hæða,
    ailar verur undir sól
    efli mig til kvæða.

17. Þulins bát í þeirri tró
    þokar gustur hyrjar

á sagnarmið til sögunnar nú,
sem að þanninn byrjar.

18. Evagóras milding má
    mentaríkan kalla,
    fróni stýrði Frygíá,
    frægðir bar yfir alla.

19. Dýrrar ættar dögling sá
    drotning fríða átti,
    blóma þakin Blandíná
    blfðust heita mátti.

20. Öðling fríðri auðs með nó
    arfa gerði hljóta,

sá var nefndur Satíló
sendir frægur spjóta.

21. Syni ungum sjóli lands
    sinum unni mætur,

lístir allar brjóti brands
bragna kenna lætur.

22. Eptirlátur bauga bör
    buðlung var og svanna,

að vexti og hreysti vel bráðgjðr,
vinsæld hreppti manna.

23. Bóndi nærri buðlungs höll
    bjó, er Lúpus heitir,

átti son við seimaþöll
sinni geira beitin

24. Nectarus að nafni var
    nýtur fæðir varga,
    vöxtinn, afl og vænleik bar
    virða yfir marga.

25. Heldur þótti harðfeingur
    hann, er leiki framdi,
    þrætugjarn og þrályndur,
    þrátt sér frægðir tamdi.

26. Tíðum gekk til hallar heim,
    hitti dreingi tiggja,

líka slógst í leik með þeim
loga geymir Yggja.

27. Þess er getið, þeingils lið,
    þá er sótti fundi,

hljóta þóttist harðleikið
hjörs af ungum lundi.

28. Klöguðu fyrir kóngi það
    kesjurunnar móðir;

gaf sig þessu ekki að
öðling par við þjóðir.

29. Oeirs þá baldur geðstirði
    garpa meiða kunni,
    lagði kóngsson liðsyrði
    laufa- tfðum runni.

30. Nectarus um næmis bý
    nytur þetta skilur,

vóx á milli þeirra því
þægur kærleiksylur.

31. Pað var degi einum á,
    öðlings hirðmenn feingu
    knattleik framið höllu hjá;
    heim Nectarus geingur.

32. Oekk til leiksins mildings með
    rnönnum eptir vana;

nokkra meiða rekka réð
runnur byrðar Orana.

33. Einn af mönnum þeingils þá
    þéttan knöttinn tekúr,
    geirabaldurs enni á

afli meður rekur.

34. Reiðist arfi karlsins knár,
    knöttinn þrifið getur,
    þessum keyrði brátt á brár,
    brotnar heilasetur.

35. Víghund átti vísir kyr,
    var sá grimmur nærsta,
    bundinn hallar beið við dyr,
    beínatröllið stærsta.

36. Skipar reióur hirðir hjarls
    hundinn ieysa meingi

og etja þeím á arfa karls,
æfitjón svo fengi.

37. Þetta vinnur þjóðin fljót;
    þeingils garmur téður
    ólmur hleypur álms að njót
    opnum kjapti meður.

38. Beitti tanna hörðum hjör
    hann með grimdar læti,
    stykki' úr kálfa baugabör
    beit á vinstra fæti.

39. Hunds í rófu haukakleif
    Herjans elda viður
    fyldur hreysti fimur þreif,
    færði' á stein svo niður.

40. Hans í mola hausinn fór,
    heilinn stökkur víða;
    þeingill skipar þykkjustór
    þegninn iDÍnda fríða:

41. Hugði frægum hirði lands
    hlyða borgar meingi,

með knatt-trénu meiðir brands
mörgum varðist leingi.

42. Fast um ruddist fífuþór;
    feingu rothögg lyðir;
    mækjaviður mentastór
    mæddist þó um síðir.

43. Mikilhæfur verjast vann;
    vann þeim und svo dreyrði;
    gat þó meingið höndlað hann,
    hann í fjötur keyrði.

44. Vaskur færður var svo greitt
    af vísis mðnnum knáum
    laufaviður lopt á eitt,

er lá í turni háum.

45. Ekkert þaðan er frelsi,
    allir máttu sanna;

var það gamalt verelsi
vondra sakamanna.

46. Síðan læsa bragnar brátt,
    burtu náðu halda;

fljótt til hvildar fólk um nátt
fór með styri álda.

47. Nú skai tjá af Nectaró,
    nam í huga venda
    þegar lysti, lífsins ró
    iiði sín á enda.

48. Meður góma hörðum hjör —
    hugurinn þess ei letur —
    sér af höndum búldu bör
    bðndin losað getur.

4Q. Lopts á fjðlum liggja þar
lítur geira álmur
fornir garmar fatnaðar
og feikna mikill hálmur.

50. Gat hann* líka glugga séð
    gðltinn mænis bera

járns óreknum römmum með
rúðna millum vera.

51. Frá þeim Ijóra laufa grér
    leizt að vera mundi

fullir tíu faðmarner

Fjölnis niður að sprundi.
52. Ráð það tekur randatyr,

risti fata garma,

senn í leingjur saman snyr

sinna milli arma.
53 Hnytir saman styrir stáls

stúfa þessa sniína

til þess verða taldir máts

tíu faðmar núna.

54. Síðan vefur sendir fleins
    sinn í hálmi búkinn,
    hendur, fætur, einninn eins
    allan svarðar hnúkinn.

55. Staung við Ijóra streingsendann
    sterka festa náði,

um sig bindur hinum hann,
hugvits gæddur ráði.

56. Tjáði þánkinn tjörgu njót,
    téðum vað er slepti,

á þó kæmi eggjagrjót
eingan skaða hrepti.

57. Rúðu brytur randa meiðr,
    rúm þó hennar fylli,

sér út velta gerði greiðr
greindra ramma milti.

58. Pó ei hæðar vissi veg
    vopna tyr að táði
    eptir vaðnum ofan ség,
    endast meðan náði.

59. Þegar festin þrjóta má,
    þeirri slepti dreingur,
    fallast lætur frónið á,
    fullvel þetta geingur.

60. Fjóra faðma skyrir skjal
    skjóma dytti hrærir,
    umbúðirnar hlífðu hal,
    hátt þó fallið væri.

61. Af sér reitir ræfla hann,
    ráð sem ekki skorti,
    strax á fætur standa vann,
    staðar veik að porti.

62. Fyrir voru fimir þar
    fylkis tveir vaktarar,

kváðu' ei mundi kappinn snar
kumia leingra fara.

63. Arfa karls var aðferð snögg,*
    eptir því sem getur,
    öðrum þeirra hnefahögg
    hart á nasir setur.

64. Hilmis maður höggið við
    hallar rauk í múrinn,
    heilaklofnar, firtur frið
    festi heljardúrinn.

65. Fimur náði hjörnum hans,
    hinum veitti bana,
    varmur dreyri vaktarans
    vætti beðju Grana.

66. Lauk upp porti lukku stór,
    leiðir burtu geingur.

heim til föður húsa fór,
hann uppvekur dreingur.

67. Sagði honum söguna rétt
    sem til náði bera;

þótti karli þessi frétt
þeygi fögur vera.

68. »Til hefur illa tekizt nú — «
    talaði runnur hneita, ~
    »gramur lætur Gauts um frú
    gildur að þér leita.

6Q. Þig ei get eg haldið hér,
hefí fylgsni eingin,
vissulega verður þér
vondur dauði feinginn^.

70. »Þínum ráðum«, þegninn kvað,
    »þeinkti eg samt að hlyða*.
    Anzar karlinn upp á það
    úngum reyni skíða:

71. Æg hefi litið útá skóg
    eikar stofna forna;

fást þar mega fylgsni nóg
fyrir reyni þorna.

72. Innan holir eru þtír,
    að því fyrr eg gætti,
    og svo stórir, fífu freyr
    felast í þeim mætti.

73. Þangað fara þér eg byð;
    þar um nokkra daga
    felast máttu fyrir lyð;
    fullvel má það haga«.

74. Þóknast hinum þetta ráð,
    þakkir téði nógar;
    getur vín og vistir þáð,
    víkur svo til skógar.

75. Stóran eikar stofn þar fann
    standa' t bjarka reiti,

og sér treður inn í hann
úngur geira beitir.

76. Nú skal greina niflúng frá,
    náðu menn að vakna,
    greitt í turninn geingið fá,
    gerðu fangans sakna.

77. Varðmenn dauða sveitin iér
    senn við portið staðar;
    lyðum skipar landa ver

leit að byrja hraða.

78. Leitar sveit um lög og jörð,
    lúði menn sú vinna,

teitan reita naðurs njörð
náðu ekki finna.
7Q. Þegar hætti þjóðin sling
þessum leitar önnum,
setur frægur sjóli þing,
saman stefnir mönnum.

80. Arfa karls, er vígin vann, —
    vóru það eingin myki —
    öðling dæmir útlægan

um sín iönd og ríki.

81. Líka dæmdi lofðúng skyr,
    lina' ei strafíið vildi,

hvar sem fyndist hjálma týr,
heita dræpur skyldi.

82. Þeysabragnar þingi af,
    þeingil kveðja ríka;
    síðan þagnar þetta skraf
    þar um bygðir líka.

83. Nú skal eg til Nectaró
    Norðra ferju beita;

sig úr trénu djarfur dró,
er dreingir hættu' að leita.

84. Oeingur hann á föður fund
    fingra hirðir jaka,

spurði nú hvað laufalund,
lysti upp að taka.

85. »Eins og fyrri«, anzar ;hinn,
    »er í huga mínum,

fylgja, kæri faðir minn,
fögrum ráðum þínum.«

86. »Ekki dugir«, karlinn kvað,—
    »kann eg um það bera, —
    þundi geirs í þessum stað
    þeinkja kyrrum vera.

87. Pú veizt nausti á eg í
    essið sjávar fína,

taka skaltu það, með því
þrjá húskarla mína.

88. Saltan yfir síla hyl
    sigla því með dreingi
    áttu næstu eyjar til,
    ei svo viti meingi.

89. Hælis leita, hermi jeg,
    hljótið þar um stundir,
    þar til gæfan vænni veg
    vísar baugalundi«.

90. Þakkar karli þegninn hyr
    þær tillögur sínar,

og að stundu burt sig byr
bezt með vistir finar.

91. Búinn kveður bæjar þjóð
    bezt og foreldrana,
    geingur svo um Oínars fljóð
    greitt að jörðu svana.

92. Seggir ofan setja gnoð,
    svo frá landi halda,
    byrinn siglu blæs í voð,
    borðin skolar alda.

93. Þeirra má um þorska geim
    þilju renna gotinn,

mín þó halda megi heim
Mönduls ferja brotin.

94. Fremur róma mærðar mál
    mæðist, skjóma viður;
    semurÓma sopna skál
    setja tóma niður.

Source Colophon

Rímur af Bernótus Borneyjarkappa, kveðnar 1823 af Magnúsi Jónssyni í Magnússkógum. Önnur útgáfa, endurbætt og aukin, með æfisögu höfundarins. Reykjavík: Prentsmiðja D. Östlunds, 1907.

Source text: Internet Archive, identifier rmurafberntusbo00jngoog (Google Books scan of Harvard College Library copy).

Source Text — Önnur ríma

Önnur ríma.

1. Hárs á ker eg hella fer
   himins stólpa flæði

í annað sinn, ef öldin svinn
um það gefa næði.

2. Sit eg þrátt með sinni kátt
   Sigtýs drykkju kera

fína við að fornum sið
fólki landsins bera.

3. Óska' eg þess, að þjóðin hress
   þar af mætti verða

og Valgauts kætti vínið sætt
víf og runna sverða.

4. í Kvásis blóð ef þyrstir þjóð
   þæga svölun skyldi

veita sá, er miðla má
Mímis vinar gildi.

5. Þetta bert með skin óskert
   skáldin ísafoldar

unnu fríð á tyrri tíð,
féllu svo til moldar.

6. Þeirra nafn og sæmda safn,
   sem auglysir þetta,

lifir hér, það vitum vér,
virðing meður rétta.

7. Bergþórs nið eg braga smið
   beztan segi vera,

verkin hans og vísna fans
vitni þar um bera.

8. Porláks Ijóð eg greini góð
   gerð af Úifars sögu,
   önnur slík og ei þvílík
   yrkjast Ijóðin fögur.

Q. Árni lærður miðla mærð
mörgum fremur kunni,
Böðvars kundur Sónar sund
sendi þeim, er unni.

10. Snorri prestur hlunna hest
    Hleiðólfs margan smíða
    tíðum vann, því hafði hann
    hróðrar gáfu fríða.

11. Hvar munu nú á Herjans •frú
    hittast þeirra líkar,

eptir sig um storðar stig
stökur láti slikar.

12. Pó eru skáld, er Sónar sáld
    semja hér á landi,

snotur enn og mentámenn
mjöðinn Hárs veitandi.

13. Peirratal, eg þeinkja skal,
    þó innskrifast valla;
    mannsaungs orð af mála storð
    mega þanninn falla.

14. Oat þess fyrr að bezta byr
    börvar feingu stála,

þegar frá grund á þilju hund
þorska sigldu' um skála.

15. Dægur eitt var dreingjum veitt
    dáða leiðið fína,

hvesti þá, svo bylgjan blá
barði móður sína.

16. Áflog Ijót með heiptar hót
    höfðu dætur Ægis,
    þeirra tusk og reiðirusk
    reyndi jócinn lægis.

17. Dröfnin vex, um dægur sex
    dreingir hrekjast náðu

til og frá um lysulá,
land um síðir þáðu.

18. Settu fley á eyðiey,
    upp svo geingu hraðir;
    kannað þá og sig um sjá
    seggir feingu glaðir.

19. Vaxin skóg hún var, sem plóg
    vænan af sér færir,

fugls órýr þar flokkur byr
og fleira, er sig hrærir.

20. Þar um búast bragnar nú,
    byggja skálann fríða,
    fuglinn veiða fróns á breið; —
    fram svo stundir líða.

21. Regins knör skal reyna för
    ræsis til Frygía;

hans vill son af Herjans kvort
hefja reisu nyja.

22. Hernað í vill halda frí;
    hilmir biður ríka

fljótt í svip að fá sér skip,
og fræga dreingi líka.

23. Fylkir tér: »Það færðu héí;«
    fimm lét búa skeiður,

sex og manna hundruð hann
honum valdi greiður.

24. Kóng og fríðan landsins lyð,
    lofðúngs kveður niður,

sté á gnoð og glæsta voð
greitt upp vinda biður.

25. Kólga' og dröfn, þá hélt af höfn,
    hilmis arfa lutu,

bylgja' og úður blakar súð,
byrsins seglin nutu.
26 Dundi raung, en stundi staung,
styrin marra' og rumdu,
murra hjól, en urrar ól,
öldujóar þrumdu.

27. Saung í reiða golan greið,
    gyltar voðir þandi,

þar til sjóla arfi ól
eggja hríð með brandi.

28, Hervíkínga hetjan slíng
hjó og reyndi vigur
sumarið heitt, og hel gat veitt,
hafði jafnan sigur.

29. Svo með flaustur hélt um haust
    heim á karfa veldi,

lagði fley við cyðiey
einu seint á kveldi.

30. Nætur dvöl við manar möl
    mildings arfinn gildi,
    hefðar stór, á húna jór
    holla eigi vildi.

31. Hann þá leit um lysu reit
    lægis gelti stóra
    hólmans fría hafnir í
    halda tvo og fjóra.

32. Á unnar jór, sem undan fór,
    ullui sverða digur

standa nam í hildar ham,
harla illúðligur.

33. Lofðúngs nið á laufa vid
    leizt ei sóma tregan,
    atgeir vann í hendi hann
    hafa biturlegan.

34. Skjótt að spur þá skesiU bur
    skipunum hver að réði;

þetta brátt með hermanns hátt
hilmis mögur téði.

35. Aptur spyr sá efldi styr
    eptir þussans heiti;
    gjörði snar að gefa svar
    Oolnis eggja beiti:

36. »Okend þér eg heyri hér
    heití sækónganna,

mitt að nú ei þekkir þú,
þó er eg frægstur manna.

37. Um náhvals reit hjá nytri sveit
    nefnir Hrana hvassa

öldin mig; eg þeinki þig
þausna heimskan lassa.

38. Áður enn skil á upsa hyl
    eg við skræfu tetur,

mælt er snjalt, að mig þú skalt
mega þekkja betur.

39. Ef að dug og hermanns hug
    hafið geirs í byljum

komið brátt í branda slátt ;
bíða ekki viljum.«

40. »Pess er von,« kvaðvísisson,
    »varla þurfir bíða

þú né kjósir þar af hrós,
þorum eigi' að stríða.«

41. Runnar brands til bardagans
    búast síðan gitdir,

byrja stríða hildarhríð,
hjörinn klyfur skildi.

42. Hrani vóð með Oolnis glóð,
    gerði meingið hrynja,

ekki stóð fyrir odda rjóð
ægir, gerð né brynja.

43. Fellur lið af fylkis nið,
    fjörsins mætti tjóni,

líkt sem strá, nær slingir slá
sláttumenn á fróni.

44. Reiðist mögur ræsis mjög,
    rekka lítur hníga,

sækja fram í geira glam
gerði snar til víga.

45. Reiðir brand með röskri hand
    ræsis frægur kundur,
    fjörutíu fyrða því

feldi á hálfri stundu.

46. Hrani leit að hjörinn beit
    hraustum varga fæðir,
    hamaðist þá og hans upp á
    húna dyrið æðir.

47. Höggur ær á hendur tvær,
    hjörinn dreingi meiðir,
    gramsson móti gildum þrjót
    gekk og brandinn reiðir.

48. Sverðið bjart á hjálminn hart
    hilmis niðja kemur;

mikinn part með snilli snart
snögt af honum nemur.

49. Stálið bláa aulans á
    ; xlarbeinið rendi,
    vomurinn grái byrstur brá
    benja aptur vendi.

50. Hjörinn þrjóts á hjálma njóts
    handlegg koma náði,
    vopna bör, sem varði fjör,
    vonda skeinu þáði.

51. Sóttust þeir um tíma tveir,
    tóku sár að berast

geirs í fund á kongins kund,
kiæðin hildar skerast.

52. Blæðir und en mæðist mund,
    má ei valda sverði,

a( græðis hund í svæði á sund
sela halda gerði.

53. Undan hrannar essum hann
    ákaft gerir synda,

hitti sker, þá húmað er;
hátt á storðar linda.

54. Upp þar skreið með nóga neyð
    nöðru bóla viður,

mosagjá var ein þar á,
í hana lagðist niður.

55. Liðid hans úr laufa dans,
    lífs er eptir þreyði,

einu skjótt á fleyi fljótt
flúði þangs um heiði.

56. Fróni ná þeir Frygíá,
    fr.étta þylja spjallið,
    döglings niður dörs í klið,
    dauður hefði fallið.

57. Sjóli skyr og drotning dyr,
    dyggan harma mögur,
    fjörs um tíðir fyrri af lýð
    feingu ei stærri sögur.

58. Ræsir legst í rekkju og dregst
    rauna upp af móðij

um síðir dó, en silkinó
Sigtys stýrði fljóði.

5Q. Svo með fum til Satilum
Suðra gnoð skal færa,
lysa vann þá vaknar hann
varla má sig hræra.

60. Stirðna sár, en unda ár
    um hann runnu víða;
    máttur farinn mestur var;
    meinti dauðans bíða.

61. Sér hann þá um síla lá
    seggi árar reyna
    skerinu að á skorðu glað,
    skerði kvöddu fleina.

62. Kváðust þeir um karfa leir,
    kongsson eiga að sækja;
    hann spyr að, hver hafi það
    hirðir skipað mækja.

63. Anza þeir að fifu freyr
    frægur síðar mundi
    vita það; á vatna glað
    vísis roga kundi.

64. Svo tilbúna róðrar rún
    reynir <^érhver dreingur,
    lungur hlunns um leiðir unns
    létt að kvöldi geingur.

65. Þegnar fleyi eyöiey
    að þá róa gera,
    skála til frá skeija hyl
    skjöldungs niðja bera.

66. Olugga jór var geysistór,
    garður kringum hlaðinn,

bragnar gjörðu brinju njörð

bera inn í staðinn.
67. Vopna þór að vexti stór

var á gólfi skála

grímu með, á móti réð

meiði taka stála.
60. Tók í fang og senn á sang

siklings arfa lagði,

smyrsli klár við könnuð sár

komust svo að bragði.

69. Skálabúinn nýtur nú
    nákvæmd synir rétta
    geira kvisti, vín og vist
    veitir eptir þetta.

70. Nærast vann og hressist hann,
    hollar værðir þiggur,

funa mýra fríður tyr
fimm mánuði liggur.

71. Eitthvert sinn þá algróinn
    öðlings tjáist niður,

skraf upp ber og skyrt svo tér
skálabúann viður:

72. »Æfi mín þó finnist fín,
    fæ eg vel ánæginn
    viðurkent, að vantar tvent
    vísis sonar haginn..

73. Pað er fyrst eg veit ei víst,
    vaskur skyfir randa,

hver sá er, sem hefir hér,
hjálpað mér úr vanda.

74. Annað hitt, er mæðir mitt
    minni, geð og hjarta,

að hefna má ei Hrana á,
hrekkja þrælnum svarta«.

75. Hinn þá tér: Æg held að þér
    hér á ríði valla

um þagnar stig að þekkja mig,
þundur fingra mjalla*.

76. »Pörf mér lízt að þekkja víst»,
    þeingils möður tjáði,
    »laufstaf, er líf mér gaf

og læknmg veita náði*.

77. Eyjarmaður upp á það
    orðin móti hvetur:
    »Verður síðar til þess tíð,
    tært þá launum getur.

78. Hermdu frá, ef halur sá

hafa sakir skyldi

við þig brátt, hvort sæmd og sátt

syna honum vildir«.
7Ö. Gramsson kvað: >Eg gerði það,

og gleymdi öllu kífi,

minn þó hlýra tjörgu tyr

tekið hefði' af lífi«.
81. Skálabúinn skylu nú,

skjöldúngsson þess gáði,

hratt burt reif með hauka kleif,

hjala þannig náði:
84. »Niflúngs má hér niðji sjá

Nectarus, er sjóli,

útlegð dæmdi saddur sæmd,
Svofnis þakinn bóli*.

85. Kóngsson frjálsum kappans háls
    kunni hraður falla,

kysti títt og þakkar þítt,
þannig gjörði spjalla:

86. »Snemma sló mig þetta þó,
    þiggja gott eg mundi

áður fyr í Ýmu byr
Yggjar báls af lundi.

87. F*iggja' eg vildi þína fylgd,
    þegninn lista fjáði,
    mettur dáð um mar og láð
    meðan lifum báðir«.

88. Hinn gaf anz: »Við hirði brands
    hugði' eg sízt að skilja,

fylgi kvitt á meðan mitt
metur þér til vilja.

89. Intu frá hvað upp á stá,
    ætlar, geymir dáða«.
    Kongsson tjáir þanninn þá:
    »Pessu skaltu ráða«.

90. Geira njótur gegnir mót:
    »Get eg vel þér líki
    þetta ráð, um þroska láð
    þitt í siglir ríki.

91. Eflst að liði í odda klið
    öðlings son þá getur,

á Hrana fund um svana sund
sótt, ef líkar betur«.

93. Líkar þetta ráðið rétt
    ræsis frægum arfa;

þar næst bera það til er
þeir á siglu karfa.

94. Setja gnoð og væna voð
    vinda brátt í húna;

elds þá bróðir eptir stóð.
Endar ríman núna.

95. Hljóða mátt við hróðrar þátt
    hér ei stunda leingur;
    góða nátt skal bjóða brátt.
    Brestur Þundar feingur.

Source Text — Þriðja ríma

Þriðja ríma.

Baldurs mjaðar bikar enn
bera fynr víf og menn
þeinki eg í þriðjasinn;
það er gamall vani minn.

Þessum drekki þjóðir af;
í þeirri meining hann eg gaf,
að í mína minning sé,
og mætu svali landsfólke.

Peim, ei vilja þiggja hann,
þeirrar eg ei heldur ann
svölunar, því hennar hér
hvergi eru verðuger.

Hina, sem á henni lyst
hafa, og eptir rímum þyrst,
þá eg meina þels um far
þeirrar verða svölunar.

Pessum Baldurs veita vín,
vilji er bæði og skylda mín,
eptir því sem efni þáð
eru fyrir hendi í bráð.

Nú eru efna fögur faung
fyrir hendi, sagan laung,
mér sem eigi mannsaung við
mikla leyfir hafa bið.

Skal því sögu skreppa til;
skatnar þegi', eg kveða vil.
Hlyddu svanni og heyrðu mig;
eg held eg verði að gleðja þig.

8.
Regins lenti ferja fyr,
feingu dreingir góðan byr;
fróns í höfnum Frygíá
frægðaríkir lending ná.

9.
Fagnar drotning fríðum nið,
frónsins einninn gjörvalt lið;
var því stofnuð veizla dyr,
og vísa arfi kryndur skyr.