by Jón Hjalti Hjaltason
Three rímur composed by Jón Hjalti Hjaltason áÁrmúla, published in Ísafjörður by the Press of Þjóðviljinn ungi in 1895. The poem retells an Icelandic folk tale of a trickster called Grámanni — the Grey Man — who appears from a sack traded for a poor couple's only cow. Through cunning, daring, and a series of escalating thefts from the king, the Grey Man wins a princess and a kingdom, and the couple's faith in the sermon about charity is vindicated a thousandfold.
The three rímur employ three different metres: ferskeytt (Ríma I), hálfdýrt stikluvik (Ríma II), and frumhenda (Ríma III). Dedicated to the patron Gísli Bjarnason. This is the first known complete English translation.
Ríma I
Ferskeytt.
Mansöngr
1.
Day frightens the mask of darkness away,
birds begin to sing;
rise up, rooster of Thunder,
it is time for you to crow.
2.
I do not wish now,
weaver of the serpent's field,
that you lie flat on the bench
until the middle of the day.
3.
You may raise your voice anew
and delight the women of the earth;
you will find material for songs
in Iceland's folk tales.
4.
Especially we wish
that you direct your songs
toward the guardian of the sun's stream,
who is called Gísli.
5.
Settle yourself upon his hand,
calm and at ease,
and at the ear of that worthy man
sing the lay of Grámanni.
6.
I bid him keep these verses;
the keeper of the hand's snow,
may he receive this weak reed of song,
most worthy of men.
7.
If you find it hard
to drive the verse from your throat,
squeeze out somehow
a drop of Kvasir's blood.
8.
Let whoever listens
be cheered by new songs,
but do not chase those
who flee from you.
9.
These counsels I give you,
no more need be said;
bring me pen, ink, and paper,
and I bid you now to sing.
10.
I will end the preface now;
the field of the mind
desires rather, I believe,
to hear the tale of Grámanni.
The Story
11.
Of a certain king we may tell —
the first in this collection of verse —
though the history does not
report his name.
12.
The ruler of men possessed
a nobly born sun of wealth;
to him his lady bore
one fair daughter.
13.
The king had his men then
build a fine bower;
there the lily of the slopes
should receive a splendid upbringing.
14.
There the maiden
learned every art;
the most courteous women
served the lady.
15.
The prince sat at home in peace,
tending to his own affairs;
great was his treasury of silver,
and greater still his herds.
16.
Not far from his hall,
blessed with lesser fortune,
an age-bent old man
lived with his wife.
17.
The couple owned one cow
above all other goods;
the tale names for them
no other possessions.
18.
One day, as often happened,
the aged man
made his way to the church
to hear the priest's teaching.
19.
The farmer heard the holy priest
deliver his discourse,
which dealt chiefly
with the virtue of giving.
20.
The farmer stretched out all his ears
at such words;
waterfalls of tears streamed
from the stones of his eyelids.
21.
When the mass was over,
from that gathering of folk,
the old man went home to the croft;
his wife greeted him warmly.
22.
"Was the sermon powerful?"
the wife asked the man;
he looked well pleased,
and at last answered thus:
23.
"The clerk taught the people there,
filled with the Spirit's power,
that those who give shall receive
a thousandfold reward in return."
24.
"I will give away our cow —
no one will be harmed;
trust me, for then you shall get
a thousand cows in return."
25.
"Once we have that,
we need never complain of want;
we shall never lack for butter
all the days of our lives."
26.
"That is too much talk,"
his wife said;
"you have put a wrong meaning
upon those words."
27.
"You take me for a fool,"
the man protested;
the couple quarrelled about it then
and both felt the worse.
28.
The next day that man
gathered a crowd of folk
and had them build a barn
for a thousand cows.
29.
The ring-adorned lady
wished to stop his foolishness,
but the determined man
bade his wife be silent.
30.
When the building was done,
the bold man of the fields
began to turn over in his mind
who should now get the cows.
31.
The man knew no one there
who owned a thousand cows,
unless it were some lord
who could best repay.
32.
Yet he dared not approach that one —
the man of generous worth;
so he thought of another plan:
he would go to the priest.
33.
"The clerk shall have the cow,"
the man said;
"I know that he will least of all
go back on his own words."
34.
The old man set off with the cow,
well pleased in his heart;
but the wife, who was distressed,
could do nothing with him.
35.
Many thoughts now played
in the old man's mind:
he found the holy priest
and gave him the cow.
36.
The reverend asked him then
what this meant;
the other told him the truth
with heartfelt joy.
37.
The priest was taken aback at this
and answered dryly and cold,
saying the man had stretched his words
much too far.
38.
He rebuked the fellow
for his foolishness;
and with that, the clerk
drove both man and cow away.
39.
The journey home was not smooth;
the old man,
half-sobbing on the homeward road,
led the cow back again.
40.
Things got no better still
for the weary fellow;
a north blast of pitch-darkness
now struck the old man.
41.
Frost and gloom followed,
blowing snow and storm;
the poor old man strayed from the path,
cow and all.
42.
The farmer, heartsick, saw
danger closing around him;
the cow might perish here,
and the man himself likewise.
43.
Just then he saw a man
looming toward him through the murk,
upon his shoulders carrying
a great sack.
44.
The newcomer
asked the farmer now
how things stood with him,
out here on the road with a cow.
45.
The old man broke down at this,
choked with misery,
and told the stranger
his tale of woe.
46.
"Badly placed you are now,"
the other said with honeyed words;
"the cow will die, and perhaps
you will croak yourself as well."
47.
"Better it would be, farmer,
to sell me the cow
for the sack that I carry,
so that death does not take you."
48.
"Then you would be somewhat closer
to reaching your homestead;
meat and bone you will find
in my full sack."
49.
Whatever more they spoke,
he and the farmer,
they struck this bargain,
and the old man was glad.
50.
The old man bid farewell
to his trading partner, and to the cow;
and with that he set off
homeward with the great sack.
51.
Home again, he told his wife
of the bargain;
he seemed well pleased with it,
but the woman was not.
52.
He begged his wife
to put aside her sorrow if she could,
set the pot upon the coals,
and boil a bit of meat.
53.
The housewife grew heartglad,
loudly she praised the Lord;
then the woman carried
water into the biggest pot.
54.
She stoked the hearth-fire
and set it to boil;
but the old man wanted cheerfully
to get the good meat from the sack.
55.
As the sack lay open
near the fire's embers,
a man leaped out of it,
clad in grey.
56.
"The bottom is the least of me,"
said he, and grinned;
"boil something else
in that big pot."
57.
The master of the house stood stunned,
staring at the grey man;
but the wife flew into a rage,
and her words began thus:
58.
"There is your foresight for you —
heavy need is what we know!
First you dragged the cow from me,
and now you bring more mouths to feed!"
59.
"All sustenance is stripped from us,
all good fortune gone from this house;
it is a bitter thing to be married
to a completely witless man!"
60.
The fellow answered his wife
with harsh words in his anger;
the sturdy couple now quarrelled
splendidly, the both of them.
61.
Grámanni bade them stop —
both wife and husband alike:
"I shall," he said, "go myself
and fetch a meal."
62.
"Your lives are safe enough,
all will go well;
but you would not have lasted long
on this ugly starving."
63.
Out into the dark he went alone,
and back came the cunning one,
leading at his side
a fine sheep.
64.
"There is a sheep," he said,
and bade the couple slaughter it;
the farmer dared not do it,
yet it had to be done.
65.
They got a good full meal,
fattening their lean cheeks;
and when that sheep ran out,
Grámanni fetched another.
66.
He brought them provisions and bread,
good at household supply;
a third, a fourth, and a fifth sheep
the man went out to fetch.
67.
Enough was at hand now,
nothing seemed to be lacking;
all three of them together
enjoyed the finest comfort.
68.
I fly from them for a time now,
the stanza falls away;
sleep sinks upon the eyes,
the watch is ended.
Ríma II
Hálfdýrt stikluvik.
Mansöngr
1.
May the swift one driven from the hot stream
favour the craft of verse;
the harsh-voiced ptarmigan-man
sharpens his call a second time.
2.
Forgive me, brothers,
though the verse be stiff;
the noise here spoils the poem —
peace is seldom got for song.
3.
Little use to talk of that,
time does not wait;
merrily I may turn
to Grámanni's tale again.
The Story
4.
My scroll of praise bends at this:
at home sits Grámanni;
the shepherd, near the king,
now sees the damage to the flock.
5.
Home to the king's hall he goes,
told him of the loss:
"This was done by the hand of men,"
the sea-moon's keeper said.
6.
"My lord, I may not
leave it thus;
a newcomer must be the man
who practises this work."
7.
"In the neighbour's houses here
I think the man must be;
find him and bring him to me —
let a company of men go with you."
8.
Warriors hastened from the hall,
searched widely far and near;
the men of the fields then
found Grámanni with the old man.
9.
Easier grew their hearts —
they had found their man;
the hard warriors called the pair
home to the king's courtyard.
10.
Then the old man and the grey scoundrel,
the tester of spears, bade farewell;
he made ready for the hall with them,
scarcely troubled by fear.
11.
The old couple, seeing this,
bore bitter dread;
they thought the sword-bender
would die upon the gallows.
12.
Wife and husband with weeping hearts
cursed the company;
but to the king's hall with the warriors
cheerful Grámanni went.
13.
Before the king was brought
the merry man of spears;
soon, as expected, the bold prince
began his speech thus:
14.
"You must be the thief
who slaughtered my sheep;
tell me now the truth of it —
shall I give you the charge?"
15.
Grámanni said: "So it is;
I caused the sheep to die.
The deed does not seem evil to me —
a wretch is least bowed by fear."
16.
"But why?" the king asked;
"yet you must know
that such things we must punish" —
the other answered back:
17.
"The pangs of starvation were known
to the old man and his ring-woman;
I had brought the sheep home to them
to save them from death by hunger."
18.
"Here is the greatest difference —
greater than it ought to be:
nothing is lacking at your table,
while they suffer the worst torments."
19.
"That is an ugly way of doing things —
better, I reckon, it would be
that the old man enjoy what you,
lord, have no need of now."
20.
Bold was the accused
in his answers, the sword-enjoyer;
the king stared in amazement
at the grey man then.
21.
"I find you the greatest thief,"
said the king in anger;
"is that the worst of your ways —
is that your only and best work?"
22.
"I own a five-year-old ox here,"
the king declared,
"fatter and finer than most;
its meat would suit you well."
23.
"When the bright sun shines
upon the clouds' bed tomorrow,
my good men shall drive it
into the forest."
24.
"Let us see your skills then,
clear, on the next day:
steal that ox of mine
from under my fine men."
25.
"If you fail at this,
you shall hang;
as you can see, grey one,
there is no lack of gallows here."
26.
"But if the bold man
can steal the aforesaid bull
from the grove and from my men,
then you shall keep your life."
27.
Grámanni said: "It is beyond me
to obey your command;
my thoughts foretell me
a heavy end" —
and with that he went away.
28.
Then the man dragged himself home;
the couple warmly
welcomed his return,
and joy grew in them both.
29.
When the high sun wrapped
the fields in fair light,
the man took a rope
and ran into the forest.
30.
Where the others' path led,
the warrior of the grove
found a tree, and took
the rope, and threw it round his neck.
31.
He hanged himself upon that spot,
and now seemed dead there;
the king's company came along,
and the cheerful men saw it.
32.
They recognised Grámanni when they looked,
and said to one another:
"That one has played more tricks;
let the wretch die here."
33.
"There hangs Grámanni, all of him,
the cunning plotter from before;
the old man need not fear him now —
he will hardly take the ox."
34.
Along their path over the fields
the men went on;
the man on the tree
loosened the rope and slipped down.
35.
He crept after them
by a hidden path;
thus the crafty fellow went
past them, unseen by any.
36.
Further along the road he saw
the ox upon the path nearby;
he fastened himself up again —
his plans did not fail him.
37.
The king's men soon arrived,
cheerful, with the beast;
they marvelled more than before
when they saw the man hanging there.
38.
One said to another:
"It would be a wonder indeed —
here we see the grey-clad fellow
hanging once again."
39.
"Here is another grey fool
with the same clothes and the same look;
it may be, these two
are a pair of such vagabonds."
40.
"Let us find the grey wretch
where we left him before;
let us see what is about —
tie the ox up here."
41.
This the company did,
then hurried on their way,
from the bright grove they went
with a ridge between them.
42.
When all the warriors
had passed out of sight,
the man of the grove
loosed the knot from his neck.
43.
Then the fellow with quick feet
hurried home to the croft;
with the heaven-nurtured beast
he found the old man and his wife.
44.
The shadow-destroyer ordered then
that the old man
should slaughter the bull and flay its hide —
the poor woman's lot may improve.
45.
The skilled one had candles
moulded from the tallow;
great joy was in the croft,
and the wife set out food aplenty.
46.
Of the king's men we must tell:
weary, they searched on;
the servants of the flame's wave
could not find the man who had hanged.
47.
The bride of the blind one they could not find either;
they turned and headed back;
the men of the grove arrived
where the ox was tied as before.
48.
Grámanni they found nowhere —
nor the warriors of shields;
and the calf, which bore good meat,
had vanished from the warriors.
49.
They saw now how things stood,
all the men of spears;
death-frightened, the warriors
hurried home at once.
50.
They told the noble king
of their bitter journey;
the watchful lord then
had Grámanni summoned.
51.
"Did you not steal," the king said,
"my calf as well?"
The grey man answered him
with words to this effect:
52.
"I had to save my life
and obey your command, lord;
I am guilty therefore
of ox-murder — know it well."
53.
The king replied to him:
"Peace and pardon you shall have
if you rob thus, thief,
the bedclothes from beneath me."
54.
"No man can do that,"
said the grey one;
"few men can creep
into the king's yard by night."
55.
"Watch yourself, my lord,
your ways and deeds;
for swift and certain death awaits you
if you fail here."
56.
Swiftly they parted then;
the king took his rest.
But Grámanni ran home to the corner
and found the old couple there.
57.
The old man and the wife in grey
welcomed the grey one warmly;
they thought they had snatched him
back from the clutches of death.
58.
The man told them of his trial,
which the king had laid upon him;
then he asked the old woman
to make a pot of porridge.
59.
The sun of gold could do it well:
the porridge was made and then
set to cool with a lid upon it,
and the man of garments took it.
60.
Home toward the king's yard
with his porridge-pot
the fellow next made his way;
cunning was given to the man of gold.
61.
In he crept, and found a hiding place
where he could conceal himself well;
the castle folk, as was their custom,
locked the gates behind them.
62.
Darkness soon covered the field,
and he took note of it;
the king went to his rest in the hall,
and with him all the court.
63.
Then Grámanni went
with the porridge-pot in hand;
he walked through the town of spears
and came to the king's warm bed.
64.
Beneath the warm covers lay
his wife and the lord her husband;
the king slept deep,
clasped in the queen's embrace.
65.
To the royal bed he crept then,
lighter than a cat,
and pulled away the upper covers —
well at ease was he.
66.
The player, hidden there,
let the porridge drip
with a cunning hand
between the king and the queen.
67.
Then upon the pair
he spread the covers back;
into a corner he crept away from them —
the fair one woke then.
68.
The lady of garments found
her clothing soaked;
that filthy mess of porridge
bathed both king and queen.
69.
She was none too pleased at this,
dared not speak a word;
she woke her husband —
he wallowed in the porridge then.
70.
At last the queen ventured
to address the man:
"How are you, my heart —
have you fouled your own bed?"
71.
The king answered in anger,
furious with his lady:
"Do not be so hideously foolish —
this could ruin our honour."
72.
"That is not my habit,
to soil my clothes like this;
the smell is great upon the linen here —
you may blame yourself."
73.
The king and the lady of the flood-sun
seized the bedsheets,
flung them away in fury,
both fuming and swearing.
74.
The keeper of the hand's mark then,
with gentle threats,
spared no effort
to make peace again.
75.
Then they settled to sleep once more,
the king and the garment-goddess;
Grámanni crept from his hiding place
and bundled the sheets together.
76.
So he stole out in that same hour —
he would not linger longer —
homeward with the clothes he went across the ground
and found the old man and his wife.
77.
Weariness binds the hand and mind,
darkness devours the gloom;
therefore shall the poet's soul
swim to shore upon the strand of silence.
Ríma III
Frumhenda.
Mansöngr
1.
Now shall I bind an end upon
the craft of verse;
may the gracious silver-brook woman
favour these songs of mine.
2.
The ring-bearer shall soon see
the old couple's grey servant
come through every trial
to the king's high throne.
3.
Fortune soon gives
the fairest span of years;
fine wisdom thus
has always conquered trials.
4.
Pride can scarcely stand
against her ways;
often the bully falls
upon his own spear.
5.
Though we must endure
a bitter time of hardship,
often there comes after
the sweet remedy for our wounds.
The Story
6.
Here I take up the tale again:
the old couple welcomed warmly
their working man
with good cheer.
7.
The merry fellow brought
the bedclothes to them;
he wished the housewife
to wash those covers clean.
8.
The king remembered the poem:
now he woke again;
the fire-bright warrior then
missed his bedclothes.
9.
That very hour the king
had the offender summoned;
Grámanni came before the prince,
scarcely seeming afraid.
10.
The king said: "Tell me at once —
bereft of fine things —
did you not steal, you peace-breaker,
my bedclothes?"
11.
"Men should know that of me,"
said the cutter of swords;
"your lordship's command was obeyed —
I had to save my life."
12.
"You shall have pardon, my lord,"
the proud one said,
"if you steal, before morning, from me
my queen herself."
13.
"Good lord," the other answered,
prolonging the exchange:
"that you must not ask of me —
no man alive could do it."
14.
The king gave his stern reply:
"If this does not succeed,
you shall get the noose's embrace
for your tricks and schemes."
15.
"Get yourself home to the croft,
twig of the sea's fire;
but remember me
and the gold-adorned one."
16.
Grámanni obeyed the king's voice
and dragged himself straight home;
the gentle couple without guile
welcomed him heartily.
17.
Much more played upon the mind
of the sated warrior of spears:
he took the master's hat
upon his high head.
18.
The cunning breaker of swords
dressed himself in the finest clothes,
then went out wearing the master's hat
widely through the streets.
19.
The hero took
the tall tallow candles of the fat ox-calf
and with them covered
the hat completely.
20.
His whole body he prepared the same
before parting from the couple;
now toward the prince's hall he crept
as night covered the land.
21.
The ox-hide he had flayed
from the bull — the trick-wise man —
he dragged it with him in his hand
and walked to the court-church.
22.
He opened it and slipped inside,
the noble daring fellow,
and then the bold one
placed the hide in the choir.
23.
He lit his candles then,
the hero filled with pride;
he shone now like an angel —
he was clothed in light.
24.
Then he rang the bells;
the sound woke the king.
The prince saw a shining figure
and began to take keen notice.
25.
The king of the land, and his queen,
received a strengthening of faith:
a shining image of an angel
stood outside the church.
26.
The lady and the king both
longed to visit him at once;
they thought it was a heavenly angel
come to deliver a holy message.
27.
In their finest garments therefore
the king and queen prepared themselves,
and then in humility
both went to meet the angel.
28.
Flat upon the earth they fell,
their hearts filled with sorrow,
and began their prayers
as fervently as they could.
29.
From the stones of their eyelids
wet streams down their cheeks;
humbly they sought with grief and longing
absolution for their sins.
30.
Thus gently, with wet cheeks,
they prayed from ardent hearts,
until at last the angel
deigned to give his answer:
31.
"Cast away the sorrow of your hearts,"
he spoke to them;
"by the altar I shall
ease your troubled minds."
32.
The sorely stricken couple
went pale upon their cheeks;
they followed the angel both
and entered the choir.
33.
When the noble king
and the queen had come within,
the solemn angel
directed his words thus:
34.
"If you desire the grace
of God and of the holy folk,
you must both crawl
into that hide over there."
35.
The couple were content with this,
all fear left them;
both crawled into the hide —
the plan seemed good.
36.
The angel-figure, seeing this,
continued in his tricks:
he tied the hide shut —
the king was astonished.
37.
He asked what explained this behaviour —
both he and the radiant queen;
the warrior of shields gave answer
and shook the lights from himself:
38.
"I am no angel at all,"
the daring one declared;
"you may know the king's servant
who is called Grámanni."
39.
Little Grámanni, grinning,
shook the wretched hide
and dragged them across the floor;
then he began to explain:
40.
"I have stolen you by night —
you need not dread the worst —
just as you bade me before,
bold warrior of the woods.
41.
"Pardon for sins the king shall have,
though my homage be small;
I could have hurled you into the clutches of death
here with your queen.
42.
"No release shall be yours,
lord of the stubborn host,
unless you promise me
your daughter's hand.
43.
"Let the bride of the sea's fire
and her fortune follow,
and half the kingdom I will have,
and the whole, when you are dead."
44.
"Most men choose life,"
the king said then, aggrieved;
"yours shall be my lady and daughter,
good man."
45.
He promised, with the destroyer of needles,
— enough of bridal joy! —
to release the beloved from the hide,
and Grámanni loosed them then.
46.
Out crawled the king
with the lady of gold beside him;
he bowed then to Grámanni,
went home, and took his leave.
47.
At home he found the couple there,
stripped of the angel's guise;
the man told them
his dealings with the king.
48.
The eloquent one also told
the old man in grey:
"You must prepare yourselves
to go home to the king's yard."
49.
Both stared in amazement,
forgot their hearts' sorrow,
dressed themselves in the finest garments then
and hurried home to the castle.
50.
A feast had been prepared;
the garment-goddess was summoned;
Grámanni now, as fortune granted,
married the king's daughter.
51.
Gifts to the couple were given,
which delighted the garment-wearer;
half the kingdom he received
with the sun of rings beside him.
52.
Then to the company's entertainment,
the king, splendid in appearance,
revealed that he was the son
of a king from the nearest realm.
53.
"Here upon the ground I waited,"
said the armour-keeper,
"some time, and then at last
I came to know these people."
54.
"I heard the foolish deeds
the master of the house committed;
I and the king's clerk therefore
devised these plans together."
55.
"I meant there in the house,
beside the man and wife,
to prove the clerk's teachings true —
the old man who believed."
56.
"I now consider it shown to men,
as the king himself may agree,
that a good thousand cows' worth
the poor old man shall receive."
57.
The feast went on — the king
tended to his duties;
some time later
the aged king died.
58.
The young one took the whole realm then,
the young ruler of the people;
beside the lady of garments
he received a gentle joy.
59.
The old man and his wife
lacked not the least thing;
the king of the land cared for them
unto their final day.
60.
Against the wicked horde of vikings,
swift in the clash of arms,
he drove them with the lord of battle's fire
far from his lady's side.
61.
With the shining pyre of fame
the bold warrior of the woods
fought the storm of weather hard
and guarded the fair land.
62.
Long he ruled the people,
the swift twig of leaves,
and at last, in fullness of years,
the lord breathed his last.
Poet's Farewell
63.
The folk tale is ended now,
about the hero's tricks;
my means of verse grow thin,
the harp of praise falls silent.
64.
Within this collection of songs,
the warrior of the earth's serpents
thinks to hide his name —
it matters little.
65.
Blessed with the best of deeds,
Gísli, son of Bjarni,
may he receive the ease of graces
and the chosen of Hleiðólfr's pool.
66.
May the keeper of the praise-word's court
take good remembrance;
may the free kinsman value more highly
the noblest companion of peoples.
67.
Crowned with the highest honour
the tree of the harbour's embers;
the precious drink of verse is lost,
the sound of poems fades.
68.
The palate-sheath of my mother
will make no further improvement.
The swan of verse lets his song
be thus and calls it done.
Colophon
Rímur af Grámanni í Garðshorni — three rímur by Jón Hjalti Hjaltason áÁrmúla, published in Ísafjörður by Prentsmiðja Þjóðviljans unga, 1895. The poem retells a folk tale of the ATU 1539 type — the clever trickster who steals from the king and wins a bride — adapted into the rímur verse tradition with mansöngvar, kenning-dense language, and three distinct metres.
The patron named in the poem is Gísli Bjarnason ("Hleiðólfs tjarna valinn" — chosen of Hleiðólfr's pool). The poet dedicates the work to him in both the opening mansöngr and the closing farewell.
Good Works Translation from the Icelandic by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026. Source text: Wikisource (is.wikisource.org). Translated from Old/Middle Icelandic. No complete English translation is known to have existed prior to this one.
Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.
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Source Text: Rímur af Grámanni í Garðshorni
Icelandic source text from Wikisource (is.wikisource.org). Jón Hjalti Hjaltason áÁrmúla. Ísafjörður: Prentsmiðja Þjóðviljans unga, 1895. Presented here for reference, study, and verification alongside the English translation above.
Rimur af Gramanni i Gardshorni
Kvednar af Joni Hjaltasyni a Armula. Isafjordur: Prentsmidia Thjodviljans unga, 1895.
Rima I
Óbreytt ferskeytt.
Dagur grímu fælir frá,
fuglar syngja taka;
rístu hani Þundar þá,
þér er mál að kvaka.
Veit jeg ekki vilja nú,
vefjur orma haga,
að flatmagir í fleti þú
fram á miðja daga.
Hefja máttu hljóð á ný,
hauðurs skemmta konum,
söngva færðu efni í
Íslands Þjóðsögonum.
Einkanlega óskum vér,
að þú söngvum beitir
fyrir sólar síkja ver,
sem að Gísli heitir.
Settu þig á hendi hans.
hæglátur í næði,
svo við eyra sæmdar manns
syngdu Grámanns kvæði.
Hann jeg ljóðin hirða bið;
handar- geymir -fanna
veikan þiggi vísna klið,
verðugastur manna.
Eigir þú með barkann bágt
bragi fram að keyra,
snígtu út á einhvern hátt
ögn af Kvásis dreira.
Láttu hvern, sem hlíðir á,
hressa söngva nýja,
en ekki skaltu elta þá
undan þér sem flýja.
Þessi ráðin þér eg gef,
þarf ei fleira tala,
fæ mér penna blek og bréf
og bið þig nú að gala.
Formálann jeg fella vil;
foldin bráins leira
girnist fremur, get jeg til,
Grámanns sögu að heyra.
Af kóngi einum kynna má,
kvæða fyrst í safni,
histórían hans þó frá
hermir ekki nafni.
Eðalborna auðar sól
átti stýrir lýða;
honum klæða eykin ól
eina dóttur fríða.
Skjöldung lætur skatna þá
skemmu fagra smíða;
þar skal veglegt fóstur fá
foldin linna hlíða.
Listir allar lærði þar
liljan orma fróna;
kurteisustu konurnar
klæða freyju þjóna.
Sikling heima sat í ró,
sinna gætti búa;
mikinn átti mundar snjó,
en meiri hjarða-grúa.
Skammt í burt frá höllu hans,
hagsæld gæddur minni,
aldur-hníginn brjótur brands
bjó með konu sinni.
Áttu hjónin eina kú
öðrum kosta meiri,
sagan þeim ei nefnir nú
neina gripi fleiri.
Einhvern dag, sem opt við bar,
aldinn hirðir geira
kreika réð til kirkjunnar,
kenning prests að heyra.
Heyrir bóndi helgan prest
hreifa tölu sinni,
er þá ræðu efnið mest
út af gjafmildinni.
Bóndi þenur eyrun öll
út við slíkum greinum;
streymdu tára fossa-föll
fram af hvarma-steinum.
Þegar messan úti er,
af þeim mannfundonum
karlinn heim í kotið fer;
kerling fagnar honum.
Var nú kröptug kenningin?
kerling spurði manninn;
all-vel lætur yfir hinn,
og enda svarar þannin:
Klerkur þar um kenndi öld,
krapti andans hlaðinn,
að þeir sem gefa, þúsundföld
þiggi laun í staðinn.
Eg vil gefa okkar kú,
engin verður skaðinn;
trúðu mér, að þá fær þú
þúsund kýr í staðinn.
Þegar fengið þetta er
þarf um skort ei klaga,
aldrei brestur okkur smér
alla lífsins daga.
Æði mikið er nú sagt,
eykin mælti spanga,
þú í orðin þessi lagt
þýðing hefir ranga.
Heimskingja mig heldur þú,
hjalar skjóma viður;
þrættu hjónin þar um nú
þótti báðum miður.
Daginn eptir seggur sá
safnar manna grúa,
fjós lét byggja firða þá
fyrir þúsund kúa.
Aptra vildi heimsku hans
hringa- öldruð -freyja,
en alvarlegur brjótur brands
beiddi snót að þegja.
Byggingin þá búin er,
baldur orma túna
fer að velta fyrir sér,
hver fá nú skuli kúna.
Engan vissi þegninn þar,
þúsund kýr sem átti,
nema ef það niflung var,
sem nú bezt launa mátti.
Finna samt ei þorði þann,
þegninn rausnar gildi,
annað ráð því hugsar hann,
hitta prestin vildi.
Klerkurinn skal kúna fá,
kvistur mælti spanga,
veit jeg orðum sínum sá
sízt á bak mun ganga.
Karl af stað með kúna fer,
kátur mjög í geði;
en kerlingin, sem angráð er,
engu við hann réði.
Leikur nú í lyndi flest
lundi orma túna:
halur finnur helgan prest,
og honum gefur kúna.
Helgur spurði herra þá,
hverju þetta sæti;
hinn því sanna hermir frá
með hjartanlegri kæti.
Bregður presti þá við það,
þurt og kallt nam svara,
að hefði orð sín hártogað
hirðir mundar skara.
Halinn fyrir heimsku nú
hann ávíta tekur;
að því búnu karl og kú
klerkur frá sér rekur.
Ferðin ekki gerðist greið,
gamall korða-raptur
hálf-kjökrandi heim á leið
hélt með kúna aptur.
Ekki betur tekst þó til,
tjörgu hrjáðum njörði,
niða-myrkurs norðan-byl
nú á karlinn gjörði.
Frost og dimma fylgdu þá,
fjúk og bylja-veður;
veslings karlinn vegum frá
villist kúna meður.
Bóndi hugarsjúkur sér,
sig um vefur háski;
kýrin muni krókna hér,
og karlinn líka má ski.
Í því sama sér hann mann
sér á móti þoka,
upp á sínum herðum hann
hefur stóran poka.
Sá nýkomni brjótur brands
bóndann spurði núna,
hvernig stæði á högum hans,
hér á ferð með kúna.
Karlinn hér við klökkna vann,
kafinn þrauta banni,
sína rauna-sögu hann
sagði komumanni.
Ílla staddur ertu nú,
orðum hinn nam flíka;
kýrin drepst, og kann ske þú
króknir sjálfur líka.
Betra væri, bóndi, þér,
baulu mér að selja
fyrir sekkinn, sem jeg ber,
svo þig píni ei helja.
Er þá heldur nokkru nær,
að náir byggðum þínum;
ket og bein þú fundið fær
í fullum poka mínum.
Hvað sem tala hér um meir
hann og bónda maður,
kaup út gera þessi þeir,
þá varð karlinn glaður.
Kaupanautinn kveðja vann
karl, og móður þjóra;
að því búnu heldur hann
heim með pokan stóra.
Konu sinni, kominn heim,
kaupin segja mundi,
all-vel lætur yfir þeim,
en ílla líkar sprundi.
Hann nam biðja hringa-slóð
hrinda sorg, ef geti,
setja pottinn sinn á glóð,
og sjóða ögn af keti.
Hjarta-glöð varð húsfreyjan,
hátt nam prísa Drottinn;
því næst bera vífið vann
vatn í stærsta pottinn.
Honum rygar hlóðin á,
hér næst fer að sjóða;
en karlinn vildi kátur ná
kjöti úr sekknum góða.
Í því pokinn opinn lá,
eldsins nærri glæðum,
maður hljóp úr honum þá
hulinn gráum klæðum.
Niðurlag er minnst í mér,
mælti sá, og glotti,
eitthvað sjóðið annað þér
í þeim stóra potti.
Húsráðandinn hissa stóð,
horfði á gráa manninn;
en afar-reið varð auðar slóð,
orðin byrjar þannin:
Þar er komin þín forsjá,
þunga neyð vér könnum,
kúna drógstu fyrst mér frá,
og fjölgar síðan mönnum.
Allri björg við erum svipt,
öll er heill úr ranni;
íllt er að vera örgum gipt
al-vitlausum manni.
Halurinn svarar hringa brú
hrakyrðum í bræði;
rosknu hjónin rifust nú
rausnarlega bæði.
Grámann biður, hætti hér,
hrund og njótur fleina;
jeg skal, segir hann, sjálfur mér
sækja fylli eina.
Voru lífi óhætt er,
allt mun fara í lagi,
en skamman tíma þrífizt þér
á þessu ljóta jagi.
Út í myrkrið einn svo fer,
aptur kom hinn slægi,
leiðir nú við síðu sér
sauð í vænna lagi.
Þarna er sauður, hjalar hann,
og hjónum bauð að skera,
það ei bóndi þora vann,
þó varð slíkt að gera.
Þau svo góða fylli fá,
feittu vanga grannan;
og nær þrýtur sauður sá,
sótti Grámann annan.
Hann þeim færði björg og brauð,
bús-aðdrátta góður;
þriðja, fjórða og fimmta sauð
fleina sótti rjóður.
Fyrir hendi nóg var nú,
neitt ei þótti bresta;
öll þau saman undu þrjú
í yfirlæti bezta.
Þeim um stundir flý eg frá,
fellur niður staka;
sígur blundur augun á,
út er liðin vaka.
Rima II
Hálfdýrt stikluvik.
Hita rínar hrundin svinn
hlíði smíði ljóða;
rámur gínars rjúpkarinn
röddu brínir annað sinn.
Vorkun, bræður, veitið mér,
þó verði stirður bragur;
glepur kvæði glaumur hér,
gott um næði sjaldan er.
Lítt mun tjá að tala um það,
tíminn bíður ekki,
suðra má jeg súða-glað
sögu Grámanns víkja að.
Hné við það mín hróðrar skrá,
heima Grámann situr;
sauða maður, sjóla hjá,
sér nú skaðann fénu á.
Heim að skjöldungs höllu fer,
honum tjónið sagði,
mána öldu mælti ver,
af manna völdum skeð það er.
Kóngur ynnir, eg það má
ei svo búið hafa,
nýkominn mun seggur sá
sem að vinnu æfir þá.
Í nágranna húsum hér
hygg eg segginn vera;
finndu hann, og færðu mér,
fylgi manna skari þér.
Höldar skunda höllu frá,
hvata leitum víða;
linna grunda gautar þá
Grámann fundu karli hjá.
Hægra varð í huga þeim,
hann þá finna máttu,
kappar harðir kalla beim
kóngs á garðinn með sér heim.
Síðan karl og refla reim
reynir fleina kveður,
bjóst til hallar þá með þeim,
þjáir varla ótti beim.
Hjóna greyin, sem það sjá,
sáran bera kvíða,
meintu sveigir mækja þá
mundi deyja gálga á.
Sprund og karl með grátið geð
gylfa bölva liði;
en kóngs til hallar köppum með
kátur lalla Grámann réð.
Fyrir konung færður var
freirinn geira kátur;
brátt að vonum buðlung snar
byrjar svona ræðurnar:
Þú munt vera þjófur sá,
er þjáði sauði mína;
segðu mér nú satt þar frá,
sök hvort þér eg gefa má.
Grámann segir: svo er víst,
sauða dauða eg olli,
verkið eigi vont mér lízt,
vesæll beygir ótti sízt.
En hvers vegna? tiggi tér;
trúa þó víst máttu,
að slíku hegna hljótum vér;—
hinn svo gegna aptur fer:
Sultar nauða kenndu keim
karl og þöllin hringa,
þangað sauði hafði eg heim,
hungurs dauða að forða þeim.
Hér er mesti munur á,
meiri en vera ætti,
ekkert brestur yður hjá,
en þau verstu kvalir þjá.
Býsna ljót er breytni sú,
betra met jeg vera,
að karlinn njóti þess, sem þú
þarft ei hót að brúka nú.
Djarfur var í svörum sá
sekur mækja njótur;
hilmir starir hissa á
handar skara njótinn þá.
Þig hinn mesta þjóf eg finn,
þylur sjóli reiður,
er sú versta aðferðin
eini og bezti starfinn þinn?
Einn fimm vetra uxa hér
á jeg, tjáir sjóli,
flestum betri, feitur er,
falla ket hans mundi þér.
Þegar skæra seggir sjá
sól á bóli skýja,
mínir kæru þegnar þá
þennan færa skóginn á.
Lát oss þínar listir sjá,
ljóst á næsta degi,
þessum mínum þjóri frá
þegnum fínum skaltu ná.
Takist eigi þetta þér,
þú skalt fá að hanga,
svo skilja megi skjóma grér,
skortir þeigi gálga hér.
En ef baldur álma má
áður téðan bola
lokka skjalda lundum frá,
lífi halda færðu þá.
Grámann tjáir: ófært er
yðar boði að hlíða,
þungu spáir þankinn mér;—
því næst sá í burtu fer.
Síðan dragnar halur heim,
hjónin vinalega
kærum fagna komu beim,
kæti magnast báðum þeim.
Þegar sveipar sólin há
svæði fríðum ljóma,
tekur reipi seggur sá,
síðan hleypur skóginn á.
Þar sem hinna leið um lá,
lundur mundar jaka,
tré nam finna, tók hann þá
tagl, og sinn um hálsinn brá.
Upp sig hengir í þeim stað,
er nú hér sem dauður;
konungs mengi kom nú að,
kátir drengir litu það.
Grámann þekkja, þegar sjá
þeir, og svörum beita:
fleiri hrekkjað hefir sá,
hér því rekkur drepast má.
Þarna allur er Grámann,
áður ráða slægur;
ei þarf karl að óttast þann,
uxan varla tekur hann.
Sínar leiðir svæði á
síðan lýðir fara;
rýta meiður rekka sá,
og reipið greiðir trénu frá.
Eptir sveimar ýtum hér
eina leyni-götu;
þannig beimur frækinn fer
fram hjá þeim, svo enginn sér.
Odda lestir eyk þar sá
ýta götu nærri,
upp sig festir aptur þá;
ekki brestur ráðin kná.
Kóngs menn bráðum komið fá
kátir, nautið meður;
meir en áður undrast þá,
er þeir náðu manninn sjá.
Einn svo tjá við annan fer:
undur myndu þykja,
klæða-gráa halinn hér
hengdan sjáum aptur vér.
Hér er annar fífu freyr
með föt og litinn sama;
vera kann, að þegnar þeir,
Þunds um svanna flakki tveir.
Finnum gráa vominn vér,
við sem áður skildum,
látum sjá hvað um hann er,
uxan fáum bundið hér.
Þetta gerir þjóðin kná,
þaðan hraðar ferðum,
ljósa hvera lundi frá,
leiti ber á milli þá.
Allir branda álfar þá
úr augsýn dragast náðu,
linna strandar lundur sá
leysir bandið hálsi frá.
Síðan halur hvötum fót
heim að sveimar koti,
meður alinn himinn hrjót,
hittir valinn karl og snót.
Skjóma eyðir skipar þá,
skuli halur gamli
bola deyða, og belg af flá,
bauga heiðin styrkja má.
Kerti lætur klóta ver
knár úr mörnum steypa;
mikil kæti í koti er,
kerling æti nóg fram ber.
Konungs manna minnast ber,
máttu þreyttir leita,
funa hrannar freyrarner
fundu ei þann, sem hengdur er.
Blinds um sprund ei biðu par,
til baka kvikast venda,
korða lundar koma þar
kusi bundinn fyr sem var.
Grámann finna hvergi hér
heldur, skjalda viðir;
og kálfurinn, sem kosti ber,
köppum stinnum horfinn er.
Sjá nú hvað í efnum er,
allir þöllar geira;
dauð-skelkaðir höldar hér
heim í staðinn flýta sér.
Sjóla mætum segja frá
sínum rauna-förum;
orða-gætinn gylfi þá
Grámann lætur kalla á.
Stalstu eigi, kóngur kvað,
kálfi sjálfur mínum?
íra-sveigir upp á það
orð til hneigir svo lagað:
Lífi forða hlaut jeg hér,
og hlíða boði sjóla;
sekur orðinn eg því er
í uxa-morði, vitið þér.
Gegna honum fylkir fer:
frið og grið þú hlýtur,
ef rænir svona, rýta ver,
rekkvoðunum undan mér.
Þetta enginn megna má
maður, kvað hinn grái;
í garðinn þengils fetað fá
fæstir drengir nóttu á.
Fyrir sjáðu, fylkir tér,
ferð og gjörðum þínum;
en vís er bráður bani þér
baugs ef ráði mistekst hér.
Skjótt með þeim svo skilja vann,
skjöldung hvíldir tekur,
en Grámann heim í garðshorn rann
gætir seima hjónin fann.
Karl og seljan klæða grá
klóta njóti fagna,
þóttust helju heimta frá
handar- jelja -njótinn þá.
Sína tjáir seggur þraut,
er sjóli á hann lagði;
biður þá að gjöra graut
gamla bráins dínu laut.
Gulls það sólin gjöra má,
grautinn heita síðan
lét í skjólu, og lok þar á,
lundur kjóla tekur þá.
Gylfa heim að garði með
grautar-fötu sína
hér næst beimur halda réð,
hlyni seima slægð er léð.
Inn nam skríða, og fylgsni fann,
felast vel hvar mátti;—
borgar-lýður, list sem ann,
læsa síðan hliðum vann.
Húmið bráðum hylur völl,
hann þess vann að gæta;
gekk til náða grams í höll
gætir láða, og hirðin öll.
Fór hann því að flögra sér
fötu tetrið meður;
gekk um býinn geira ver,
grams að hlýju rúmi fer.
Klæða undir varma var
víf og hlífa njótur;
fylkir blundinn festi þar
faðmi bundinn drottningar.
Kóngs að læðist kvílu þá,
ketti léttstígari,
yfir-klæðum af réð ná,
all-gott næði hefir sá.
Lék á stillir, læðinn þar,
lætur grautinn drjúpa,
klóta spillir klækja snar,
konungs milli og drottningar.
Hjónin síðan ofan á
eyðir breiðir stála,
í horn eitt skríður hann þeim frá;
—hringa fríður vaknar þá.
Finnur klæða foldin skjót
fötin ötuð vera;
sú ógæða leðjan ljót
laugar bæði kóng og snót.
Leizt nú svanna ekki á,
orð ei þorði tala,
vekur manninn víra gná,
vellur hann í grautnum þá.
Loks upp herti svarið sitt,
svanni, manninn viður,
hvernig ertu, hjartað mitt,
hefirðu gert í rúmið þitt?
Svörum reiður buðlung brá
bauga heiði viður:
hafðu ei leiða heimsku þá,
hefð sem eyða vorri má.
Minn það háttur ekki er,
að ata fötin svona;
keim ósmátt í klæðum hér,
kenna máttu sjálfri þér.
Sjóli og flæðar sunnu gná
sængur klæðin þrífa,
sér í bræði fleygja frá,
fussa bæði og sveija þá.
Mundar skara mörkin þá,
meður blíðu hótum,
enga spara íþrótt má,
aptur hara sátt að ná.
Síðan nýta svefninn fá
sjóli og kjóla freyja;
Grámann þytur fylgsni frá,
fötin brýtur saman þá.
Svo út læðist sömu stund,
— síður bíða vildi —,
heim með klæðin hélt um grund,
hittir bæði karl og sprund.
Letin bindur hug og hönd,
húmið skímu eyðir;
því skal blindviðs þóptu önd
þagnar synda upp á strönd.
Rima III
Frumhenda.
Nú skal binda enda á
óðar vessa-smíði;
silfur linda siðug gná
söngvum þessum hlíði.
Bauga þöllin brátt mun sjá
bónda þjóninn gráa,
kominn öllum kröggum frá
kóngs á tróninn háa.
Æfitíðir auðnan brátt
yndisligri gefur,
vizkan fríða þannig þrátt
þrautir sigrað hefur.
Hroki varla hlýta kann
hennar vegi móti;
tíðum falla frekja vann
fyrir eigin spjóti.
Ama hríð og þunga þrá
þó vér hljótum reyna,
kemur tíðum eptir á
inndæl bótin meina.
Þar jeg sagnir aptur el
elda hrannar línum,
hjónin fagna virkta vel
vinnumanni sínum.
Klæða brekku fötin fær
freyrinn káti hlífa,
vill að rekkjuvoðir þær
vífið láti þrífa.
Minnist kvæði öðling á,
aptur hann nú vaknar,
rínar glæðu runnur þá
rekkvoðanna saknar.
Sakamanninn sömu stund
sjóli fljótt lét kalla;
kemur hann á fylkis fund,
feiminn þótti varla.
Hilmir segir: hermdu brátt,
horfinn gæðum fínum,
stalstu eigi, sviptur sátt,
sængur klæðum mínum?
Kenna skyldu menn það mér,
mælti skífir korða,
boði mildings hlítt var hér,
hlaut jeg lífi forða.
Færðu náðir, fylkir tér,
frægða þrotni klunni,
ef stelur, áður morgnar, mér
meður drottningunni.
Herra góður, hinn svo fer
hjalið lengja betur,
það ei bjóða megið mér
sem maður enginn getur.
Gefur svörin hastur hinn:
heppnist þetta ekki
færðu snöru faðmlögin
fyrir prett og hrekki.
Komdu þér í kotið heim,
kvistur sjóar funa;
eptir mér og auðar reim
áttu þó að muna.
Grámann hlíðir hilmis raust,
heim nam þegar dragna;
hjónin blíðu hræsnis laust
hjartanlega fagna.
Fleira lék á fylkir lands
fleina þollur séður,
hattinn tekur húsbóndans
háa kollinn meður.
Ráða slingur brjótur brands
beztu skríðist fötum,
hann út stingur húsbóndans
hattinn víða götum.
Kusa feitis kertin há
kappinn snjalli tekur,
með þeim hneita hirðir þá
hattinn allan þekur.
Búkinn allan eins hann bjó
áður hjón við skilur;
nú til hallar niflungs dró,
nótt þá frónið hylur.
Belginn þann af bola fló,
bragða kunnur drengur,
með sér hann í hendi dró,
að hof-kirkjunni gengur.
Opnar hana, inn sér brá
örfa þórinn mætur,
birðar grana baldur þá
belg í kórinn lætur.
Kveikir sínum kertum á
kappinn hrósi gæddur,
allur skín sem engill þá,
er nú ljósi klæddur.
Klukkum síðan hringir hér,
hljóðið tiggja vekur,
gylfi fríðan glansa sér,
og glöggt að hyggja tekur.
Tiggi landa, og trafa rind,
trúar styrking hlýtur,
alskínandi engils mynd
út við kirkju lýtur.
Fljóð og þengil fund á hans
fýsti í skyndi vitja,
hugðu engil himna-ranns
helg erindi flytja.
Beztu klæðum buðlung því
bjóst og hrundin spanga,
síðan bæði auðmýkt í
á engils fundinn ganga.
Flöt á jörðu féllu þá,
fylltist sinnið trega,
bæna gjörðir, bezt sem má,
byrja innilega.
Streyma hvarma steinum frá
straumar votir kinna,
auðmjúk harma og óska fá
aflausn brota sinna.
Þannig blíð með blauta kinn
beiddu af heitu geði,
unz um síðir engillinn
andsvör veita réði:
Hrindið vinir hugar þrá,
hann svo réði tala,
altarinu eg skal hjá
ykkar geði svala.
Hjónin æði harmþrungin
hírna fóru á vanga,
elta bæði engilinn,
inn í kórinn ganga.
Komin þegar eru inn
öðling dýr og svannin,
alvarlegur engillinn
orðum stýrir þannin:
Ef þið gæði girnizt fá
guðs og helgra lýða,
skuluð bæði þarna þá
þið í belginn skríða.
Ánægð hlíða hjónin því,
hverfa náði ótti,
bæði skríða belginn í; —
batna ráðið þótti.
Engil-myndin, sem það sá,
siðinn stundar pretta,
fyrir bindur belginn þá; —
buðlung undrar þetta.
Spyr hvað valdi háttum hans
hari og nista rósin;
gefur skjalda ullur ans
og af sér hristir ljósin:
Jeg er ekki engill neinn,
örfa tjáir beitir,
hér má þekkjast sjóla sveinn,
sem að Grámann heitir.
Litla Grámann blíðu bjó,
belg ófríðan skekur,
gylfa þá um gólfið dró;
greina síðan tekur:
Stal jeg þér á nóttu nú
(nauðum þarf ei kvíða)
eins og mér bauðst áður þú,
ullur djarfi skíða.
Kvittun synda fylkir fær,
þó fylgi lotning minni,
þér jeg hryndi helju í klær
hér með drottning þinni.
Engin veitist útlausn þér,
öðling drótta stinni,
nema heitir, hari, mér
henni dóttur þinni.
Fylgi síkja bráins bil
báleygs frú og auður,
hálft jeg ríkið hafa vil,
og heilt, nær þú ert dauður.
Flestir kjósa firðar líf,
fylkir kvað svo móður,
þín skal drós og viðris víf
verða, maður góður.
Hét með eyði nála ná,
(nóg var mága blíðan!)
belgnum leiða ljúfur frá
leysti Grámann síðan.
Þá út skríða þengill nam
þylju seima meður,
hneigði síðan Grámann gram,
gengur heim og kveður.
Heima finnur hjónin þar,
hamnum sviptur engils,
seggur ynnir svo sem var
sín viðskipti og þengils.
Orða drjúgur einnig tér
ullur harði kjóla:
héðan búast hljótið þér
heim að garði sjóla.
Hlíða bæði hissa á,
hugur gleymist sorgar,
skrýðast klæðum skástu þá,
skunda heim til borgar.
Fyrir búin veizla var,
vefjan sókt er kjóla;
Grámann nú, sem gæfu bar,
giptist dóttur sjóla.
Linna sýki veitast vann,
við sem kjóla gleður,
tók við ríki hálfu hann
hringa sólu meður.
Skötnum þá til skemmtunar
skjöldungs glæstur líki
segir frá, að son hann var
sjóla úr næsta ríki.
Hér á grund jeg hafði bið,
hirðir brynju tjáði,
nokkra stund, og svo um sið
seggi skynja náði.
Heimsku verkin heyrði eg ný
húss er ráður framdi,
jeg og klerkur þengils því
þessi ráðin samdi.
Jeg í ranni þenkti þar,
þegni hjá og brúði,
klerks að sanna kenningar,
karlinn á sem trúði.
Seggjum nú jeg sýnt það tel,
sjóli spjalla náir,
að þúsund kúa virði vel
veslings karlinn fái.
Veizlan líður — sikling sá
sinna valda gáði;
nokkru síðar falla frá,
fylkir aldinn náði.
Yggs tók brúði alla þá,
ungur stýrir lýða;
klæða þrúði þengill hjá
þáði hýru blíða.
Búandann og beðju hans
brast hið minnsta eigi,
þau nam annast lofðung lands
lífs að hinnsta degi.
Víkinganna vondri þjóð,
vopna snar á fundi,
stökkti hann með herjans glóð
hnikuðar frá sprundi.
Meður óma bálið bjart,
baldur harði skíða,
veður skjóma háði hart,
hauðrið varði fríða.
Stýrði lýðum lengi sá
laufa kvistur snari,
og um síðir, ár við há,
anda missti hari.
Þjóðarsögnin enduð er
um þær brellur garpa;
óðar gögnin minka mér,
mærðar fellur harpa.
Greina safni óðar í,
ullur jarðar linna,
leyna nafni þenkir því,
þar um varðar minna.
Beztra dáða gæddur gnægð
Gísli Bjarna alinn,
flestra náða hljóti hægð,
og Hleiðólfs tjarna valinn.
Hirði letur mærðar-máls,
minning taki góða,
virði betur frændi frjáls,
frægstra maki þjóða.
Krýnist sóma hæztum hýr
hafnar glóða viður;
týnist óma drykkur dýr,
dofnar ljóða kliður.
Góma-falur móður minn
mun ei bætur gera.
Óma valur sönginn sinn
svona lætur vera.
Source Colophon
Icelandic source text from Wikisource (is.wikisource.org), page ID for Rímur af Grámanni í Garðshorni. Original publication: Ísafjörður, Prentsmiðja Þjóðviljans unga, 1895. Public domain. Presented without modification.
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