I struck rather too lightly —
the blow was not hard;
if I had wielded the sword with both hands,
the warrior would have lost his life.
Ríma I
(Mansöngr)
Gladness has wrapped me in sweetness —
the fair game of the ring-woman;
I mourn the star, kinswoman of streams —
hard it is for the pale-fleshed man.
She lures me, that Rán of rings —
the brightest of all women;
I have no gift of arts for this —
to strive for the lily-ring.
Sorrow and sweetness together are all —
it swells about my heart;
I have therefore both hot and cold
for the ring's bright woman.
In me grow in the wisdom-town
Óðinn's hawks, both of them —
from that love is kindled anew,
up through the seedfields of glory.
I am now caught in the dark night
in the sweet sleep of bliss —
I have therefore little to worry about
for the white ring-Gefn.
Karll has been named that king
who ruled over cups;
the chieftain held Sweden
and settled there in joy and peace.
The wide land and many people
the king had to steer —
master of all culture's power,
the king's dear company.
The wise one had gotten a woman —
the most beautiful of all to see;
she shone with noble necklace-bridge,
the white linen of the cloak-tree.
Men should call the wealth-girl
Ingegerd —
she rose with splendor and power,
the Rindr of Fáfnir's floor.
Men said there was no equal —
no peer-tree of cups;
she was both bright and powerful —
she gladdened the king's warriors.
Eirekr I name, the glorious earl,
who guarded the king's realm —
he was near when the spear sang
and felled many warriors.
The king had then the lady's love —
he knew how to bestow honor;
he had a son by the gold-path woman —
that one came to be called Grímr.
He grew up and was quickly trained
to strengthen the battle-game —
to redden swords in the shield-band,
to run hills and to play chess.
He pursues chess and star-craft,
throws stones far —
no education has he missed
that adorns fine warriors.
He was then twelve winters of age —
no one will challenge him
at skiing and shooting arrows,
reddening the shielding-fire.
He amuses himself in the bower
by the prop of Fáfnir's lands —
he sets right what was wrong
and tries the sharp sword-edges.
"Tree of speech, I want to ask you,"
said the voice's goader —
"will you take me, wealth-ground,
if I go to ask on your behalf?"
"I wed myself to no man" —
answered the necklace-prop —
"let my father instruct you
and try such words."
The warrior goes to the king's meeting
and greeted the excellent ruler —
"Give me the fair hooded woman,
hurler of the serpent's street."
"You cannot unravel the thorn-path —
the king speaks with fire —
you have won little fame
nor fed wolves with blood."
"In what way should the king act then,
to redden the raven's leek,
so that I might get the woman —
fair she is, that ring-treader?"
"Hjalmar I name — a hard man,
keen at the sword-song —
he sends green shields flying
and deals in bright metal.
Expected gold gladdens men —
he deals in strife with the sword;
Harekr I name as Hjalmar's father —
he holds Bjarmaland.
I know no man more able
to steer people with valor —
go quickly now to fell him
and test your mettle.
Begin the sharp blade-game
and lay him quickly down —
then I shall give you the gold-oak
with goodly treasure.
It will be a test of fortune —
to fell Hjalmar the champion;
therefore shall the white silk-linden
be laid up as your reward."
Grímr I heard went away
to find the gold-oak —
the star-dew of streams bowed low,
the steerer of wound-serpents.
"How did it go?" said the ring-oak —
"Prince, I want to ask you;
your cheek is pale with anger —
ruler, explain this."
"Hjalmar is the name the king named —
the hurler of the serpent's street;
I shall deprive him of life
and then have you, fine woman."
"My father will have you killed, man —
the woman spoke with care —
but here is a sword that can bite
Hǫnd's bloody garment."
"Steer it in the steel-storm,
to deal strong blows" —
the prince looked at the sword's edge:
"Trausti I heard it called."
The woman gave to this mail-clad man
the snake of lance-tips —
"I shall neither waver from the prince's meeting
nor run away."
Grímr finds his father:
"Give me ships and warriors —
my path will now grow —
I will not wait long."
"I will give you fifteen ships
and a fine dragon to steer —
equip yourself with fair honor,
weapons and dear men."
The assembly was called, and a host of men
thronged there from far —
then Grímr had a mighty company,
the warrior's troop was fine.
Eager was every warrior to follow —
the hurler of the serpent's floor;
the king's host pressed to the strand —
I heard they were all strong.
Warriors ran to the ships then
and arranged all the rigging —
Hǫgni's hard blue web of war
covered the ring-trees.
They wound the sail, the wind stood
sure in every corner —
the string-bear pressed where the sea lay low,
coursing on the shell-king's slopes.
Grímr began to drive war
and raided far and wide —
none could endure the weapon-storm;
most swore oaths.
Warriors held toward Gautland
on many sea-horses —
there wolves' prey will increase
and the wolf-pack's feast strengthen.
They let their sea-horses
all run to land —
here Gönul's clay will fall for warriors
from the breast of blades.
Ríma II
I have brought the broken ship forward
with the work of words —
clever will the verse-stroke be
if health follows night and day.
Grímr comes to Gautland —
wolves will be given warm prey
if strong men now fight there,
proud men for the bright woman.
They looked up at the wide land —
long awnings stood very thick;
there was the splendor of sea-steam —
Hjalmar puzzled at the sight.
Hjalmar asked the brave men:
"Who commands on the ships there?"
Grímr leaps up and says for himself:
"All summer I have sought you."
"Grímr, come — you are adorned with fortune,
dressed with the fire of wounds and honors —
fine gold and pure wine
I will offer you without delay."
"No offer of yours can I accept —
my mind is set to that end;
cover yourself in Óðinn's web —
together we shall chop wolves' prey."
"Better it is to follow wise counsel —
Hjalmar speaks with craft and deed —
let us bind our brotherhood,
both follow each other night and day.
I am not seeking the shield-rain —
I have aimed my arrow toward that thing;
we should seek the hooded hollow
and carry her from Sweden."
Grimness leapt into Grímr's chest —
the warrior spoke with hard purpose:
"Arm yourself quickly and let us break shields —
do not flinch at the spear-drift."
"My sister is precious to see —
I will offer you the ring-Gnár,
Bjarmaland and a king's name —
let us two not feed the raven now."
"I do not want to see your sister —
tell me nothing of that;
cowardice is worst — to flinch from the fight —
men will hear of such a peace."
Hjalmar speaks, bursting with anger:
"Nowhere will I hold back longer —
let us redden the sword and test the two,
the shield-strife with keen spears."
He gripped the white web of Gjúki,
Grímr's cloak and the track of the stiff-blade —
such a fair-fallen Óðinn-one:
scarcely could any find his equal.
Grímr needed to strike first —
he was ready to increase the fight;
the blade bit the shield's rim
and flew right off Hjalmar's hand.
Hjalmar flinched nowhere
and cared not at all for quarter —
he swung his sword and tried the blade
and cut from Grímr his mail and helm.
Blood ran, the warrior burned —
Hjalmar thus bit with the thorn-sword —
both chest and gut were scored;
the sword sprang into the ground.
"I struck rather too lightly —
said Hjalmar — the blow was not hard —
if I had wielded the sword with both hands,
the warrior would have lost his life."
With both hands the ember of mercy
took up the flood of edges —
he set it into the helm and the blade shore
asunder the head and the path of thought.
The army gazed on Hjalmar's fall —
the corpse-snake rang in the wounds;
Grímr fell from the grim wound —
streams of blood poured down.
Hjalmar I heard was mounded there —
the army carried Grímr to the ships;
they sailed away with the sword-Pund —
so I heard their meeting ended.
Men held toward Swedish ground —
Grímr's wound could swell no more;
strength ebbed, life lessened —
the king and the woman heard of it.
The sword-healer brought him health —
Grímr got to betroth the woman;
the feast is prepared in the wise king's hall —
all the court was adorned with honor.
Wine went to the feast like water —
one could not get enough of the drink;
the bridal procession stood all in joy —
the king gave the glow of the sea.
The king sent his men away —
the raven's swell and the oven's hollow —
he granted the bright ring-gift
to the tree of lance-tips with all craft.
I must tell of what happened before —
the Gauts thought there was enough battle;
Hjalmar fell in the sword-need —
men got a painful death.
Men mounded Hjalmar's body —
no champion like him was ever found;
they took gold and buried it in the earth,
the grim axe with the warrior's hoard.
Sad warriors held homeward —
the battle had not been hidden from them;
men look toward Bjarmaland —
a battle-storm in every wave.
Men looked toward Harekr's stronghold —
nowhere did the sorrow lessen;
they stepped ashore and headed home —
the ruler came to meet them.
The king sees the people are pale —
thought's track burned from battle;
"Is Hjalmar on the ships,
or has he won the necklace-Ná?"
"Hjalmar has in the spear-strife
gotten wounds not small —
the king is now deprived of life;
he found no fair woman."
The ruler blew with strong distress —
"Great is the harm in Hjalmar's death;
let every man blow the horn —
I shall now harry Sweden."
Let every man who can bear the shield
push ships forward to the sea —
carry it into the fight or break the helm,
readied for this sword-hymn.
The host shall waste the land entirely —
cold strife burns in the chest;
Hjalmar would have thought it —
that vengeance would come at once.
The assembly was called, and the warriors' troop
came there through the land —
the pure king was covered in mail —
the wound-sun shone on men.
I refuse to ride the needle-road
and hold the Eastern ship longer —
Lóðurr's drink will be seen to its close;
the lock shall not go away.
Ríma III
(In three-line stanzas)
From wisdom's strand shall the Frost-bear run free —
Óðinn's drink to tell with us;
will you have any of this mead? Run.
A love-song of necklaces I offer least —
yet shall I bring Fjölnir's feast;
let warriors heed if they will. Battle.
Harekr begins to cover his people in hard steel —
helms and mail of Hrungnir's grinding-stone;
the harsh fire of battle-clouds blazes.
The king has from Bjarmaland readied his men —
rigid shields drawn of steel —
the battle will not go well for them.
Straightway the grim host goes to the sea-skis —
the gracious lord waits no longer;
the galleys ride away in a file.
Shields glittered on the bow with bright stones —
the sail was on Reifil's rigging,
red and blue with pure cloth.
Harekr began to steel his people for the hate-battle —
the cold-wave-breaker rides free;
let no warrior wait for another.
All wound the sail at once at the king's command —
the wind then could rise —
it began to roll over the ship's head.
The people's journey was as lightning flies —
the prow crept through every wave;
the sea-giantess swallowed the sword-prows.
Men lay toward Swedish ground with the strait-ravens —
there the host will thrust the timbers in;
the rigging-horse stands in the deep harbors.
The Bjarmar let burning arrows fly from the bow —
worthy spears are felt along the shoals —
warriors could buckle on helms.
Harekr urges his war-host to raise the battle —
"now shall fire and wound-rush
both at once rage through the land."
Not slow was the king's host to join the struggle —
flame sat not long at judgment;
men lost life and honor.
Far and wide Sweden's fields were scorched — men fell;
one could hear the horns ring far —
leaves cleave the thought-stall.
The earl heard of the swirl of iron in the land of kings —
the ruler bids with a strong sword —
he will overthrow this destruction.
He calls to him thrall and thane throughout the king's realm —
the host was decked in Lóðurr's fire;
many a man sold his life.
The army assembled and swords got to shear men —
Bǫlverk's tent and bright mail;
warriors blew horns far and wide.
Fear-split among men is the spear-storm —
the sword severs bone and limb —
it carries all men down to Hel.
Grundi I name — the warrior who drove the battle —
he can break notches in shields
and swell the wolf-feast with keen edges.
A dukedom he held alone of Harekr's realm —
eager to bite with wound-fire;
men's lives he sold to death.
Grundi gnawed slaughter as he dashed through the troops —
blood-soaked hot carcasses lay;
the wolves were made merry.
The earl rushed at Grundi in fury and wrath —
Eirekr sinks at the gravel-seiðr,
before Grundi, the ring-mast.
The host saw that the lord sank dead in battle —
the troop took to flinging shields;
each one fled who wanted life.
Warriors woke the spear-rain while the ladies fled —
the crash was high toward battle-clouds;
bowmen began to beat shields.
The host hurried into the forest and away from the shield-game —
the people were spread widely through the kingdom;
pale corpses pressed the field.
Hǫgni's web helped none nor helm-cover —
the host began to burn the settlements;
Bjarmar showed little mercy.
King Karll quickly hears of the champion's death —
the earl's fall and the red blood-fall;
it brings great distress to men.
One duke follows Harekr — he is called Grundi —
keenest at the meeting of spears;
blazing he walks through the hilt-grove.
Grímr heard and listened to what the court said —
the pole-knife thrusts — the ruler spoke —
the host clothed itself in steel at once.
Din rang out as warriors took Grímr's armor —
the women bore heavy grief;
I let the verse fall here.
Ríma IV
Now I turn from Eagle-ness —
nothing is gained by standing so;
I push Herjan's vessel now —
let people heed and women understand.
The lord sought the king's meeting —
death's need across the Swedish ground —
fire caused all to be burned;
men have made that known.
The ruler burned red with distress then —
to redden the people with blue steel;
the proud horn rang so high —
the troop seeks swift vengeance.
Grímr girded himself in his battle-shirt —
the warrior is forward at brave work;
the thunder-shielding one adorned himself —
Hrungnir's bridge shone from the lance.
The storm was fierce, stones were hurled —
the army now goes against the Bjarmar;
Harekr's hard men carried
shields into the battle-quiver.
Wounds ring in the spear-drift —
Grundi sunders the men's lives;
the Yule of arrows was sharp —
Grímr urges men hard.
Karll looked for a champion —
long steel bit the king;
the white writing and Rǫgnir's tent —
the ruler hastens death's tribute.
It burst hard when the king struck —
bright the spear crept to the heart;
the warrior-host sank in the fight;
the raven gathered and quickly tore.
The eagle's child screams high —
the she-wolf follows the wounds steadily;
the raven sings over the warm roast;
many wolves are at the battle-game.
Grundi presses the steel-storm —
the sword's edge stood in blood;
that finds swift King Karll:
to cleave and rend Fjölnir's throne.
Both chests were tightly strained in the fight there —
burned and pressed in battle;
men raised the sword-craving —
the wounded fought against the king.
Within a moment the prince fell —
blood in the swell of corpses;
the bright Óðinn-woman beckoned
among the spear-stream to the dead.
Karll is fallen as Kjalarr's woman —
merry sat the wolves now;
through the men Grímr drove —
thrust and press was the flood of edges.
Warrior keen Grundi then
gleams bright from the victory —
"Fallen on the field is King Karll,
cleft with the sword-leaf is Earl Eirekr.
Now I am ready against you, Grímr,
to make the strong spear-rain —
face me and aim toward the fight —
steel has time to bite you."
The battle darkens shields quickly —
wrath swelled with Grímr fast;
both warriors hastened together —
to redden the wound-serpent in blood.
Hard the swords — they had it between them —
the battle's worthy drift grew fiercer;
red blood thundered about Grundi —
the warrior's blow amid wound-foam.
Grímr's inner fury stirred there —
the blow was mixed with venom;
terribly the waterfall of wounds poured —
blood flowed about the wealth-grove.
He clove the helm at the battle-hymn —
split the skull open and pierced the chest;
the sword cut Grundi asunder —
the wound-river can be seen there.
Arrow-shafts flew so fast —
vipers split the chest hard;
the blow bit as a bridge-toss on the sea —
the brow-tooth fell from the shoulders.
Mail-rings burst from the flesh —
the blue edge tore shields;
the host fled on the tide-horse;
each goes then as best he can.
Arrows split at the battle —
the peoples offer little peace;
brave men use their feet;
the journey runs about the tern's shoulders.
Harekr I heard fled nowhere —
the worthy king turns to the battle;
the host received the sought battle —
warriors came to Grímr's meeting.
"Here is now for you the battle-glow —
Þórr knew to fight with peoples;
fame is laid low if we fell him —
you won't find such a man near."
Grímr throws his eyes at the king —
"Clearly our accord will be settled;
the people fell silent at Hjalmar's death —
vengeance is fulfilled from that need.
Life's harm my kinsman received —
worthy and strong was your son;
I lay the falls of both peoples equal —
I let Grundi and the earl be matched.
King, receive now truce and life —
trusty and strong in the spear-drift;
keep broad ships and Bjarmaland" —
bright and free was the king's counsel.
They bound sweet faith in the grove —
the king rejoices in life now;
the precious steers the spear-battle;
the raven flies to Bjarmaland.
Men lay down the sword-din —
the wounded were carried home;
the draugr went to the mound at the barrow —
the host is healed that has need of healing.
The realm holds and men flourish now —
the wise praise the mighty woman;
dear and gracious was the king —
to all courts Grímr seemed glorious.
(Closing mansöngr)
The lily severs me from the game —
the bright dew-drop I remember;
I love the wave-sun's goddess:
sweet and matchless, none her equal.
Knowledge and eloquence are both weary —
dark it is to compose about the ring-hollow;
let the woman choose a fifth verse —
I call the lay of the song fallen.
Colophon
Gríms rímur ok Hjálmars — The Rímur of Grímr and Hjalmar. Preserved in AM 604 c (with a copy in Stockholm Royal Library, paper folio 67). No prose saga survives. A Danish folk ballad, Liden Grimmer og Hjelmer kamp, corresponds to the first part of the cycle — the rivalry and duel. The four rímur cover: Grímr's upbringing at the Swedish court of King Karll; the challenge to prove himself by defeating Hjalmar, son of Harekr of Bjarmaland; the gift of the sword Trausti; Grímr's fleet sailing to Gautland; the duel in which Hjalmar falls (his dying boast — "I struck too lightly — if I had used both hands" — is among the most famous moments in rímur poetry); Grímr's marriage; Harekr's vengeance-fleet; the battle in Sweden where Earl Eirekr and King Karll both fall to Harekr's champion Grundi; Grímr's counter-attack and Grundi's death; the peace settlement; and Hjalmar's mound, now haunted by a draugr. The cycle is notable for its variety of stanza forms: Rímur I, II, and IV use the standard four-line ferskeytt; Ríma III uses a three-line dróttkvætt-influenced form. Several stanzas contain corrupt or uncertain readings, translated as best the text permits.
Source text: Rímnasafn: Samling af de ældste islandske Rimer, vol. 2, ed. Finnur Jónsson (Copenhagen: Samfund til Udgivelse af gammel nordisk Litteratur, 1922), pp. 114–131. Manuscript: AM 604 c. Public domain.
Translated from Old/Middle Icelandic by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, with scribal work by the Rímur Tulku lineage, March 2026. The rímur dictionary Orðbog til rímur (Finnur Jónsson) and Jónsson's editorial apparatus were consulted throughout. Several stanzas contain corrupt readings noted in Jónsson's Bemærkninger; these are translated as best the text allows.
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Source Text
The complete Old/Middle Icelandic source text for all four rímur is preserved in the extracted file at Tulku/rimur-tools/vol2_source/03_grimsrimur.txt, drawn from the digitized Rímnasafn Vol. 2 (public domain).
Source Colophon
From Rímnasafn: Samling af de ældste islandske Rimer, Bind 2, ed. Finnur Jónsson (Copenhagen, 1922), pp. 114–131. Manuscript: AM 604 c. Published by Samfund til Udgivelse af gammel nordisk Litteratur, XXXV.
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