The Rímur of King Numa Pompilius

The masterwork of Sigurður Breiðfjörð (1798–1846), the most celebrated rímur poet of 19th-century Iceland. Written in Greenland, published in Copenhagen in 1835, these eighteen rímur retell the life of Numa Pompilius, the legendary second king of Rome — from the founding of the city and the rape of the Sabine women, through the Sabine wars and the death of Romulus, to Numa's peaceful reign, his communion with the nymph Egeria, and the establishment of Roman religion and law.

Breiðfjörð chose Numa deliberately. In his preface, he argued that rímur should abandon fabricated troll-stories and turn to history — subjects worthy of an enlightened people. Numa, the philosopher-king who gave Rome its calendar, its priesthoods, and its peace, was his answer. The poem was an immediate sensation and remains the single most famous rímur cycle of the modern period.

This is the first known English translation. Translated from the Icelandic by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, with source text from Icelandic Wikisource (is.wikisource.org), based on the 1835 Copenhagen first edition.

Fyrsta Ríma — First Ríma

Mansöngr to Iðunn; the founding of Rome; the Rape of the Sabine Women; Pompíll fights to save his wife; he reaches the temple of Ceres and dies; his son Numa is born; the Sabine army marches on Rome.

Descend now through the shining deep,
clad in white raiment,
dearest Iðunn! the All-Father gave
you to us as bride.

Mother of my gentle verses,
mild, fair to behold,
let me wrap myself within
the wave-laws of your arms.

The spirit-born children of our kin,
the offspring you have fostered —
let them eat the undying apples
from your breast.

Since you hold those apples high
that hurl away the skin of age,
ah! do not let
my young ones die.

Unborn fate may drag me down
toward the crags of death,
but I will not let the Norn
spite our children, Iðunn.

Come now, my high healing!
Strengthen the sick mind,
heavenly one, lend me your voice
and gentle art of verse.

Fill your blessed breast now,
brighten the mind's eye;
every verse you bless
that our harp sounds forth.

Our friends, Iðunn — those
whom noble nature graces —
we dare to bring the children small
and bid him take them in.

Though alone we toil here,
among the sons of Greenland,
we let the song-birds
play in their nesting-grounds.

My storm-swift spirit needs
no one to weigh its skill;
whenever I wish, it is easy at hand
to be home in Fróni.

The bird saw far beneath it
the veil of clouds below;
now it flies southward
to the plains of Italy.

And so from there unhesitant,
home to Iceland's men,
to tell what tidings each place
most has to bring.

High-born noble Friend,
upon your mighty seat-throne,
do not drive away my bird
that would sing for you.

All was inhabited — of this the records
are in our hands —
great regions in elder ages,
in the lands of Italy.

There where the empty lands lie
and Latium's plains shine,
first they came to build Rome,
upon the Palatine hill.

Romulus and Remus both,
whom the writings call brothers,
sons of Mars they were,
kinsmen of Procas.

Of all cities, Rome in council
is reckoned greatest among men;
upon seven high hills she
lifts her walls to heaven.

Before the city was fully built,
stripped of bloom and honour,
by the counsel of Romulus,
Remus died, slain.

He who wrought the bloody bath
and ordained his brother's torment,
he let the high place be named
by his own name.

The city's host in battles fierce
has ever been at war;
not one of them wraps the dear kin
in a woman's arms.

That was a loss, in that city,
for no woman could be found!
Can you guess how long
they could endure that?

Now of other folk
a new tale must be told:
beside Latium's lords there lies
the land of Sabinia.

King Tatius among his men
holds the reins of rule;
no bully does he shield,
nor yields before any threat.

He knew to ward off trouble and strife
and reap the harvest first,
to defend his land and people
was his earnest care.

He honours virtue with esteem,
endowed with fine blessings;
no people love anyone better
than their king.

Equal to the king in honour
is his loyal kinsman:
Pompíll is the name he bears,
a warrior battle-proved.

He steers the host and guards
with his precious blade;
he diminishes his foes before him
so that peace may dwell in the land.

He won the sun-wheel's fair prize,
the noble lord's bride:
Pompilía is her name,
wrapped in the serpent's coil.

Their tender love grew sore with longing,
both grieved thereby;
ten years have passed
and no child was born to them.

They honoured many a god,
men learned of old,
calling for luck and shelter on
every power they knew.

Greatest trust among the people
bore — for the signs were plain —
the Seed-goddess Ceres there
in the Sabine land.

Her temple stands adorned
where green forests rise;
oak-branches have spread wide
above the roof-ridge.

A great crowd of priests
serves the goddess there;
the most honoured of all
is the one called Tullus.

Pompilía finds the renowned
priest and bids him:
let the ancient rites be done
that her womb might quicken.

He robes himself for this,
eager here to help;
together they kneel with one heart
at the altar and pray.

Thus the Lady: "Holy, high,
heavenly goddess best,
look upon me now in mercy —
all I feel is failing.

While I cannot be a mother
for the finest of men,
I find no joy in anything else;
I would bear what is good.

If mercy bends to me and grants
that I might conceive a son,
though I die, I shall give thanks
to you in the birthing.

If a son is then given me,
the choice is good:
I give him and consecrate him to you —
be you his mother!"

Thus she prayed, often and long;
the matter was resolved:
after that the fair woman
found herself with child.

Gentle gladness wraps
the hearts of the couple high;
the time begins to pass
until the birth demands.

Now the city of Rome is built;
word is sent to Sabinia,
and gracious letters come
bidding all to the new city.

There a holy festival is to be held,
the greatest feast of the gods;
whoever bears the will and means,
let the guests be welcome.

Many desire this then,
flocks come running there
to see the wondrous city's form,
both men and women.

Pompíll follows the people there,
attended by a troop of maidens,
like a wave of blooming red,
his wife heavy with child.

Into the city each man presses
with eager foot;
Romulus takes command
and seats the warriors.

The noble speaks from the throne,
all eyes turn to him;
upon the prince's garments blazed
the lights of Élivágar.

When he settles in the high seat,
dread swept from him;
the tallest of all men,
a prince he seemed.

He, unsmiling, surveyed the host,
seated on a lower tier;
grim and swollen is his face,
his eyes sharp and bitter.

Thus the falcon sweeps his gaze
from the mountainside,
where he finds the small birds
fluttering in the green valleys.

The high lord gives the signal;
the Romans understand —
they take up the bitter swords
and sing the clash-song.

Battle begins and quarrels then,
in the fashion of base thralls;
boldly they drag wives and daughters
from the guest-seated peace.

The Sabines see the plunder,
their brows darken;
they rush here, weaponless,
and ill-prepared besides.

They grapple with the foe,
not guarding their lives;
but the swords pass through them,
through their unshielded flesh.

The weeping of women overpowers
all other cries;
their husbands and fathers fall
and lose their lives.

The Romans spare nothing more,
they press the burning steel;
the men drive the women into hiding
and fell all who resist.

Death awaits each man
who hinders the seizing of brides;
some flee home wounded,
dishonoured from the field.

Of Pompíll let us tell first
where the tumult worsens;
he seeks to reach his own wife
where the villains struggle.

The champion carries his bride in his arms,
he manages to flee the house;
a troop pursues him —
now his luck fails.

They tear the lady from him,
drive him hard from behind;
from one of them the prince seizes
the drawn and whetted sword.

Blue lightning of Blindr flashed
in the prince's hands;
he lays them down in a ring,
sparing none of the grey foes.

Arrow-wounds he takes from bows,
the lord stands firm still;
whoever dares come near him
is burned by the war-god's flame.

The thralls give up the fight at that;
the prince, his wife unharmed,
wraps her within
his blood-stained arms.

Far off, the lioness
watches from the broad road,
the armed hunter approaching
her nest.

Her fury swells fierce,
she will test her courage;
she roars, foams, shakes her mane,
crushes stones in her claws.

She will not settle for mere flight —
she is ablaze like tinder;
she tears, rends, seizes him,
rips the heart asunder.

Then over her young ones, soothed,
she wraps herself around;
her tongue, which hid in blood,
now gives them tending.

Where bloody rage had stormed,
in her breast the fierce hatred,
now a mother's love is present,
deeply gentle.

Pompíll, nimble, went on his way
with his dear burden, swiftly;
from his limbs the blood runs,
the path turns red.

He reaches the holy temple,
beside the high altar;
he sets down his weary load
and begs the protection of Ceres.

He put aside the wound-bearing limb
and laid down the sword;
from there he hastens a few steps
and falls down dead.

The head-priest Tullus came
and found the bride;
there, at the greatest sound of grief,
sorrow crushed the heart.

All the anguish struck at once,
no rescue shone;
the pangs of birth
assail and torment her.

Tullus did his best to help;
with signs of life grown pale,
the woman bore a son, and then
slept away from suffering.

The wise priest remembered
the wife's prayer;
to his own dear goddess
he consecrates the boy and gives him.

He carries him home to his own house,
to a quiet chamber;
women tend the boy for him —
his name is Numa.

A pyre with splendour was prepared
for both the couple's bodies;
the people of the land followed there,
for King Tatius high.

All the host bore grief,
the gentle women cried;
the lord swore by the flame
to avenge his fallen friend.

From the burning, the men of Pompíll
soon march into the city;
men flock to arms —
the women's wrong burns hot.

The prince himself, the chieftain,
sets the battle-order;
quaking hearts, rage-swollen,
hatred spurs the host.

Where the furious march begins,
with men of every kind:
the sky splits, the earth groans,
the cliffs moan and weep.

Bushes scatter, trees fall,
the grasses creep into hiding;
the rivers surge from their beds,
all creatures tremble.

All that lives flees before
the terror of the grim weather,
as over their backs
the dread host treads.

Thus the fierce age pressed on,
though often meeting storms,
until they resolved to raise their tents
at the borders of Rome.

Ønnur Ríma — Second Ríma

Not yet had the ancient world
found the hidden mercy —
that pale-blue poison-ember
in the bowels of the earth.

You who set town and city
ablaze in a single breath —
who brought you into this world,
you flame of the death-pit?

You who dare to raise your voice
against the thunder's song,
and mercilessly strike all things
down into ash.

Though a coward's hand may kindle you,
the good warrior falls,
and you lay waste to lands
in the Devil's fire.

Wherever you are set loose,
you are eager to harm;
before you not even the blue mountains
may stand in peace.

Murder and treachery follow you
if a woman steers your hand,
for you never cease
to work your ruin.

Warriors, fortresses, houses, ships
on the harbour's soft pillows —
all become in a single flash
fuel in your jaws.

Foul darkness gathers with you,
and the shapes of the worst phantoms,
when your cinder-sickness draws
rings around the eye.

Let every living thought despise you
in heaven, on sea, and on land —
ages, days, and moments
full of smouldering harm.

Neither need I nor will I
lengthen this poem about you;
you were not yet in existence
in the battles of my heroes.

When the blue brow of day
changes the custom of time,
the sun steps down from sight
and sinks — they call her Gríma.

The old woman Hildr calls then
for warriors to rise to their feet;
upon the hawk-grounds the blue frost
kindles Bölverk's fire.

Ravens gather above the battle-field,
calling together in flocks,
boasting that they know
those who are fated to fall.

Eagles come and hold their council,
keen-eyed, cackling,
curling every claw in a ring
and craning their dark beaks.

The wolf knows the time and place;
the prey tickles his palate.
But King Tatius and his host
march against the gates of Rome.

Those folk who before in the hall
robbed the ladies of their feast-cups —
he bids them out upon the broad field
to face the bride of Heðinn.

Romulus burns with fury,
quick to seize his weapons,
calls aloud upon his men;
the vault of the hall resounds.

Forth upon the wading-field of Rome
they arm themselves for slaughter,
weapons all aloft,
edges turning toward flesh.

The Sabines raise a battle-din,
engage with savage fury,
rushing like a waterfall
down from a sheer cliff.

Blood floated below in the pools
under the wounds' serpents;
men sink into death's lap,
each upon the other's feet.

Long the sword-storm assailed
the host in grey shields;
not one stepped back a foot;
the field fills with the slain.

So does noble Rán
let her daughters harry
the feet of the earth without peace,
and batter the roots of the mountains;

She would clear the kingdom's narrows
and rule the whole world;
her industry is very fierce,
but it is hard to batter the mountains;

She rouses the dead from the deep;
they gather from their barrows,
those who wash the blue cliffs
and beat them from the front.

Yet neither these move from their place,
nor do they fear destruction;
they mock Rán's pride
and shake off her messengers.

So the armies of both sides fought,
Blindr in the caves of storm;
each one standing where he fell,
firm as founded walls.

Whole skulls batter toward the houses;
chopping-weapons, spears, and lances
break shield-boards apart,
and blades screech on bucklers.

But there where the high battle stands,
hot in the blood's currents,
women are seen in crowds
streaming from the city gates.

Those who were stolen at
the feast-games of Rome
now see their husbands' host
torn apart by the clash.

They rush and cry out upon the field,
fierce in their grief,
fearing neither bloody death-tidings
nor the sword-clang.

Hair streams loose, tears flow,
arms fling wide apart;
through peril and the wounds' river
they press into the ranks.

They wail, they call, they urge peace;
their voices rise above all else;
hands fall limp on the warriors,
Hár's embers are doused.

So spoke their words:
"You men — brothers, fathers!
Quench the sudden fire of Ómi
with the feeling of blood!

"You who fight for our sake —
do you know what you are doing?
The poisoned trail of the sword's edge
is cutting our lives!

"Our husbands lay fathers
on the field, and brothers;
and we carry children
of both bloods.

"Why will you prepare
such bloody breast-wounds for us?
Both peoples have become one —
consider that and understand.

"But if you thirst for blood,
and so it must be,
let the red edge first
cut all of us apart.

"Wade over our corpses
and the children that lie hidden,
then heap upon them
your own dead at the last."

The warriors' hands fall slack;
the uproar halts where it stands;
the sword tilts away from the blow;
hesitation enters the spear.

The women press harder still;
they spread their arms toward the men,
coax the ugly swords away,
and lure them toward a truce.

Both kings come to parley
and make this covenant of peace:
their peoples shall henceforth
be one in both their graces.

They shall be two equal lords
upon a single throne;
the host with all its company is reconciled,
and so they turn toward the city.

Tatius keeps the laws of the land,
comes to the aid of the destitute,
sits at home most mild,
and settles suits and quarrels.

A few attend the cares of rule;
he does not change his customs.
The lord has a daughter;
Tasía is the maiden's name.

In truth the lady was fair,
but fairest yet in manner;
she offered folk such gentle grace
as the sun smiles on the trees.

Romulus — his restless hand
never rested in peace;
he conquered lands beneath him
and lived in the clatter of swords.

The lord likewise has a daughter;
we shall speak of her later;
Hár's ravens wheel away from her
and flutter onward.

Now something must be told
of Numa — the best of boys —
born in his own homeland,
raised by the priest Tullus.

Obedient to his friend he was;
he learned wisdom and virtue;
no young man bore
a fairer face than his.

The ruddy cheek and the clear skin
lay softly in his features;
the good heart shone clear through
the blue crystal of his eyelids.

So is a handsome tree
watered by a living brook
on the green valley floor,
where growth drinks in its strength.

Fair-coloured it bears blossoms,
straight in its smooth raiment,
sheltered from every gust of wind
by the chosen lee of cliffs.

Its roots draw sap
from the brook's currents,
the finest thing there is,
and fairer than all trees.

So eighteen years passed;
the noble blossom of boys
reached his full growth, tall,
fair to see and to test.

The warrior serves in the temple,
busy at the sacrifice;
he was given to that worship,
endowed with needed learning.

He followed his foster-father,
eager for the temperate way,
for he was to take up
that office after him.

It was upon a holy day;
the young man and the priest
stand beside the altar,
reading the sacred prayers.

The house fills with holy cloud;
men of faith are gladdened;
in the vault above are heard
the voices of heaven's dwellers.

These words from the holy voice
the ears can understand:
"Let Numa go forth to Rome;
the people shall have him.

"The will of men cannot
resist the will of Ceres;
she is with her beloved,
and will not part from him."

Each now looks upon the other;
both are astounded;
at last Tullus speaks: "You
must prepare for the journey.

"Though it grieves us, my son,
to think of ending our life together,
we hear heaven's command clearly;
it demands gentle obedience."

Numa's fair brows pale,
his eyes' fire falters;
those gentle tears flow
that grateful love repays.

The priestly boy takes him aside
and leads him from there
down into the deepest vault
that holds the keys.

He sets forth two silver vessels
and says: "Here you may find
the ashes of both your parents,
hidden within these."

"You may remember their dear dust
with tender thought;
from blessed seats on high
they look down upon us."

Numa reddens and is silent;
his thoughts fetter his tongue;
with loving eyes he gazes
upon the vessels of the mortal remains.

Love's arms embrace the warm heart;
the soft and tender hand —
the stones of sight swim
in the sweet streams of tears.

Tullus hands the boy a sword
and speaks with learned tongue:
"Let this follow you on your journey;
your father owned its gleam.

"He never let a hostile hand
sharpen its whetted edge;
with it he defended his life, his land,
and in the end your mother.

"Keep, my friend, the same custom
when you draw the sword in hand;
I pray the gods to grant
that it harm only foes."

"Here also is a shining lock
I have kept a long while;
it is your mother's hair —
take it now, I give it."

Numa treasures the hair and the spear,
mild-tempered, with tears;
then they walk from there,
swollen with love's wounds.

Away Numa had to go;
he is given the best of gear;
his foster-father, bent with age,
follows him out upon the road.

There where they must part
on the green woodland meadow,
the good high-priest
raised this fitting speech:

"Though here our paths divide,
sorrow shall not bow me;
but forth upon your longer road
I send my thoughts with lightened heart.

"For I fear for your youth —
there is need of forethought;
when you come there to Rome,
a thousand snares await.

"At your age you have no friend
that you may trust;
their love is a surface-gleam
which age and experience strip away.

"The lust of the flesh is dangerous
at every opportunity;
she would wind you in her arms —
but beware of her, my dear!

"I count that man a fine champion
who guards himself against her wiles;
a tender heart is easily weakened,
but still it must hold firm!

"If you give her free rein,
though it may seem a small thing,
before temptation's current
you will not stand long;

"You will fall asleep in empty pleasure
and lose the path of virtue —
yet the narrow hour of grace
may come the very next day.

"Against the soul's wretched weeping
bitter remorse awakens,
worthless in waking and in dream,
never lulled to rest.

"Therefore at every step you take
forth upon life's course,
consider what befits you,
and hate pride and wrath.

"Honour those of high estate —
that is the world's custom —
but let the lowly have their right,
and suffer it no less.

"Wisdom and virtue —
choose both as your sisters;
seek what comes first
in their counsel always.

"Fortune dwells in a man's heart;
luck is an outward gift;
virtue alone may give his mind
rest and bring him peace.

"Tenderness is a delicate kind,
frail and quick as startled —
it causes both bliss and sin,
depending on how it is handled.

"Gain and loss — yes, life and death —
the tongue brings forth;
therefore it is worth minding your words,
and training it young.

"Honour those whose heads are grey
and who praise their days;
be especially careful with your words
when you are among women.

"Flee from wicked company,
and avoid those who rage;
love the good, but pity those
who are led astray.

"Hear the cry of the destitute,
ease the pains of the sick;
be a refuge for all the wretched,
according to your strength.

"Tend these few counsels!
Tend the virtues constantly!
So though I part from you,
may holy fortune follow you.

"Here at last is a small letter;
you may read the document —
to King Tatius I commit it;
herewith I entrust you to his care."

May grace be upon your road,
may peace warm your breast.
Tullus, after these words spoken,
parts from his beloved.

Numa feels the bitter grief
that follows a child's leaving;
long he stretches out his arms
toward those who have gone.

Then upon a white horse,
laden with fine gear,
the man sits most silent
and hastens on new roads.

The steed ran like a flying cloud
before a keen wind;
the distances devoured each other
with haste.

All was in flight and motion;
the great mountains trembled;
hills, cities, heights —
all were running.

The land-views rose up
out of the blue sky,
but the foster-land sank
from the eyes of the friend.

Þriðja Ríma — Third Ríma

Mansöngr on the motherland; Numa rides to Rome; his dream of Ceres and Egeria; arrival at the city; King Tasus receives him; the beauty of Tasía; Numa discovers the grove of Egeria.

The motherland where a man is born —
is it not dear to most?
There where the light kindles life
and small creation ripens.

Though a man may wade fortune's sea
to many other lands,
his heart strains back at length
to where his fair youth dwelt.

Would I not remember
the high peaks of the motherland,
and reach my kindred home
on the flight of the mind?

Yes, I remember, ancient foster-mother,
the steep mountains you bear;
in your lap, evening and morning,
a living play of memory stirs.

To think and speak of your beauty —
that is my commonest joy;
in the gentle warmth of pleasant valleys
the flocks creep about your breast.

The obedient flock of the herd
comes home to the folds;
there I sat in the willow-slopes
on summer evenings long ago.

Foster-mother! yes, it suited my mind
to rest in your embrace;
I built there with the delight of youth
my tiny houses.

They were full of another kind of wealth —
nothing more was needed;
all manner of gold and treasure from the shores,
we two brothers carried there.

We picked, where the ground was green,
the bright-coloured grass-flowers;
they came unharmed into the clear shell-bowl,
but they were precious.

A fine share could be divided —
there should be no difference;
each owned his own hillocks,
which then were our islands.

We made our bonds of peace with joy;
we had no lack of livestock —
our sheep, cattle, and horses
grazed the straw upon the islands.

Though freed from need by our treasures,
most things improved besides,
yet from our wealth there sometimes
arose ugly quarrel-matters.

We fought single combats, hard of heart;
we used the strength of our hands,
and with sharpened switch-swords
dealt no small wounds.

Yet I am content in this land,
far from all such trials,
but the sore-tried mind longs still
for the mother's white apron.

The road runs on — let us hurry;
(may you not grow weary of me).
Numa rides on a white horse;
he was waiting for me.

But because Night chased his horse
and he could not escape her,
Sleep quietly offered
lodging to that good guest.

Where a brook streams lightly through a grove,
the weary one falls asleep;
what he dreams — I have the news of it
here to offer you, friend.

A chariot drawn by two dragons
appeared before his dream-sight;
seated in it, like the sun new-washed,
was the goddess Ceres, high in honour.

Above his head where he sleeps
the heaven-chariot halts;
the clouds tremble; the goddess
attends to the man and spoke thus:

"I love you and watch over you,
all hours, dear boy,
that no harm befall the man
while he dwells upon the earth.

Whatever you ask, I will grant;
you may choose at once."
The ring-god thought he could press his prayer,
and spoke thus:

"Give me wisdom, high in the heart,
holy mother!" Then Tullus swears
that he who has it
shall receive every good thing.

Numa vanishes all at once
to the highest halls of the gods,
and hears pure Minerva speak
the learning of wisdom.

Most of all he desires to see her,
if he might,
but the golden clouds hide the godhead —
the eye cannot reach through.

His powers of hearing could not long endure
the holy voices;
now he is back upon the earth,
standing in a forest.

Wrapped in linen, the water-goddess
sits kindly on a seat;
her head seems to bow gently
toward his breast.

She, in delight, weaving
all the images of the mind —
binds the heart of the wondering man
in the presence of the spring-goddess.

Numa asked the goddess her name,
for he was struck with wonder;
surrounded by cliffs, she gives answer:
"Egeria," she says there.

Numa wakes; he is alone
and lay there in the bushes;
ever he yearns — he sees nothing
remaining of the high goddesses.

The fair man ponders the dream;
he leads his day with pious hand;
hastens to his feet, mounts and rides;
comes forward into Roman lands.

All is quiet in the empty land;
small children and men in rows
are cold in their miserable state;
widows mourn their lost condition.

No pasture is set for the clean herds;
the bloom is gone;
on the field-edges weeds spring up;
no one tends the little grains.

Garments of grief cover heads;
the threefold songs of sorrow are heard;
fathers and mothers mourn their sons,
sisters their brothers, and wives their men.

The widow wails, anguish weaves;
she can hardly get her eyes dry;
her only son has been called
by the army of Romulus.

Thus do wars torment the lands:
though splendid garments adorn
warriors covered by shields,
at home dread and need abide.

Numa, silent with sorrow-eyes,
looked upon those empty regions;
but now before his brow-arches
the city of Rome rose up in splendour.

Into the blue sky, so high he sees it —
from the heights, that new city
hurls its high towers like javelins;
they clash against each other in the storm's roar.

The broad wall gleams against him —
the craft was not poor —
when the sun from the heath sows
her gold upon the copper roof.

Ramparts in arching walls form
a great circle about the city;
dug moats swim alongside
to defend against the shameful host.

The highest defensive height
and capital of the place —
most consider it the finest building —
is called the Capitolium.

Here stands the greatest temple,
holy to Father Jupiter;
a structure known for utmost beauty,
it bears the radiance of the flood of sunlight.

The city stands adorned with timbers,
fairest in the world at that time;
Numa turned toward its gates;
warriors guard the splendid portals.

They stood in fine blue byrnies,
decked in the red glow of battle;
Odin's high fire-brands
the folk kindled from their hands.

Worthy Numa enters the city,
looks about on every side,
but whatever the eye beholds
urgently proclaims the assembly of war.

Metals groan loud against hammer;
shields are beaten on the anvils;
none can restrain that clamour;
fires forge the blue iron.

The grey steam of the smithy billows;
coals are kindled on the brands;
clouds are flung from the high wheel;
they lick the naked sky.

Battle-weary warriors practise war;
each is decked in shields;
horses are driven hard in harness;
the war-trumpets blast.

Numa wonders, Numa fears,
Numa ponders what it means,
Numa hastens, Numa steals away,
Numa withdraws.

Through the city the roads lead;
at last he finds the king's house,
and the aged lord Tasus
leads the man inside.

Now the youth bore Sjóla's letter;
the brow-sun shone on the page;
the king rose from his high seat
and folded the man in his arms.

He speaks thus: "A blessed day
dawns especially for me, old man,
that I may clasp you, fair kinsman,
in my arms here.

Pompíll's own eyes I recognise,
and I find his look in you;
my heart says that you
do not deny me your love.

Light it is for pale old age to bear
with dear children beside it;
when the weak mind is troubled,
the comfort of both nourishes."

"I also have a fine daughter;
she cultivates the good virtues well;
so I may show her to you —
servants, call the lady here."

The heroes see, in chosen garments,
the maiden approaches, moving neatly;
like a ray of light, wrapped in radiance,
she glided smoothly.

Though many would find themselves fairer,
the rosy lady bore her virtues;
she drew love and delight toward her;
she was exceedingly good and gracious.

Numa bows before the lady;
the father bids the maiden sit:
"This is your brother," he says,
"the gentle one visits us."

"He is Pompíll's fair heir —
often, as I have told you —
he bears the same splendid look;
he will comfort my old age."

"Dwell now with us, fair-hearted one;
thus your fortune may improve;
I fear no old age then
with you, my children, beside me."

"Perhaps dearer bonds may bind us both,
may tie us better together here;
a brighter crown of power to rule —
I wish you fame and glory."

The wise lady understood
her good father's full meaning then;
the rosy rose colours her cheeks
as if pure blood ran in snow.

She looked at the bright-browed youth —
she had not seen a fairer man;
therefore now in secret
sweet inclinations of love stirred.

The fair one gives her answer,
the staff of the sun's breadth —
she promises to obey in gentle faithfulness
whatever the king commands.

The noble bows, without cold words:
"I wish to see no pretence;
we need not speak of obedience —
let us remember friendship's promises.

Long have I ruled kingdoms,
and experience bears this best witness:
no one has feared me — but the love
of hearts I have won for myself.

I dwell still by the same custom;
each has chosen his own measure;
with all men I share peace;
but mighty Romulus

drives the terror-whip onward,
thrusting our subjects into war;
they bow to his heavy command
until at last they give their lives.

He is out, making war
against King Antemnas;
when he returns from there,
we must meet him at our swiftest.

That he will win the victory, none doubts —
never was a more famous champion;
no one on the battlefield is readied
under Sigmund's sword to match him.

When in the grim tumult of spears
that destroyer of nations goes to slaughter,
he is alone in all the army —
none can withstand him.

Tall of stature and hugely thick,
he shakes the terror from his brows;
dark of hair and warlike,
he has strength beyond wonder.

His fame carries tales of mighty deeds
beneath the wind's tent;
for his wise head and strong hand
never need rest."

"He has a daughter: Hersilia
is that prince's dear lady called;
of her much may quickly be told —
no fairer maiden is formed.

Kings from far and wide seek
the love of the ring-goddess,
but the proud bride casts her eye
and turns her back on all of them.

She drives the suitors' prayers away;
she wraps herself in grey shields;
a helmet covers the maiden's head;
her hand wields a small sword.

The lady rides with her father
forward into battle on a powerful steed;
the storm of weapons gladdens her heart;
she cuts down many a troop.

When her hands are not swinging swords,
she is all the more to be watched,
for the tender fires of love she kindles
in all who see the bride.

Whoever looks upon that bright flower
is simply struck from himself —
yet, though none can refrain from crying love,
she scorns all men."

"I tell you this tale truly
of the rich ruler and his bride;
gladly I recall the virtues,
and would be pleased if you knew them.

You may decide freely —
choose now from the means at hand:
stay here in peace with us,
or dwell in his tents."

The hero says he will stay home
and not part from the king;
gladly follow and obey him,
so long as comfort can be had.

Tasía hears what he says;
the gentle hope springs in her heart;
the maiden assents and is silent —
it was according to her will.

Numa stays home some days,
at peace and shunning noise;
but one time he wanders out through the meadows,
pondering his dream.

Now the spear-tree hears
where about the city feet wander,
that a forest near a certain river
was called the grove of Egeria.

The spring-goddess lives in his memory —
the one he saw in his dream;
into the forest he bent his path,
best of men, and saw the grove.

A breeze played at the rustling of the leaves;
joy could quicken there;
the forest, in its broad bends,
shelters delightful nature.

There the holy silence reigns
and wakes the sweet thoughts of man;
ancient oaks wave, age-bowing,
under the noble wreath of their branches.

There, shining and pleasant,
the host of leaves steps into a dance;
the wind draws its breath across the meadows;
the cradle of the evening is there.

Whatever you think, let it please you,
you little feather-balls!
You hop, sit, fly about crazily —
never still, like snakes.

You chant your songs, stretch your notes,
and speak of most things there;
but many do not understand you
except the best of the knowing.

They steal about the spacious grove,
weighing the sound of voices.
They sang of Numa's vision and dreams
as well as they could set them in song.

Here the keen ears linger;
he will stay in this place.
But whether they choose aright and know the truth —
we shall speak of that later.

Fjórða Ríma — Fourth Ríma

Mansöngr on two kinds of love; Numa finds the sleeping shield-maiden in the grove; she wakes in fury — it is Hersilia, daughter of Romulus; Numa falls in love; Romulus returns victorious; the sacrifice to Jupiter; a new war is announced.

Does not every man's heart know,
in the hollows of flesh and soul,
the bright flame of woman's love?
Brother, would you deny it?

Some may care little for this,
but two kinds of love are born
in the world — unlike in all their ways,
and they have always been so.

One plunges a man into misery;
the other turns toward happiness.
I could distinguish between them —
I am acquainted with both.

One, which commonly strikes,
and is perhaps the hottest,
drew its nourishment
from our blood and from our senses.

It does not reach the heart's recesses,
though fools may think so —
no, it pulses through all our veins
and finds no resting place.

Our souls it does not possess;
it has no thought of higher things;
it smothers every lofty contemplation
and gives the flesh comfort and pleasure.

Its one wish is to enjoy
and sate its exhausted desire;
little does it promise of blessings —
but the other is of another kind.

On the soul's own union it feeds,
and dwells in the heart's recesses;
it stirs gently in measure —
it is not lust, but virtue.

Its warmth does not weaken;
to friends it is faithful and true;
on the road toward perfection
it draws all desires.

Its joy, pure and clear,
warms, but never burns;
though it knows the sting of its wounds,
it rubs sweet salve into them.

Honour, wealth, luck, or favour
never broke its chair,
and should it find itself amid
the blizzard of need, it wraps itself in piety's cloak.

Now I have described them both;
more and longer could be written,
if men wished to hear it —
but I will stop. It is time.

Numa stayed long in the grove,
wandering here and there.
He sees a maiden — she lay sleeping,
like a shield-maiden in her dress.

Her bright head she has laid
lightly on a shield; by her cheeks
the maiden's helmet, as she sleeps gently,
lay covered with a wave of stars.

Her bright hair covers the byrnie;
it flowed down in golden waves.
Everything that wakes the heart's wonder —
the bride's adornment filled his eyes.

She holds a spear beneath her hand;
she lay in the forest's down.
The light of Þundr sent its gleam
from the maiden's meadow of the spring.

So in a dreaming trance there lies
the Día-gleam, the one Freyja bears.
Thither Loki thinks to steal,
and lies hidden low in the grass.

He flutters about the maiden's breast and belly;
the Brísinga necklace hangs from her throat;
the light stirrings of the blood
lay lilies small about her breasts.

Sleep dwells on her young eyes —
they are bright, though the lashes hide them;
a red thread on her cheek-mounds
weaves and winds about her.

Tangled in tender roses,
the red reins of blue veins;
colours flicker lightly on her lips,
and small dream-smiles form.

Her breath, warm as fine fragrance,
lends freely its sense;
life dwells in her white breast,
swelling and drawing in.

Her bright skin, hand and foot,
is gently wrapped about;
around the smooth thighs and joints,
small rings mark themselves.

The breath rests beneath the navel,
and so white is the skin's surface,
as if the laughing sun
spat silver upon the snowdrifts.

Loki's brow shone, wondering;
his playful mind halted.
He became a fly or a spirit
and reluctantly hid himself.

More lovely than all maidens —
I find no verse to say it —
like Freyja, yet far more beautiful,
the shield-maiden sleeps in the grove.

Now it occurs to Numa
(and it was likely enough)
that he saw Minerva there,
adorned in her shields, exalted.

He falls upon both his knees;
the body's strength fails;
as best he could, from the lore of prayer,
his tongue made offering with reverence.

Now the maiden wakes from sleep,
appears quick and resolute;
she flashed the fire of her brows at the man
and drew her feet beneath her.

All at once: the helmet covers
her head, her hand seizes the blade.
He understands her speech,
kneeling, in this fashion:

"Who are you, foolish wretch,
who dare to hide here?
Such boldness will not save you —
I mean to cut you down and finish you.

Were it not a shame for a lady
to murder an unarmed boy,
the sword should be washed in blood
and teach the trespasser his lesson."

Numa says: "Bright goddess!
When my eye saw your godhead,
I was struck with the nearest terror
through my inmost sinews.

I fell down — my feet
could not carry my body.
Now I beg your forgiveness gladly;
I can hasten my steps from here."

"Your high presence sickened my heart."
"I turn from you and worship you."
The maiden then softened her speech,
and smiled a little:

"Render honour to a heavenly goddess —
you need not fear me, laden with dread.
Know: my name is Hersilia;
I am the fortunate daughter of Romulus."

Now she strikes her sword on the shield;
a company of warriors arrives;
with a handsomely decked horse on the field
the pure lady mounts.

As if flung from the halls of the peaks,
she whips the steed and it ran;
Numa stands nearly blind;
keen imagination fetters him.

The thoughts of war torment him —
he can hardly endure it;
the blood pulses burning hot
down through the small veins.

The proud hero begins to run,
hastens and enters Rome,
follows the track of the good horse
as the flower of women rides.

He turns toward Tasus's hall;
his breath trembles, his face is pale;
and there stands the sea's sun,
Sjöfn shining, beside the king.

She announces to the king
the swift return of Romulus,
for he has won the victory,
the hero who carved through shields.

She declares that all is being readied:
the war-god dons his garments;
when the crowned one arrives in glory,
the lord enters the Capitolium.

Numa sees her; he recognises her.
The princess asks who the man is.
The king does not conceal it from her,
calms his mind, and gives his answer:

"The good youth" — he presents him thus —
"I have chosen as my son;
he is of our own royal blood
and shall inherit my seat here."

Numa stands deathly pale;
scarcely could he give attention.
But now the silk-land of jewels
sent the rods of her sight toward him.

The poor pale one grows warmer;
the ring-Auðr turned toward his brow;
a colour red as fire
blazed and seethed about his cheeks.

The king saw his colour change
but does not understand the cause,
for grey old age no longer sees
the heat of love in any way.

"Raised at home" — the king declares —
"this excellent man of honour;
he is still shy, as you see;
the awkwardness will pass."

The more perceptive sun of treasure
saw what troubled the young man;
she pretended to accept the lord's answer,
the cunning ring-goddess of the mind.

She calmed her thoughts as was her custom,
but gazed upon the man of beauty;
as if she cared for nothing else —
yet he fastened love upon himself.

Now the sweet one prepares to leave quickly;
her breast conceals the man's beauty.
But in that moment the bride's fine eyes
meet the gems of his brows.

One glance — it works wonders —
sweeps through the innermost sinew.
It was hot — O, it was fire!
From it life and power flew.

It wakes the hope of Numa's heart;
the fairest joy it stirs.
And the bright maiden takes with her
his image, wrapped in love's cloth.

The lady is gone; the best of men
can only whisper his prayers in secret.
He is no longer the same;
sleeping and waking, the bride is near.

Though fame should fail in the frenzy of love —
on the lady he feeds his soul and mind,
forgets Tasus and the priest Tullus,
and loses his gentle virtues besides.

Dead are his counsels; numb his thought;
the body's strength taken crosswise;
eager lust would build its home in his breast
and drives all else away.

The pure thoughts of the heart flee;
there is no rest in the pain;
one thought alone — Hersilia —
is his in secret, day and night.

O, dear beloved of the prince,
who lose everything you had here —
shall no escape, no refuge,
serve you any longer?

Where now are your foster-father's teachings,
firm as you held them in your mind?
And the promises of the Heavenly Ones,
in which you were most lovingly faithful?

And why would the gracious Lady Ceres
not hasten, song-powerful,
to cool you from the fever of desire
and thrust off your frailty now?

Shall the fire of a single lust
overwhelm you and do such harm?
Alas — it is the cause of terrible ruin,
and pays you the worst fate!

You wish to die in the fire of desire,
fallen — the shelters are hidden;
and yet you do not see the misfortune
that hurls the sickness of death into you.

But let us turn to this: the battle-outlaw,
famous far across lands and sea,
comes home from war, eager for power —
Romulus returns.

A hardy host follows him,
numbered in companies, bearing spears;
like waves they lay about the roads,
burning over ridges and valleys.

The bright-blue steels ring merrily;
gilded rings gleam upon them;
the horns sing the victory-speech,
high-voiced, of their leader.

Faithful as always, Tasus goes to meet the king,
and the thoughtful people with him;
fires burn upon the altars:
the gods receive their offerings.

There one may recognise bold Romulus —
the thanes walk through the district;
his head and all his shoulders
the keen king bore above the other men.

In a chariot he rode across the fields of earth,
the great ruler who wields the spear;
four horses draw it —
white they were in colour.

His body is wrapped in the war-garment;
Herjan's sun bears its radiance.
The lord arrives at the Capitolium,
crowned with glory and victory.

From the chariot he steps to the ground;
the earth yielded beneath his tread.
The crown of the conquered
he places at the altar of Jove.

He hung it in the hall and spread
his hands gladly before him,
then spoke and entreated thus:
"O mighty Jupiter!

Accept the first offering I make you;
you shall see more works of art.
So shall I swing the whetted sword,
victory-thirsty, from now on.

Increase our power and our valour;
sell me the lands of the world;
I give you thanks and trust you —
this cloak is a king's."

"Be not forgetful of your goodness;
grant that battles never cease
until my line and the Romans
conquer all the world."

The greatest beast is led to the slaughter —
in the heap of the slain the grey one trembles;
twenty priests hold, terrified,
the bull of horns upon the field.

Grown huge with muscle, knowing its strength,
clad in the mantle of sinew,
the bull he dragged with one hand
to the altar and felled it there.

He cuts the throat of the felled bull;
the wounds stream with Romulus's blows;
the host of clerks kindle the offering-fires
and burn it there before him.

When the offering-fires blaze,
the lord hurries from the hall;
he calls in a piercing voice
his thousands of warriors:

"One land yet we shall win, friends" —
thus he rouses his men —
"Our countless enemies over there
hold the riches of the world.

Many fair lands in Italy remain
unconquered still;
we buckle on our swords anew —
may the god bless our hand.

But let the folk find gentle rest
before men arm for battle;
embrace your children and women fair;
you have the whole day.

On the field of Mars at morning,
we shall all meet in the war-garment;
the sharp blasts of horns shall sound
as the sun rises from the sea.

Against a people called the Marsi
we must fight again;
there are villains to deal with there —
they are fearfully hardy men.

At home we may never rest on our seats;
we shall know the weather of battle soon,
until we have conquered all the world
and alone hold power.

Therefore upon the appointed field
let the mighty host come to test the strife;
there, in full harness, the first to fall —
your captain will give protection.

Let the undaunted people don their byrnies
when the dawn shows its face!
Let us make all the world know
that we never need rest."

Fimta Ríma — Fifth Ríma

Mansöngr on tyranny and the worthlessness of riches; Numa asks to go to war; Tatius arms him; Tasía's farewell; the march; Romulus and the Marsian envoys; Numa shows mercy to captives; the divine shield falls from heaven.

Hard it is for him who holds the power
to rule well upon the throne of honour;
great is the worth of high authority
if manly virtue does not fail.

Many kings, mighty in deeds,
would bend all matters to their will;
but if their counsel is ill-minded,
under them one must live in misery.

He who sees with his own eyes
nothing but the flatterers of the court
cannot guard his subjects' fates
from harm.

Such a rabble of rulers we have seen —
hard it is to mind the ways of governance;
the people are oppressed, and villains
crowd into the seats of power.

To sate their monstrous desires,
most things can be had:
breast-crosses, titles, and tokens —
all may be bought with the riches of the realm.

If one plots another's ruin,
he wields poisoned shields of law
and buys many a useful servant;
all things may be had with the riches of the realm.

All must be won by evening,
and in locked council-halls;
it is likely the game is won
if the cunning one deals in the riches of the realm.

One thing, though, I think is lacking
when first we speak of this matter:
true happiness and the heart's peace —
these cannot be had with the riches of the realm.

Power, like the blossoms of spring,
withers when autumn comes;
then to a higher judgement
all matters must be brought.

Blessed are we in our mild estate —
let us scorn the world's tyrants!
We commend our fortune
to the power of the Father of the Danes!

The lord, when judgement had been read,
let them ride home to their halls;
great was Rome's fame —
Romulus had led the way.

Numa could barely endure it —
love's wounds kept him waking —
at King Tatius's right hand
he walks, brooding and bowed.

It runs through his thoughts then:
the heavy shield-trolls spur him on —
to follow his lady onto the field of the slain
and become the most famous hero of all.

To defend the fair life of his bride
and be the shield upon her breast;
to wade with the war-knife
through hot waves of blood.

This is what his mind esteems most:
therefore he is eager for the work of battle —
he might win the maiden's love,
perhaps at last, by the strong hand.

Like a child in the folds of a blanket
who tugs shyly at its mother,
longing for the power of her embrace
but not daring to take it;

So Numa at the prince's side
stumbles over the bends in the road,
dares not speak of it —
the turmoil in his mind.

At last the lord begins:
"Best friend! You must tell me
what torments your soul;
I will try to mend it."

Numa eased his breath a little
and managed these words:
"I long, with sword in hand,
to march with the army into battle.

"My father won and warded lands,
great in deeds upon the fields of war;
you too have wielded the battle-rod,
brave, proven in former days.

"As you did at the spear-shore,
if fortune would have it so,
I long to raise my shield
and try my strength against the foe."

The old man smiled at the youth;
embers in the hero's breast kindle:
"You shall go, my son;
I judge your desire a worthy one.

"War-garments you shall have;
with you goes an old man of the times —
me, though grey age wears me —
to teach you the storms of spears.

"Still I think these hoary hairs
can bear a heavy helm,
and still this arm can wield
the sword to some purpose.

"It is a joy, in the clamour of battle,
to thrust grey iron into shields;
it gladdens me that the royal blood
of the Sabines does not cool."

The lord embraces the bold youth,
who is somewhat heartened;
he keeps silent about his love-wound —
it will not be healed this time.

Into the armoury next
both kinsmen go;
Numa receives the weapons
and the well-tried heirlooms of the line.

A gilded helm and a white shield
the hero receives — hardly to be broken —
and a silver byrnie, double-woven,
linked together in rings.

The byrnie slides over his body;
the bright helm presses his brow;
it is as though all his veins
burn with fire.

When his hand grips the sword —
the hilts painted with Rán's suns —
his eyes, keen and serpent-sharp,
flash lightning along the blade.

Odin's keen fire-ski
his hand shakes involuntarily,
to and fro; but the hot heart
sets the hero's breast to boiling.

So Thor felt his fury rise,
though dressed in a bride's garments,
when Mjölnir came to his hands —
his blood ran hot with power in his veins.

Tatius goes home to the hall,
he and his kinsman, both magnificent;
his old war-garments, every one,
he puts on there, the ancient things.

His precious daughter saw
the warriors dressed in shield and sword;
her brows drew together —
she had not expected this journey.

The silver-belted lady then
grew heavy in her hidden heart;
the hero turned away from her,
half-unwilling, his eyes like stones.

Around her father's neck she fell,
the woman, and said with grievous sorrow:
"Will you now, in the work of steel,
arm yourself in your burial-years?

"Who shall defend the land and people,
show mercy to the poor, comfort the suffering,
if you march out to war —
you, whom all call first to counsel?"

The old king wept and laughed,
kissed his good daughter tenderly;
the helm over his grey hair, though,
he placed — terribly heavy.

Numa through the hall-door
leapt, and the king steps after;
the young man cannot hold still,
but age hobbles the old man's feet.

Numa across every district
rages like a whirlwind;
he is out alone upon the field
before the sun leaves her bed.

She rose so lightly from the sea
and poured embers on the bright ridges;
the fair-decked companies
now throng swiftly onto the plain.

In a chariot the warriors ride —
Romulus, covered in splendid robes;
at his side lay, long,
a naked brand, loose from its sheath.

Hersilia bore the blossom,
dressed in golden-folded garments;
among the hosts she appeared
like the sun floating on clouds' waves.

The woman sits upon the wagon,
clad in flickering flame;
no one can tell the colours apart
where the jewels glow.

Tatius, powerful, speaks with
Romulus then, and leads Numa forward:
"The gods' host is graced with valour
where the battle-field foams.

"I go with my kinsman —
the blades of the destroyer sharpen;
here I show you the youth —
this slayer of edges will become a man!

"The fair champion is king-born;
my crown he shall bear;
he wishes to adorn your army
and first be schooled at your side."

Thus speaks Romulus:
"Well met, the precious youth!
He is courteous in his bearing —
let him command the Sabine host.

"But to shield you in your old age,
you should stay behind from the sword-storms;
if battle breaks out at my side,
much in the realm may happen."

When these counsels stand,
and more need not be spoken of remedy,
tear-shedding, the flax-goddess
comes toward them — Tasía.

Across the field there followed her,
the lady who loved good counsel,
widows both and elders,
words of anguish in their mouths.

Around Tatius the speech quickens —
women and small children weep:
"You, who bear the heavy steel —
it is no use to try further.

"You, who are father to us all,
you must not abandon your own;
for us, it is plain to see,
all is then wound in need and torment."

Kneeling, the people cry:
"Stay with us, dear father!"
The lord stood silent then,
as though struck to stone.

Tasía presses her tears,
wraps her bright arms about him;
the lord must soften then —
the warrior's heart melts to mercy.

She bids Numa farewell with a kiss,
asks the champion to go safely;
then she takes the bear's-bed
home to the fortress with her company.

Romulus rings out his clear voice,
riding before the host;
into three companies
he gathers all the thousands.

First shall the Romans ride —
the king himself commands them;
they obey no other pair —
Odin's byrnie-warriors, precious.

The Sabine host marches
next onto the field of battle;
that fearless company is led
by Hersilia and Numa both.

A great host fills the lord's army —
that troop which weaves the iron —
the people of Latium, tributary,
from lands he has conquered.

Metsius commands those men,
the greatest champion of the Sabines;
before, upon the field he followed
Numa's father to the sword-assembly.

Numa rode a white horse;
the hero bore himself well in the saddle;
the steed, swift, knew the course —
quicker it was than a lion on foot.

Light, as if loose snow flew,
it played, arching over the saddlebow;
its trappings are all red,
laden with Uðr's flickering flame.

Beside Hersilia's wagon
the stiff stallion strode on its legs;
Numa, therefore, on this side,
could cast glances at her brows.

The horns blow for departure;
they dare begin the perilous journey;
the bright-maned horses run the roads,
their iron hooves spurring streets and paths.

Like a dark fog
that draws itself out of the vast sea,
bringing murk upon the land,
it moves with terrible fury;

Swollen with malice it is:
fire, snow, and crushing hail
it scatters down as it advances;
the mountains it whirls in blue torrents.

The black gusts of wind then
blind the sun's bright eye,
terrify and torment most creatures,
shake the land, the trees, and the sky.

Like that fog is the army
wherever it sweeps over the earth;
whatever lives flees swiftly before it —
such are the terrors it brings.

Where the host strides through the land
in the frenzy of the maddened lion,
the trampled crops of the fields
give food no more.

Forests break, the earth is scarred,
most sheltering trees are ruined;
the death-weapons lord it over the gentle flock;
houses collapse and fall.

The land's people must endure it,
leaving their work and their possessions,
for they flee the hateful host
and wish only to save their lives.

For the innocent, then,
neither law nor duty gives protection;
whoever was chosen — and few cared —
the dead-hearted men put to death.

So goes such a campaign
where the hosts of war swarm;
it is worthy of no honour —
the devastation of our homes.

The roads pass under the light-footed one;
the lord of Rome arrives
west of Marsian land
and halts by a certain river.

The people pitch their tents,
build a thick-walled hall with walls;
the fire of the war-goddess glows
on gilded roofbeams of the feast-hall.

At the river-crossing, the hosts see
three men making their way by boat,
each bearing a branch of Ör
in his left hand.

A wooden bowl in the right hand
they carry, and they find Romulus,
fall to their knees, and wake the wand —
the words of friendship from their lands.

"The Marsians offer you thus,
lord of Rome, their gentle greeting;
all the good things that we own
you shall have — honour and dignity.

"If men honour words of friendship
with us, whom we hold dear,
and to their hands we bring this bowl,
full of the best we can offer.

"But if you intend us harm —
we shall not lose our courage —
we have one arrow
to show our enemies.

"Ours is a small and wretched holding,
wrapped in the narrow shelter of the mountains;
choose now, Lord:
the wooden bowl or this arrow."

The lord answered in a flash:
"The land and its dwellings I shall win;
give me the arrow and be gone —
home, back to your cattle."

The envoy answers:
"Let the gods look upon us both!
I say that he provokes harm
who goads innocent people to war.

"We shall endure and defend
our poor homestead as best we can,
but you, who brandish the most arrogance —
fear the wrath of your gods."

Romulus seizes his anger then;
his speech thunders thus:
"Who was the insolent man who thought
to frighten me? The world shall never see it."

Then the envoys go their way,
their road upon the serpent of the planks.
Romulus's rage was still unspent;
he speaks thus:

"Tomorrow, when the sun is seen
and my strong arm shakes the sword,
the host shall cross the river
and wake battle on the other side.

"Today, if you need it,
being in want of fresh food,
begin the raid on the farmers' herds
and slaughter their livestock."

From there the cruel army sweeps;
they reckon now to win much;
the people bound, and cattle and cows,
they drove to their tents.

They divided the plunder among the hosts,
as they saw fit;
they abused the women, murdered the men,
and slaughtered cattle and sheep for meat.

Numa then went to the king
and begged mercy for these people;
he received a third of the captives
and led them out into the forest.

"Go," he says, "safely home;
herewith let us be reconciled."
Unweighed gold he gave them,
so they could replace their goods.

Then begins a prayer —
the best branch of the moon-goddess of Rín:
"Let, O Ceres, innocent blood
never stain my hands."

He prays the goddess to look upon him,
and with many more words he speaks;
then down from the sky there falls
a shield, blazing in gold.

Upon it stand these words —
he reads them in gilded runes:
"Never shall murder harm a man
while he bears the shield of the gods."

Numa rejoices; the gleaming shield
he knows is given to him;
then he lets his horse carry him home
at a gallop to the tents.

Sjötta Ríma — Sixth Ríma

The Marsians choose a champion. Leó the lion-clad tears the oak from the earth, leads a night raid on Rome, and wrestles Romulus to the ground.

Blessed are those free from need
who dwell in nature's keeping,
where no grieving cloud disturbs
the light of the sun of joy.

Our fathers chose for themselves
a home in the green shelter of valleys;
each one tended his flock
and cared for his fair homestead.

The ancient, fertile farmland
fed the old ones well;
then in pure and spotless clothing
the flock dressed them from its fleece.

Much that was excellent upon the earth
they watched grow through honest work;
a noble drink they could draw
from the blue veins of their mother.

They were sturdy and mild,
gifted with ample wisdom,
faithful to friends and careful
in works and customs both.

They lived quietly there a long time —
longest, so the ages remember —
free from the terror of bondage,
loving God and nature.

If arrogant tyrants rose against them,
the farmers drew their swords —
stout men, able and ready
for their own defence.

But alas, too often and too long,
from nature's freeborn sons,
peace was stolen and concord driven out
by warband lords and tyrants.

Of this we have more examples
from the histories of the world than we would wish;
they are evil, and what is worse,
they have not yet parted from us.

When shall good fortune lift up
the harried and the suffering?
When shall blessed nature
in some measure have her say?

Let us remember the men of the Marsian land
who expect war at their door:
by the envoy's story warned,
they must prepare their defence.

This people was kingless,
serving themselves and nature;
no man bore authority over his brother
who could issue commands.

Therefore, at the news of war,
the men went to choose a captain;
many of the country's folk
were craftsmen and able fighters.

The thanes announce it openly:
three mighty champions shall be chosen;
whichever has the greatest strength
shall command the host.

One of these was called Alor;
he trusted greatly in his power.
The second champion, Líger,
yielded little to his own prowess.

Hektor was the third;
these three walk out to the forest,
fasten a ring high upon
an oak's crown with a long rope.

The rope falls earthward,
dreadfully heavy, of grey iron;
now they shall test who has the most strength
to bend the lofty crown.

Hektor gets the rope in hand,
throws himself on it with all he has;
the oak shakes a slender branch —
he can do no better.

Líger comes and tries his turn,
thick-limbed and shoulder-strong;
he seizes the handgrip,
thinks he will not be beaten.

The oak bends downward then —
the hero spared none of his strength —
but where he could do no more,
the man released the hard rope.

Alor comes out onto the field,
hugely tall and mightily thick;
all eyes gaze toward him,
certain he will win.

He stands upon a fixed stone,
takes the rope over his back,
braces hard with sturdy legs,
and shakes the high treetop.

He pulls the rope tight;
the great fork draws into a bow,
but the champion is exhausted
from tugging at the oak's trunk.

The oak reclaims its native strength —
up into the air it snatches the man;
he hangs high in the rope
but swings quickly down to earth.

The host begins to shout:
"He shall command our army;
no one has greater strength —
he will lay our enemies low."

When the loud cheers ring,
the throng stirring with gladness,
there strides onto the field
a warlike and powerful man.

He is wondrous tall and thick;
outermost he wears a lion's hide;
manly, he carries a club
in the strength-seat of the hawk's land.

The lion's claws are hooked
in a cross upon the hero's breast;
he walks up to the rope
and throws a jest to the crowd:

"Since the wondrous high oak
has not yet suffered death,
I may as well play along
and try to bend her."

So saying — the game is ended;
the champion seizes the long rope,
shakes, bends, jolts the oak,
and rips her up by the trunk.

This amazes the whole people;
even Alor himself is startled.
Within a moment the cry is heard:
"He shall command our glorious host.

"He defends us against every harm,
this man of might at the war-gathering;
him alone we obey —
he is the Marsians' war-captain."

The hero says: "My one wish
is to follow a brave company,
but I have no desire to marshal an army
across the red meadow of the war-goddess.

"Strength is good, but wisdom is best;
once we tread the path of battle,
I know the people will choose wisest —
a wise man and one grown old."

Old Saffanor answers —
he was the Marsians' counsellor:
"You shall go as our captain,
but I will answer on your behalf.

"Let the chieftain meet the host —
speak your name and hide nothing."
The other lets the answer come:
"Leó — that is what you may call me.

"I was born in this land;
most of my days I live in the forest,
poorly, as you see,
and gather little by the plough's furrow.

"But since the company wishes in haste
to honour me as captain in war,
I will go this very night
to spoil the Roman king's comfort.

"I shall have a hundred and eight
of your stoutest sons,
and tonight with fire and stealth
make ruin in the army's camps.

"The Romans will not expect it
while the peace still holds;
now we must move at once —
let iron and mail arm the men."

Saffanor agrees to this;
then the men prepare to march,
all who have strength and daring within them,
and press hard toward the river.

Leó conceals his band in silence,
with rare cunning,
until midnight is measured out,
and they cross the water.

The eager captain leads the way,
swinging the mighty club at his shoulders;
the fire-servant finds a house
where the army boils its feasts.

He takes a smouldering brand,
shrouds the hall in flame,
wakes the men to the lust of battle
from their unfriendly dreams of night.

The storm of war grows harsh;
blood sinks from veins toward Hel;
the guardsmen must fall
in the red flood of the slaughter-path.

Fires crack upon the tents,
the ridge-beam crumbles down;
with a groan of grief, fierce then,
battle bids all to waking.

There comes from Niflheim's abyss
the blue monster Hel below;
the shape-shifting horror
goes to seize and count her spoil.

The accursed hag, black to see,
wins death for the host in waves;
from her fingers she hurls
poison-arrows into men's hearts.

She waded through streams of blood,
crept forward on four claws,
sucked and drank the blood of the dead,
deeply, from need's bitter cups.

The worst troll grew fat thereby
at that spring that leaks from veins;
the monster's bulk, terrible to behold,
covers the whole field.

A second monster, coal-black Night,
drags dark garments over the slain;
she goes with bane and blinds the host
in dreadful floods of blood.

Men died there in waves
on the death-roads, in the maw of blood;
the dark sisters laughed
at the vile ringing of iron.

But — hard-hearted,
marvellously nimble with the blade —
Romulus rises from his bench,
and his voice thunders through the host.

The lord draws to the battle-field,
swings the ancestral sword in fury;
terrible falls were dealt thereby
to fair warriors of the golden clasp.

He terrifies the hearts of all —
the hollows bleed beneath the rafters;
the king stirs up the ocean of the veins,
kindles fire wherever men are waking.

Wherever he goes, the host falls;
few dare make a stand.
Leó sees who he is —
a madman — and meets him with the club.

There the sturdy prince burst forward
with a heavy roar;
the stroke was a shield-leaf's weight,
and the war-god's limb shattered to pieces.

The great brand strikes near the breast;
the girdle of power begins to buckle,
but there the lion's claws were locked
where the edge could not bite.

Leó gathers his fury;
against the king he charges forward,
swinging the bloody war-beast,
wielding the long defence of Hákon.

The wild lord of the Roman land
swings the bright Brand fiercely;
he strikes the club from Leó's hand
and it flies a long way.

The prince presses toward his foe
and chose to do him harm;
the other does not step an inch
though bare before the naked blade.

The fierce one fastened a wrestler's hold,
the chieftains of the war-river;
they close and grapple then,
and the ground trembles and shakes.

Neither dark-elf can throw the other;
now valour must be tested to the last,
so from sheer main-force then
the flesh of both is crushed in the grip.

The war-goddess's garment is shaken,
her clothing torn to pieces,
ripped and clawed in every place —
the ankles scrape the naked ground.

Marvellous is the fury of men;
fire burns from the rims of the eyes,
foam flecks between the teeth,
sweat streams down burning cheeks.

Leó, stiff and tireless,
with terrible battle-rage,
tears Romulus's mail apart
so the lord drops to both his knees.

He snatches a stone — no small one —
in his hands then,
sends it against the prince's shoulders,
and so — fallen at the end — he lay.

The black blood boiled from his wits,
the prince's heart seized with faintness;
after so hard a fall,
the king lies nearly dead.

The people count the lord for dead;
they carry him to his tent,
wash the red blood from his body,
and see the prince still clings to life.

Leó remembers himself again;
the hero's strength does not slacken;
in the battle-craft's workshop
he finds his club among the slain.

He grips the shaft in both hands,
trusts it best in the venture;
courage and strength burn in his breast,
the brow's sparks begin to blaze.

Just so Thór in the old days
seized his hammer at Thrym's table
and sent Mjölnir wordlessly
to deal murder and great harm to trolls.

Fierce, he whets his eyes;
fire leaps from the peaks of his brows;
the trolls receive their doom —
their hosts die now in droves.

Like him, Leó fells the army
down upon the ground;
in the midnight's corpse-storms
the belly of the earth groaned.

The club grinds all to nothing;
the age must endure Hel's embrace;
the blood runs scalding hot
over the cool-hearted champion's hands.

Death is finished with all,
if any take a stand there;
like sheep before him,
Leó drives the whole flock.

Thunder of blades shattered the peace,
the dull vault of the hills rumbled,
the girdle of the land resounded —
the Hidden Folk could not sleep.

Coal-black Gríma presses there,
thunder from the shattered clouds rings;
the stars gleam feebly,
nowhere showing useful light.

Little is known of the high lights;
the sky is smothered by a bank of cloud;
the great-faced Moon wraps himself
cold in his dark shroud.

Grim is the world's condition then;
the people suffer cunning blows;
cold storms blow upon
the black wing-beams of night.

Amid the deepest dark of the black elves,
amid men's blood and the mounds of the dead,
most hearts tremble with terror
at the dreadful sight of ghosts.

Whatever befalls, to greatest harm,
from the dark-sent horrors,
Leó presses ever forward —
nothing stands against him.

Sjöunda Ríma — Seventh Ríma

New Long-hendíng metre. Mansöngr to Iðunn — the river of song breaking free from ice; the poet's marriage and children; his faithfulness. The rockfall simile. Leó confronts Hersilia and Numa; battle of the Marsians; Day comes on a white horse; the apostrophe to the Sun; the Marsians are destroyed; Leó fights alone at the river; Numa thrusts Leó into the current with an oak-trunk; Romulus, wounded, calls a council of war; Numa proposes the mountain-trap; Romulus promises his daughter.

Like a river locked in frost
when thawing snows break free,
that shatters from itself the blue ice
and bellows down to the ocean's mouth —

And as from its straight channel
it tears away earth and stones,
and drives with life across level fields
the water clean before it —

It clears the ice like feathers,
sheds it down in heavy scales;
the current's pulse groans at the earth's edges,
the rumble rings through long channels —

So does the harp's dread of song
drive heart-weariness far from the road!
Let the heart feed on good gladness
so that merry verses may float!

So let the spirit's burden fly
from the noble horse of Tyr's light —
I, who tame my untried play,
on Iðunn's harp-wire.

O my woman, bright Iðunn,
you alone who gladden my mind now —
you who stir within the heart,
the warmth of your love's mead!

Once it was many maids' delight
in my youth's throng of women,
but now all is sworn entirely
to your rare gentleness, Iðunn.

Our children multiply —
best to wake and work at it,
cast off laziness from oneself,
and ask the dear spouse for help.

Let me draw away all doubt
and tell everyone boldly:
I have not begotten
our dear little ones in sin.

Whether they are fair or not,
all we may count lawfully begotten;
though they die meagre and marrowless,
none may lay blame on me.

Since I have longed for you as friend
and taken you from the land's women,
I swear an oath before all others —
I intend myself for Hreppskilar.

As from the topmost peak of mountains
a terrible cliff-face slides,
that in its fall, driven by winds,
breaks the earth's roads asunder —

It drags the deep avalanche with it,
thundering in blows of dreadful weight,
cuts down and hews through
the hillside's fair breast —

From its fragments fire leaps;
no place of peace avails;
the shepherd scatters, the flock flees,
the frightened traveller cowers —

The earth weeps, the world shakes,
the dense rock crashes through the streets,
until it meets two oaks
whose roots are woven together —

These halt the terrible stone,
each supports the other as it can;
their feet spur against its fall,
turning the cliff's course.

So Leó, strong and stiff,
halts the rush of steel in its deep courses,
when he finds in the host
both Hersilia and Numa.

The shield-maiden comes against the champion,
speaks ugly words to him thus:
"You shall threaten us no more,
worst of all scoundrels!"

"You shall fall, carried before the shadow,
soon with greatest torments —
you may boast in hell's halls
of having wounded the Caesar of Rome."

Now she strikes double-handed
with the keen blade across his skull;
the sweating champion grins at the woman —
he stands still, and lives.

It bites not on the hard breast;
the maiden's brand the champion takes,
draws it along the wound-lines
so that the ring-lady shudders.

Like snow-bright lightning
quickens the raw flash of might —
Numa rushes at him with his spear,
and the good shield turns the blow.

The blow comes on the bright shield,
does what damage it can;
the viper stings Numa's breast,
urged on by the strong one.

The best blood ran down
over the breast — the hero shielded his lady;
but fortune's support turns,
and the small wound causes no torment.

He gives the maiden the bright shield —
she must defend herself with it;
the spear stirs folk to advance,
and now the fighting begins in earnest.

After this Leó seeks further —
little can be won by wrath;
a great host comes between them,
and the warriors cannot find each other.

Numa sees Hektor pressed hard —
hard to dodge that blow;
the mountain-sword bites the spear;
the warrior falls to earth.

Líger sees this swiftly,
shook the long war-brand,
but was forced to sink, flayed by the sword,
on the path to hell, and lost his breath.

The true hero cuts his way,
the fierce one clears a broad road;
he chops now with both hands —
blood runs down from his arms.

Hersilia at his side
held close and slew warriors;
the Marsians flee from the power
of man and woman at their edges.

Swords sting, shafts ring,
blood-rivers flood in this direction;
the fire drives all of Odin's host —
the earth's encirclement shudders.

Inglorious Hel claims warriors;
none rejoices at her demands;
in the choking death they drink
from blood-heaps, fallen heroes.

Arrows rain, terrors harrow,
streams run red;
swords clash, fell folk —
death casts its ranks across the field.

Men's minds madden beyond measure,
neither skill nor peace avails;
foul smoke fills the whole
between heaven and earth.

In hell-blue blind flames
the bloody corpses of men are scorched;
few can stumble to the battle's shallows —
the field must at last give way.

But there where the slaughter wastes men,
fair of face, at the right time,
comes Day on a white horse;
bloody Gríma retreats from here.

The sun gilds, wreathed in roses,
gladly and with skill the earth's moor;
the world fills with heaven's lights,
the darkness sinks down into the sea.

But will you, blessed Sun,
calm the still halls of wind-speech,
and over the frenzied wells of blood
scatter your blessed golden beams?

Wrap your face in clouds,
let it not shine on this day,
so that the foul likeness in blood's depths
may be hidden from all eyes.

Earth and heaven's heights tremble
here where blood-pits flood;
ah, I fear lest some shaft
strike you yourself!

Now the Marsian host has sunk;
the multitude lay on hell's sheets;
ten stood on the battlefield after,
beside their captain.

Alor the strong yet lives;
he turns away with a few warriors,
crosses the river —
noble Tyr's snow-white fingers.

Leó stands there alone,
waving the heavy troll-club;
spears crack but break on meeting;
brow-mountains split asunder.

He stirs the blood-storm,
felling warriors stiff;
it seems meet to flee
while he commands his club.

The man can barely drag his feet,
cannot manage quick steps,
there where the river sets its blades —
by the current he halts.

Rome's host pursues,
the rough warriors count their blows;
the club sweeps flying shadows,
sending men hence to Hel.

Whenever any warrior
comes within the club's reach,
the maiden's champion fells men,
strikes with force to both sides.

Numa pushed his way through;
the battle-storm passes through him;
he clears his path and does not spare —
oak-wood he bears in hand.

The strengthened warrior in fury
breaks a long oak from its trunk,
thrusts it against Leó's breast —
the strong champion must yield.

He sees him driven out over the hands,
drifting the stream's way;
he is in the deep, until he lands
on the far side — the champion of deeds.

Then the hero turned homeward,
the warrior's mate far from fear;
but he does not go triumphantly,
as though he were chased in flight.

Like a hungry wolf, beaten,
who alone crept through the sheep-pens —
slow and long he drags his way
and stares with swollen death-pale eyes.

So Leó dragged his shining feet
across the riverbanks;
Numa forbids his men to pursue
the fierce-minded man across the river.

Under the white canopy of day
Rome's people rest;
Numa looks upon the leavings of the battle —
ugly the blood-floods spit.

Limbs of horses and men lie
like waves of blood at a ditch;
each must rest upon his neighbour,
sunk against a cold corpse.

Clotted blood on stiff bodies —
the folk holds steady who live;
hot vapor rises to heaven
from the wretched strife.

The war-fallen by their blood-heaps
stand out from all before them,
like mountains in heaps of terror —
they clothed the battlefield bare.

At daylight's fair dawn,
beaten and strength-drained,
Romulus wakes in the bed of wounds
and groans heavily.

The king calls hither
from the waves of strife his wealthy daughter,
here with all his captains —
and Numa follows likewise.

The king, in torment, speaks thus:
"For this I wished to find you —
give counsel that bodes well
to win the grey war-game."

"Leó wraps the host in harm —
more like a troll than men;
he has more strength than a fiend,
and causes waves of wounding falls."

"No sword can wound the man
who dressed himself in lion-hide;
who knows when with a new band,
by night, he steals hither again?"

"Without peace I must bear my lesser hurts,
the great wounds I must endure;
now it is yours to counsel —
to cut through this fierce peril."

The chieftains ponder —
mostly they call the plans tangled:
to build a rampart for defence
around the whole field.

Hersilia raised these points,
proved in the clash of battle:
"Best to test new arrows —
let the cursed nation fall."

The king says: "I am not done,
still can wage the war;
and in no way shall I flee —
first all Romans shall die."

Numa ponders men's counsel,
the young man values knowledge;
then the hand-lord of the palms
addresses the prince thus:

"If you permit, noble wise one —
a young and proven man —
I wish to raise my thought
on the matter that troubles us."

The lord speaks, weighed and heavy:
"I esteem your valiant deeds;
I shall hear, young hero,
what counsel you can try."

"Not far hence" — the young one speaks —
"I have seen narrow valleys
fall between the horns of mountains,
where high crags sing in storms."

"There a single path from the cliffs
leads down into the valley;
then a smooth battlefield,
wrapped in the high brows of mountains."

"A third of the host I would command —
they shall march swiftly there,
until on both high brows
we take our stand."

"We shall pile stones in heaps
and hide here; but Rome's king
shall fight the Marsians
with his host and swing steel."

"When the hard storm of battle presses,
and stiff swords waste life,
the lord shall feign flight
and lead them into the narrow valley."

"There between the strait mountains
they will follow furiously;
the wretched host cannot guard
against the trap we shall prepare."

"There the prince meets them head-on;
the rest stand fast —
when stones in heaps are hurled
from the peaks down by my host."

"They will scatter before arrows
and find a narrow road to safety,
before the wondrous great stones
that leap at them from both sides."

"This I know as the best counsel —
warriors shall be kept in strength;
but let the wise one alter it
if his high wisdom commands otherwise."

Rome's king rises from his bed —
the peaceful counsel pleases him;
gladly and with honour
he speaks thus to the young man:

"You whom the gods see fit to grant
unmatched wisdom —
you shall have twelve hundred
Sabine warriors."

"Go to the high mountain-tops;
the folk shall heed your counsel;
I shall myself soon rouse
the sons of sin to battle."

"When the hard storm of battle presses,
and the sword pains the servant-mate,
then as reward I shall let you
take my promised daughter."

Colophon

Rímur af Núma kóngi Pompilssyni ("Rímur of King Numa, Son of Pompíll") by Sigurður Breiðfjörð (1798–1846). Composed in Greenland, published Copenhagen, 1835. Eighteen rímur, approximately 1,329 stanzas.

Rímur I–VII translated by the New Tianmu Anglican Church (NTAC + Claude), March 2026. Gospel register. Translated from 19th-century Icelandic. Source text from Icelandic Wikisource (is.wikisource.org), based on the 1835 Copenhagen first edition.

This is the first known English translation.

Scribal note: Sigurður Breiðfjörð was born in Breiðafjörður, Iceland, and spent much of his adult life in Greenland as a trader and fisherman. His Núma rímur were an immediate sensation — the first rímur cycle to take a classical historical subject instead of the usual saga or romance material. In his preface, Breiðfjörð argued that Icelandic poets should abandon troll-stories and Edda-clichés in favour of subjects worthy of an enlightened age. Numa Pompilius — the philosopher-king who gave Rome its religion, its calendar, and forty years of peace — was his answer. The poem was beloved from the moment of publication and remains the single most famous rímur cycle of the modern period.

Eleven rímur remain to be translated. The full Icelandic source text (all 18 rímur) has been downloaded from Wikisource and saved at Tulku/rimur-tools/numa_rimur_full.txt for subsequent tulkus.

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Source Text — Fyrsta Ríma

Líd þú nidur um ljósa-haf, litud hvíta skrúdi, kjærust Idun! oss þig gaf, Alfadir ad Brúdi.

2. Módir stefja minna hlý, mjúklynd, føgur sýnum, lát mig vefjast innaní, arma-løgum þínum.

3. Andleg gétin ockar kyns, afqvæmin sem fóstrum, lát þú eta ódáins-epli af þínum brjóstum.

4. Fyrst þú átt þau eplin há, sem ellibelgnum fleygja, æi! láttu ecki þá, úngana mína deya.

5. Skuld óborna mjaka má, mér ad heljar rockrum, en ei vil eg Nornin nídist á, nidjunum, Idun! ockrum.

6. Kom nú, háa heillin mín! hugann sjúka ad styrkja, himnesk ljá mér hljódin þín, hætti mjúka ad yrkja.

7. Fyltu blessud brjóstid nú, birtu hugarsjónar, sérhvørt vessid signir þú, sem vor harpa tónar.

8. Vini orum, Idun! þá, sem edlid prýdir spaka, bera þorum børnin smá, og bidja hann vid ad taka.

9. Þótt einmana þrokum hér, þeim hjá Grænlands sonum, ljódfuglana látum vér, leika í átthøgonum.

10. Vega skil mín ódfleyg ønd, eingin þarf ad géra, þegar eg vil, er hægt um hønd, heima á Fróni’ ad vera.

11. Fuglinn drjúgum frái sá, faldi skýja undir, sudur fljúga á nú á, Italíu grundir.

12. Og svo þadan óhikad, Islands heim til bragna, segja hvad í hvørjum stad, helst til beri sagna.

13. Vinur hái Velborinn, á voldugum stóli sala, hrektu ei frá þér fuglinn minn, sem fyrir þig vill gala.

14. Albygd vóru — um þad skrár, eru í vorum høndum — herød stór á øldum ár, í Italíu løndum.

15. Þar sem liggja løndin tóm, og Latsíu grundir skína, fóru ad byggja fyrstir Róm, á fjallinu Palatína.

16. Rómulur og Remur tveir, sem ritin brædur géra, Martis burir mundu þeir, mágar Prócass vera.

17. Borgum øllum Róm í rún, reiknast stærri af seggjum; á sjø fjøllum háum hún, til himins lyptir veggjum.

18. Borgin ádur búin var, blóma og heidur firdur, eptir rádum Rómular, Remur deydi myrdur.

19. Hinn, sem efna blódugt bad, bródur réd og pínu, hann lét nefna háan stad, heiti eptir sínu.

20. Borgar meingi í orustum ært, einatt verid hefur, þeirra einginn kynid kært, qvenna armi vefur.

21. Þad var skadi, í þessum stad, því fanst eingin kona! meinid þid hvad, ad þessir þad, þoli leingi svona?

22. Nú skal ødru fólki frá, frásøgn géra nýa: Latsíu jødrum liggur hjá, landid Sabinía.

23. Kóngur Tasi høldum hjá, hefur stjórnar gætur, hlífa þrasi hvørgi sá, hrøckvast fyrir lætur.

24. Hann nam varast vanda og stríd, á velli fyrst uppskéra, ad forsvara land og lýd, lét sér ant um vera;

25. Dygdir metur heidur hann, heillum gæddur fínum; þjódin betur eingin ann, ástum kóngi sínum.

26. Hilmi jafn ad heidri er, hollur bródur nidur, Pompíls nafn sá budli ber, bardaga reyndur vidur.

27. Hernum stýrir hann og ver, haudur, dýrum brandi, fjandmenn rýrir fyrir sér, svo fridurinn býr í landi.

28. Atti dýa røduls rán, reigin tíginn sjóli, Pompilía heitir hún, hjúpud orma bóli.

29. Astin hlý vard af því sár, ángrast bædi vidur, lidin tíu eru ár, ei þeim fædist nidur.

30. Gøfgudu marga Gudi þá, gumnar fræddir midur, til heilla og bjarga hétu á, hvørn þar átti vidur.

31. Trúnad manna mestan bar, (því markir vóru í standi), Sádgydjan hún Seres þar, í Sabiníu landi.

32. Hennar stendur hofid skreytt, þar hefjast skógar grænir, eikur hendur hafa breidt, hússins yfir mænir.

33. Mikill Presta þorri þar, þjónkun gydju veitir, tignar mestur talinn var, Tullur sá sem heitir.

34. Pompilía fundid fær, frømud Presta og bidur, fornir drýgja fyrir mær, svo frjófgist henni qvidur.

35. Skrúda hjúpast hann vid þad, hér til fús ad stydja, bædi krjúpa í einhug ad, altarinu og bidja.

36. Þannig Frúin: „heiløg há, himnesk dísin besta, sjá þú nú mér aumur á, allt mig þikir bresta.

37. Medan eg ei fyrir mannval best, módir fæ ad vera, á øllu feigin ødru brest, eg vil gódu bera.

38. Ef miskun hneigir mér og hal, møg svo géta kunni, þó eg deyi eg þacka skal, þér í fædíngunni.

39. Sonur ef þá audnast mér, eru kostir gódir, hann eg géf og helga þér, honum vert þú módir!“

40. Þannig bad hún þrátt og títt, þessi greidist vandi, eptir þad sig fljódid frítt, finnur barnshafandi.

41. Gledin blída hjørtun há, hjóna fadmi vefur, tekur ad lída tímann á, til þess fædíng krefur.

42. Nú er búin borgin Róm; bod til Sabinía, berast nú og bréfin fróm, ad bjóda í stadinn nýa.

43. Þar á ad vera helgihald, og hátíd Guda mesta, hvør sem ber til vilja og vald, velkominn sé gesta.

44. Margir girnast þetta þá, þángad flockar renna, borgar firna byggíng sjá, bædi manna og qvenna.

45. Pompíll fylgir þángad þjód; þakinn flocki meya, líka bylgju blóma rjód, barnshafandi freya.

46. Inn í stadinn ýta hvur, otar hvøtum fæti, lætur rada Rómulur, reckum þá í sæti.

47. Tignar rædur tróni sá, til hans augun voga, lofdúngs klædum logudu á, ljósin Elivoga.

48. Þegar hann setst í sætid há, svipadi þadan ótti, vaxtar mestur manna sá, mildíng vera þótti.

49. Hann ólútur leit um her, á lægri skør er sitnr, dymt og þrútid andlit er, augun snør og bitur.

50. Veltir þannig fjalli frá, fálkinn sjónar vølum, þar sem fann hann fugla smá, fløgta í grónum dølum.

51. Géfur bendíng hilmir hár; hana Rómar vidur, taka í hendur sverdin sár, og sýngja skjóma-qvidur.

52. Byrja slag og þrætur þá, þræls ad háttum vestum, konur draga og dætur frá, djarfir sáttum géstum.

53. Sabiníngar sjá þad rán, svipar brúnum nidur, viknir híngad vopna án, vóru og búnir midur.

54. Taka fángbrøgd fjøndum á, fyrir líf ei vakta, en sverdin gánga gégnum þá, guma hlífar nakta.

55. Grátur qvenna óhljód øll, yfirgnæfir hinna, þeirra menn og fedur føll, fá og æfi linna.

56. Rómar eira aungvu meir, undir fá ad svída, fljódin keyra í felur þeir, en fella þá sem strída.

57. Bani því er búinn hveim, sem brúda þvíngar skadinn, sumir flýa særdir heim, svívirdíngar stadinn.

58. Pompíl segja førum frá, fyrst þar harnar ýma, qvinnu eigin nam ad ná, þar Nídíngarnir glíma.

59. Kémpan hrund á handlegg ber, húsid flúid gétur, eptir skundar honum her, heppnast nú ei betur.

60. Honum rífa frúna frá, fast ad herda leidir, af einum þrífur ødlíng þá, eggjad sverd og reidir.

61. Leiptradi bláa Blinds-eldíng, budla þá í høndum, nidur sáir hann í hríng, hlífa gráum fjøndum.

62. Sár af boga flugum fær, fylkir og þó stendur, en hvør sem vogar honum nær, Hárs er loga brendur.

63. Sókn uppgéfa þrælar því, þeingill fljód án skada, sína vefur innan í, arma blódlitada.

64. Lángt frá þannig ljónsinnan, lítur af gøtu breidri, veidimanninn vopnadan, voga ad sínu hreidri.

65. Hennar reidin svellur sár, svo vill hreysti reyna,øskrar,freydir,hristir hár, hrømmum kreistir steina.

66. Ecki hlítir hlaupi mann, hún er frá sem tundur, rífur, slítur, hremmir hann, hjartad táir sundur.

67. Sína únga sídan mód, sig í kríngum vefur, hennar túnga, er hylur blód, hjúkrun þessum géfur.

68. Þar sem blódug báladist, í brjósti heiptin strída, á nú módur ástin vist, innilega blída.

69. Pompíll fimur leid um lód, med ljúfa byrdi hvatar, af hans limum lekur blód, litud verdur gata.

70. Hofi gétur helgu nád , há-altarid vidur, nidursetur sørfa lád, og Seres vernda bidur.

71. Frá sér unda líka ljá, lagdi sverda Haudur, þadan skundar fetin fá, og fellur nidur daudur.

72. Høfud-Prestur Tullur tród, til og finnur brúdi, þar vid mestu harma hljód, hjartad sorgin gnúdi.

73. Hørmúng alla í einu bar, eingar bjargir skína, yfirfalla fædíngar-feiknir hana og pína.

74. Tullur vann sitt lid ad ljá; lífs med merkjum følum, fæddi svannin son, og þá, sofnadi burt frá qvølum.

75. Klerkur minnast vitur vann, víf hvørs bedid hefur, Gydju sinni hollri hann, helgar svein og géfur.

76. Ber til sinna húsa heim, hann ad væru rúmi, konur sinna sveini þeim, sá er heitinn Númi.

77. Bál med prýdi búid var, bádum hjóna náum, fylgdi lýdur landsins þar, lofdúng Tasa háum.

78. Allur herinn harma bar, hrópudu qvinnur linar, en lofdúng sver vid logann þar, látins hefna vinar.

79. Pompíls brennu firdar frá, feta senn í stadinn, sækja menn til sjóla þá, svídur qvenna skadinn.

80. Ødlíng sjálfur oddvitinn, er og fylkíng setur, hjørtun skjálfa harmþrútin, heiptin ferda hvetur.

81. Þar sem stofnast ferd áfjád, flesta kynjar sveina: loptid klofnar, kiknar lád, klettar stynja og veina;

82. Runnar fjúka, falla tré, í felur grøsin skrída, fljótin strjúka úr farvegje, flestar sképnur qvída.

83. Allt hvad lifir undan rak, ótta grídar vedur, þar sem yfir ekru bak, ógnfylkíngin tredur.

84. Fram svo nádi æda øld, opt þó mæti slørkum, uns þeir ráda ad reisa tjøld, á Rómaborgar mørkum.

Source Text — Ønnur Ríma

Ønnur Ríma

Ønnur Ríma.
Enn þá hafdi ei heimur forn, hulin nád ad finna, helblá eitureldakorn, í idrum jardarinnar.
2. Þig, sem setur borg og bý, í bál, í andartogi, hvør kom med þig heiminn í, heljardýkis logi?
3. Þú sem dýrfist þreita raust, þrumu saunginn vidur, og alla hluti eirdarlaust, í øsku fellir nidur.
4. Þó í þér qveiki huglaus hønd, hnígur kémpan góda, og þú eidileggur lønd, í loganum Djøfulóda.
5. Hvar sem þér er otad á, ertu fús ad granda, fyrir þér ecki fjøllin blá, í fridi meiga standa.
6. Med þér fylgir mord og svik, mund ef stýrir hvinna, því þú ert ecki augnablik, óluckuna ad vinna.
7. Hermenn, borgir, hús og skip, á hafnar mjúkum dýnum, verdur allt í einum svip, eldur í kjapti þínum.
8. Med þér flykkjast myrkur ljót, og myndir verstu drauga, þegar þitt dregur sindur-sót, sjónar kringum bauga.
9. Hati þig sérhvør hugmynd qvik, á himni, sjó og landi, aldir, daga, og augnablik, eisa full af grandi.
10. Hvørki um þig eg þarf né vil, þetta qvædi leingja, þú varst enn þá ecki til, í orustum minna dreingja.
11. Þegar dagsins bláa brá, breytir háttum tíma, sólin stígur sjái frá, søckur þá hún Gríma.
12. Kérling Hildur kallar þá, kappa ad rísa á fætur, á haukastødum blisin blá, Bølverks qveikja lætur.
13. Hrafnar sig um sóknar leir, saman í hópa kalla, raupa af, ad þecki þeir, þá sem eiga ad falla.
14. Ernir koma og eiga þíng, augna hvassir hlacka, kreppa allar klær í hríng, og kríngja gogginn blacka.
15. Tíma og stadi vargur veit, veidin kitlar góma. En Tasi kóngur sinni sveit, sigar ad hlidum Róma.
16. Fólum þeim er fyr í høll, freyum rændu veiga, býdur hann út á breidan vøll, brúdi Hédins eiga.
17. Rómúl brennir reidin heit, rædst til vopna fimur, kallar hann hátt á sína sveit, sala hvelfíng glymur.
18. Fram á Rómar vada vøll, víga sig til búa, vopn á lopti eru øll, eggjar ad holdi snúa.
19. Sabiníngar hefja um hjall, hildarleik med ergi, rydjast eins og fossa fall, fram af hvøssu bergi.
20. Blódid nidur í flóa flaut, fyrir sára nødrum, hníga menn í heljar skaut, hvør á fætur ødrum.
21. Sókti leingi sverda hret, sveit í hlífum gráum, undan eingin fetar fet, fyllist vøllur náum.
22. Svona lætur reisug Rán, reidar dætur herja, á jardar fætur fridar án, og fjalla rætur berja;
23. Hún vill rydja ríkis þraung, og ráda heimi øllum, hennar idja er harla straung, en hart er ad berja á fjøllum;
24. Vekur hún drauga djúpi frá, dragast haugum saman, þeir sem lauga bjørgin blá, og blaka þaug í framan.
25. Ecki þokast þó úr stad, þau né hrædast voda, Ránar hroka hædast ad, og hrista af sér boda.
26. Þannig herinn beggja berst, Blinds í helliskúrum, stendur hver þar fyrir ferst, føstum líkur múrum.
27. Heila fálma húsum ad, høggvopn, fífur, genja, brotna hjálma bord vid þad, brandar á hlífum grenja.
28. En þar sem stendur hildur há, heit í dreyra idum, sjá menn qvendi í flockum frá, fara borgar hlidum.
29. Þær sem rændar vóru vid, veitslu spjøllin Róma, sjá nú bænda sinna lid, sundrast fyrir skjóma.
30. Æda og hljóda út á vøll, ákéfd drýgir tregi, hrædast blódug bodaføll, og branda gnýinn eigi.
31. Flakir hár, en flóa tár, fadmar sundur sleyngjast, gegnum fár og unda ár, inn í fylkíng þreyngjast.
32. Æpa, kalla, og eggja klid, yfirgnæfa í hljódum, høndur fallast hinum vid, Hárs er kynda glódum.
33. Þannig hljómar þeirra mál: „þér menn, brædur, fedur! sløckvid Oma brádheitt bál, blóds tilfinníng medur!
34. „Þér sem strídid vegna vor, vitid þid hvad nú gérid? eitrud svída eggja spor, ockar líf þid skérid!
35. „Vorir menn, sem festu fljód, fedur ad velli leggja, og brædur; enn vér berum jód, af blódi hvurutveggja.
36. „Hví svo blódug brjósta mein, búa ockur viljid, beggja þjód er ordin ein, athugid þad og skiljid.
37. „En ef þyrstir ydur í blód, og á þad svo ad vera, ockur fyrst skal eggin rjód, allar sundur skéra.
38. „Yfir vadid ockar ná, og þau jód sem leynast, svo þar hladid ofan á, yckur daudum seinast.“
39. Hernum fallast høndur þá, hremsan stadar nemur; sverdid hallast høggi frá, hik á spjótin kémur.
40. Fljódin herda fremur á; fadm ad mønnum breida, locka sverdin ljót þeim frá, og lauma þeim til skeida.
41. Kóngar bádir koma á tal, kost þann fridar géra: þjód í nádum þeirra skal, þadan af samein vera.
42. Þeir skulu jafnir tignar tveir, á tróni einum ríkja, hers med safni sáttir þeir, svo til borgar víkja.
43. Tasi geymir landsins løg, til líknar snaudum kémur, situr heima mildur mjøg, mál og deilur semur.
44. Stjórnar hyggju sinnir fá, sidum eigi breytir. Dóttur tiggi tíginn á, Tasía meyin heitir.
45. Var ad sønnu frúin fríd, en fegurst þó ad sidum, þocka mønnum baud svo blíd, sem brosi sól ad vidum.
46. Rómúls undra idin hønd, eirdi ei kyrdar høgum, sig hann undir lagdi lønd, og lifdi í sverda sløgum.
47. Døglíng líka dóttur á, um drós vér tølum sídar, henni víkja hrafnar frá Hárs, og fløgta vídar.
48. Nú skal inna nockud frá, Núma: sveinninn besti, fædist sinni ættjørd á, upp med Tulli Presti.
49. Sínum hlýdinn vini var, vitsku og dygdir nemur, andlits prýdi einginn bar, úngum manni fremur.
50. Farfinn rjódi og húdin hrein, hægt í fødmum láu, hjartad góda gégnum skein, glerin hvarma bláu.
51. Svo er væni vidur sá, er vøkvar qvikur beckur, dala grænum grundum á, gródur megnid dreckur.
52. Fagurlitur blómstur ber, beinn í skrúda sléttum, øllum þytum vinda ver, valid skjól af klettum.
53. Rætur festar safna sér, saft af lækjar idum, kosta bestur af því er, og øllum fegri vidum.
54. Fram svo lída átján ár, adalblóminn sveina, vard fulltída, vaxtar hár, vænn ad sjá og reyna.
55. I hofinu beimur þjónar þar, þá ad offur størfum, Guddóm þeim hann géfinn var, gæddur mentum þørfum.
56. Fóstra sínum fylgdi hann, fús á sidi spaka, því hann átti eptir þann, embættid ad taka.
57. Þad var hátíd einni á, úngur sveinn og Prestur, altarinu halda hjá, helgra bæna lestur.
58. Húsid fylla heiløg ský, halir trúar gladdir, hvelfíngunni heyra í, himinbúa raddir.
59. Þessi ord af helgum hljóm, hlustir skilja meiga: „Fari Númi framm í Róm, fólkid skal hann eiga.
60. Møgli ecki manna géd, móti Seres vilja, ástvin sínum er hún med, ei mun vid hann skilja.“
61. Hvør á annan horfir nú, hissa bádir verda, loksins talar Tullur: þú, til mátt búast ferda.
62. Þó ad ockur, son minn! sárt, sambúd þiki ad lúka, himins bodid heyrum klárt, hlýdni krefur mjúka.
63. Følna Núma fagrar brár, følskvast sjónar eldur, fljóta þau hin þýdu tár, sem þacklát ástin géldur.
64. Sveininn klerkur sér vid fáng, sídan þadan teymir, ofan í læstan undirgáng, ad sem lykla geymir.
65. Setur hann fram tvø silfur-kér, segir: þú mátt finna, foreldra beggja aska er, í hér hulin þinna.
66. Þeirra kærar moldir mátt, minnast bljúgur vidur, þau frá sælu sølum hátt, sjá til ockar nidur.
67. Rodnar Númi og þeigir þá, þánkar túngu fjøtra, ljúfum rennir augum á, ílát moldar tøtra.
68. Astar fadmar hjartad hlý, høndin mjúka og sára, sjónar steinar synda í, sætum lækjum tára.
69. Tullur rétti Sveini sverd, segir túngan fróma: láttu þetta fylgja ferd, fadir þinn átti skjóma.
70. Aldrei lét hann heiptar hønd, hvessíngs eggjar brýna, med því vardi’ hann lífid, lønd, og loksins módur þína.
71. Hafdu, vinur! sama sid, sverd þá reidir høndum, Gudina þá eg géfa bid, ad grand þad vinni fjøndum.
72. Hér er líka lockur klár, leingi geymdan hefi, þad er módur þinnar hár, þigdu nú eg géfi.
73. Númi hirdir hár og geir, hæglyndis med tárum, sídan gánga þadan þeir, þrútnir ástar sárum.
74. Burtu Númi búast hlaut, bestu fær hann týgin, fylgir honum framm á braut, fóstri ára hníginn.
75. Þar sem skilja skulu á, skógar grænum haga, høfud-prestur hollur þá, hóf svo rædu laga.
76. “Hér þó ockar skilji skeid, skal mig sorg ei buga, en framm á þína leingri leid, léttum fleyti’ eg huga.
77. Því eg hrædist þinn úngdóm, þørf er fyrirhyggja, þegar þú kémur þar í Róm, þúsund snørur liggja.
78. A þínum aldri eingan vin, áttu er treysta megir, þeirra ást er yfirskyn, sem aldur og reynslan fleygir.
79. Vellyst holds er vodalig, vid hvørt tækifæri, vill hún fadmi vefja þig, en varastu hana, kæri!
80. Þann sig hennar vélum ver, virdi eg kémpu frída, vidqvæmt hjarta veikast er, en verdur þó ad strída!
81. Ljáirdu henni lausan taum, þó lítid virdast megi, freistínganna fyrir straum, færdu stadist þeigi;
82. Sofnar þú í gøldum glaum, en glatar dygda vegi, þó er tídin náda naum, á næsta máské degi.
83. Vidur sálar veinin aum, vaknar beiskur tregi, værdarlaus í vøku og draum, verdur svæfdur eigi.
84. Því vid sérhvørt fet þú fer, fram á lífsins skeidi, hygdu ad hvørt þad hæfir þér, en hata dramb og reidi.
85. Heidradu þeirra háu stétt, (fyrst heimsins þad er sidur) en láttu hinna lægri rétt, lída þar ei vidur.
86. Vitsku og dygd ad vinum þér, veldu systur bádar, leitadu hvad sem forma fer, fyrst til þeirra ráda.
87. Hamíngjan býr í hjarta manns, høpp eru ytri gædi; dygdin ein má huga hans, hvíla, og géfa nædi.
88. Vidqvæmnin er vanda kind, veik og qvik sem skarid, veldur bædi sælu og synd, svo sem med er farid.
89. Lán og tjón—já líf og mord, lidug fædir túnga, því er vert ad vanda ord, og venja hana únga.
90. Heidradu þann sem hærum á, hrósar døgum sínum, vertu einkum vífum hjá, vandur ad ordum þínum.
91. Vondum solli flýdu frá, og fordast þá sem reidast, elskadu góda, en aumka þá, afvega sem leidast.
92. Heyrdu snaudra harma raust, hamladu sjúkra pínum, vertu øllum aumum traust eptir krøptum þínum.
93. Ræktu þessi rádin fá! ræktu dygdir æfa, svo þó eg þér fari frá, fylgi þér heiløg gæfa.
94. Hér er loksins lítid bréf, lesa máttu skjalid, Tasa kóngi á hendur hef, hérmed eg þig falid.
95. Veri’ á þínum vegum nád, vermi brjóstid fridur, Túllur eptir ord svo tjád, ástvin skilur vidur.
96. Númi finnur sára sút, sem søknud fylgir barna, breidir leingi arma út, eptir þeim burt farna.
97. Sídan upp á hvítan hest, hladinn gódum týgjum, halur næsta hljódur setst, og hvatar á gøtum nýjum.
98. Fákurinn rann sem fyki ský, fyrir hvøssum vindi, átu hvørjar adra því, eikurnar med skyndi.
99. Allt á ferd og flugi var, fjøllin hrærdust stóru, hólar, borgir, hædirnar, á hlaupi allar vóru.
100. Lidu upp úr lopti blá, landa sjónir hinar, en fósturjørdin faldist þá, fyrir augum vinar.

Source Text — Þriðja Ríma

Módur-jørd, hvar madur fædist, mun hún eigi flestum kær? þar sem ljósid lífi glædist, og lítil skøpun þroska nær.

2. I fleiri lønd þó feingi dreingir, forlaganna vadid sjó, hugurinn þángad þreyngist leingi, er þeirra føgur æskan bjó.

3. Mundi’ eg eigi minnast hinna, módurjardar tinda há, og kærra heim til kynna minna, komast hugar flugi á?

4, Jú, eg minnist, fóstra forna! á fjøllin keiku, sem þú ber, í kjøltu þinni qvøld og morgna, qvikur leikur muni sér.

5. Um þína prýdi ad þeinkja og tala, þad er tídast gledin mín, í høgum frídu hlýrra dala, hjørd um skrídur brjóstin þín.

6. Smala hlýdinn hjardar fjøldinn, heim ad lídur steckonum, þar eg síd á sumar-qvøldin, sat í vídir-breckonum.

7. Fóstra! já mér féll í lyndi, fadmi á ad hvílast þín, bygdi eg þá med æsku yndi, ofur smáu húsin mín.

8. Þau vóru full af audi ørum, í eckert lánga þurfti meir, allskyns gull og faung úr fjørum, fluttum þángad brædur tveir.

9. Tíndum vær, þar grundin gréri, grasa blómin lita-skír, þau í skæru skélja kérin, skadlaus komu, en voru dýr.

10. Skipta fínum skérfi mátti, skyldi þeigi munur á, þúfur sínar sérhvør átti, sem ad eyar voru þá.

11. Vid med yndi fridar festa, fénadar þá oss skortur var, vorum kindur, kýr og hestar, ad kroppa strá um eyarnar.

12. Firtir naud vid faungin undum, flest ágæti vard ad bót, þó af audi ockar stundum, urdu þrætu malin ljót.

13. Einvíg þreyttum huga herdir, handa neyttum máttar þá, og med beittu sviga-sverdi, sárin veittum eigi smá.

14. Hér á landi eg þó uni, øllum þrautum lángt er frá, en sárþreyandi mænir muni, módur skautid hvíta á.

15. Vegurinn lídur, vér oss flýtum, (vid mig sídur fyrtist þér), Númi rídur á hesti hvítum, hann var ad bída eptir mér.

16. En af því Nótt hún elti hestinn, undan hann ei komast má, blundur hljótt þeim góda gésti, gistíng vann ad bjóda þá.

17. Þar sem streymir lækur létt um lund, hinn módi sofna fer; hvad hann dreymir hér í fréttum, hef eg ad bjóda, vinur, þér.

18. Vagn af tveimur drekum dreginn, drauma sjónir fyrir brá; situr í þeim sem sól nýþvegin, Seres dísin tignar-há.

19. Høfdi yfir hans er sefur, himinvagninn nemur stad, skýin bifast, gydjan géfur gætur ad hal og þannig qvad:

20. „Þér eg ann og yfir vaki, allar stundir, sveinninn kær! ad ei manninn meinin saki, medan grund á dvalid fær.

21. Hvad umbidur, vil eg veita, velja máttu strax um þad,“ þóktist lidugt bænum beita, bauga Týr og þannig qvad.

22. Vísdóm mér í hjartad háan, heiløg módir! géfdu þá, Túllur sver, ad sá sem á hann, sérhvørn góda skuli fá.

23. Númi hverfur allt í einu, ædstu sala guda til, og Minervu himin-hreinu, heyrir tala vísdóms skil.

24. Helst á því hann hefur vilja, hana sjá, ef mætti þá, en gyltu skýin guddóm hylja, gégnum má ei augad ná.

25. Heyrnar kraptar hans ei þoldu, helgar raddir leingi; því nú er hann aptur nidri á foldu, nockrum staddur skógi í.

26. Vafin líni vatna freya, vinleg situr stóli á, høfudid sýnist hýrleg beygja, hans ad vitur brjósti þá.

27. Hún í yndi innvefjandi allar myndir hugarins var, hjartad bindur hins undrandi hjávist lindar-gydjunnar.

28. Númi frétti um freyu heiti, frá sér því hann numinn var, umgjørd kletta andsvør veitir: Egería, lætur þar.

29. Númi vaknar, aleinn er hann, og þar lá í runnonum, æ hann saknar, eckért sér hann, eptir af háu Gydjunum.

30. Drauminn grundar dreingur frídur dagsins fróm hann leidir hønd, á fætur skunda fer og rídur, fram í Róma kémur lønd.

31. Hljótt er allt í audu landi, úngbørn smá, og menn í kør, eiga kalt í aumu standi, eckjur þrá sín mistu kjør.

32. Ei er hreinum hjørdum settur hagi; firdur blóma sá, á akra reinum arfi sprettur, einginn hirdir kornin smá.

33. Harma klædi høfud byrgja, heyrast qvædin sorga þrenn, fedur og mædur syni syrgja, systur brædur og konur menn.

34. Eckjan qveinar, ángur vefur, augu valla fær hún þur, soninn eina hennar hefur, herinn kallad Rómúlur.

35. Þannig strídin þjaka løndum: þótt ad prýdis-klædin dýr, hermenn skrýdi hulda røndum, heima qvídi og naudin býr.

36. Númi hljódur ángur-augum, á þau tómu hérød brá, en nú framvód fyrir brúna baugum, borgin Róm í skrauti há.

37. I himininn blá, svo hátt hann eygir; hædum frá sú borgin ný, turna háum fleinum fleygir, þeir fljúgast á vid storma gný.

38. Múrinn breidi móti gljáir, mundi snillin eigi løk, þegar úr heidi sólin sáir, sínu gulli um kopar-þøk.

39. Virki í boga múrar mynda mikla kríngum borg þar stód, grafnir vogar vid þar synda, og verja híngad skémdar þjód.

40. Varnar festing hædin hædsta og høfudbólid stadarins er, kalla flestir kosta stædsta, Capítólíum nefnd sú er.

41. Hér á stendur hofid mesta, helgad fødur Júpíter, byggíng kénd med fegurd flesta, flóda røduls geisla ber.

42. Borgin stendur vøndud vidum, vænst í heimi á þeirri tíd, Númi vendi ad hennar hlidum, hermenn geyma portin fríd.

43. Stódu í bláu brynjum vøndum, búnir sunda raudu glód, Odins háu eldibrøndum, upp úr mundum kynti þjód.

44. Kémur í stadinn Númi nýtur, nær ad skodast þar um kríng, en sérhvad, er augad lítur, ákaft bodar hildar þíng.

45. Málmar emja hátt vid hamri, hlífar lemjast stedjum á, engin hemja er á því glamri, eldar semja járnin blá.

46. Smidju hreyktist gufan gráa, glódir qveiktar brøndum á, skýjum feyktu af hveli háa, og himininn sleiktu nakinn þá.

47. Hermenn þreyttir hildi læra, hlífum skreyttur sérhvør er; hesta sveittu í eyrum æra, orustu þeyttu lúdrarner.

48. Númi undrast, Númi hrædist, Númi grundar hvad til ber, Númi skundar, Númi lædist, Númi undan víkur sér.

49. Gégnum býinn leidir liggja, loks hann finnur konúngs rann, og aldurhníginn Tasa tiggja, til sín inn sá leidir mann.

50. Bar nú Sjóla bréfid dreingur; brúna-sól á letrid skín, hann af stóli háum geingur, og halinn fól í ørmum sín.

51. Hann svo talar: heilla dagur, helst upprennur gømlum mér, ad þig skal eg, frændi fagur, fá ad spenna ørmum hér.

52. Pompíls eigin augu þecki, eg og finn hans svip á þér, hugurinn segir, ad þú ecki ástar þinnar synjir mér.

53. Létt er elli ad bera bleika, børnum kærum sínum hjá, þegar hrellist hyggjan veika, huggun nærir beggja þá.

54. Dóttur fína einnig á eg, æfir slíngar dygdir gód, hana sýna svo þér má eg; sveinar híngad kalli fljód.

55. Kappar sjá, med klædi valin, kémur gnáin sørfa nett; líkt vid brá, og ljós um falinn lidi þá, sem brennur slétt.

56. Marga þó sér fegri fyndi, frúin rjód, er dygdir bar, til sín dró hún ást og yndi, ofur gód og náqvæm var.

57. Númi fljódi fyrir hneigir; fadirinn sitja bidur sprund : þessi er bródir þinn (hann segir), þægur vitjar oss á fund.

58. Pompíls frída arfi er hann, opt sem frá eg greindi þér, sama prýdi-bragdid ber hann, bæta sá vill elli mér.

59. Bú nú hjá oss, barminn frídi! bætast þín svo gæfa má, eingri þá eg elli qvídi, yckur mínum børnum hjá.

60. Maské kærri bønd oss báda, betur saman teingi hér, krónu skærri ríkis ráda, reifdum frama ann eg þér.

61. Fljódid vitra fødurs góda, fulla meiníng skilur þá; kinnar litar rósin rjóda, sem renni hreinan blód í snjá.

62. Lýsti ad sveini ljósum brúna, leit hún eigi fegri mann, því í leyni lifna núna, ljúf tilhneigíng ásta vann.

63. Géfur sídan svørin frídur, sólar vídis stafur hinn, lofar ad hlýda í þeli þýdnr, því sem býdur kóngurinn.

64. Ødlíng hneigir ord án kala: yfir-skyn eg vil ei sjá, hirdum eigi um hlýdni ad tala, hótin vina minnumst á.

65. Atti eg leingi ríkjum ráda, en raunin skást þess vitni ber: mig hefur einginn hrædst, en háda hugar ást eg gjørdi mér.

66. Bý eg enn vid sømu sidi, sinn hefur máta valid hvur, vid alla menn eg midla fridi; en mikilátur Rómulur

67. Aframm keyrir ótta svipun, undirsáta vora í stríd, lúta þeir hans þúngu skipun, þar til láta fjør um síd.

68. Uti’ er hann, og orustu fremur, Antemnata kónginn vid; finna þann, nær þadan kémur, þá sem hvatast skulum vid.

69. Þad hann sigri, efar eingi, aldrei kémpa frægri var, búin vigri á orustu eingi, undir hempu Sigmundar.

70. Þegar fleins í grimmu gøllum, geingur ad mordi þjóda sá, hann er eins í hernum øllum, hann ei fordast nockur má.

71. Vaxtar hár og harla digur, hristir ótta brúnum frá, svartur á hár og hermannligur, hefur þrótt, svo furda má.

72. Ordróm flytur afreks verka, undir tjaldi vinda lid, því høfudid vitra og høndin sterka, hvíldar aldrei þurfa vid.

73. Hann á dóttir, Hersilía, heitir þeingils drósin kær, þar um fljótt má fréttir drýgja, fegri eingin skapast mær.

74. Kærleiks leita Kørmt vid bauga, kóngar dýrir vítt um heim, en stoltu beitir brúdir auga, og baki snýr vid øllum þeim.

75. Bøn til skædu eggja anna, um sig slædir hlífum grá, hjálmur klædir høfud svanna, høndin rædur sverdi smá.

76. Frúin rídur fødur medur, fram í stríd á vøldum jór, vopna hrídin hugann gledur, heila snídur margan kór.

77. Þegar ei hendur hrotta beita, hún er ad varast fremur þá, því ástar tendrar elda heita, allra þar, sem brúdi sjá.

78. Hvør sem lítur blómid bjarta, bara er frá sér numinn, enn, um ást ei hlítir heita ad qvarta, hún forsmáir alla menn.

79. Þér eg inni søgu sanna, siklíng ríka og brúdi frá, feginn minnast mannkostanna, mundi líka, ef vissi þá.

80. Þú einrádur úr mátt skéra, efnum nú og velja frí, heima í nádum hjá oss vera, hans eda búa tjøldum í.

81. Hetjan segist heima bída, og hilmi eigi skiljast frá, honum feginn fylgja og hlýda, fyrst þeim megi kosti ná.

82. Tasía heyrir hvad hann segir, hugar sprettur vonin mild, stúlkan eirir því og þegir, þad var ettir hennar vild.

83. Númi er heima nockra daga, nádum undi og fordast glaum, en eitt sinn sveimar út um haga, og er ad grunda þar sinn draum.

84. Heyra fær nú hlynur fleina, hvar um býinn reynir fet, ad skógur nær vid elfu eina, Egeríu lundur hét.

85. Lifir í minni lindar-freya, er líta vann í draumi þá, í skóginn inn nam brautir beygja, bestur manna, og lundinn sá.

86. Lék andvari ad laufa flugum, lifna sæla gledin kann, skógar hvar í breidum bugum, býr indæla náttúran.

87. Þar heilaga þøgnin drottnar, og þánka sæta vekur manns, eikur vaga ellilotnar, undir mætum greina krans.

88. Þar skínandi og lystilegur laufa fjøldinn stígur dans, vindurinn anda valla dregur, vagga’ á qvøldin þar er hans.

89. Hvad þid gétid líka látid, litlu fjadra hnodrarnir! hoppad, setid, fløgt í fáti, fram sem nadra aldrei kyr.

90. Saungva þyljid, tóna teygid, og talid um flesta hluti þar, en margir skilja yckur eigi, utan bestu kunníngjar.

91. Þeir um rúman lund sér lauma, lidug meta raddar hljód, súngu Núma sjón og drauma, sem þeir géta fært í ljód.

92. Hér vid dvelja hlustir nettar, hann vill bída í þessum stad, en hvørt þeir velja og vita hid rétta, vid skulum sídar tala um þad.

Source Text — Fjórða Ríma

Þeckir eigi hvørs manns hjarta, holds og sálar fylsnum í, qvenna ástar blossann bjarta, bródir! viltu neita því?

2. Hitt munu sumir hirda fátt um, í heiminum fædast ástir tvær, ólíkar ad øllum háttum, ætíd verid hafa þær.

3. I vesæld steypir opt hin eina, en ønnur snýr til hagsældar, mun á þeim eg mætti greina, mér eru bádar kunnugar.

4. Ønnur, sú sem alment sýkir, og er máské heitust þó, í blódi voru og vitum ríkir, vøkva sinn hún þadan dró.

5. Hún nær ecki í hjarta sporum, þó heimskum máské finnist þad, nei — í øllum ædum vorum, idar hún og nær ei stad.

6. Ockar sálir ei sú hefur, ædri neinna þánka til, alla háa hugsun kéfur, og holdinu veitir fró og il.

7. Ein er hennar ósk: ad njóta, og ørmagnada sedja vild, sú er lítt til heilla hóta, en hin er þessu lítid skyld.

8. A andar sig hún einíng nærir, og á í hjartans fylsnum bygd, vidqvæm sig í hófi hrærir, hún er ecki girnd, en dygd.

9. Varminn hennar veikir eigi, vinunum er hún holl og trú, fullkomnunar fram á vegi, fýsnir allar dregur sú.

10. Gledin hennar hreina og klára, hitar, en brennir aldrei því; þó hún kénni sinna sára, sæt þeim renna smyrsli í.

11. Virdíng, audur, høpp né hylli, hennar aldrei stólinn braut, og finni hún nauda fjúk á milli, í frómleikans sig vefur skaut.

12. Nú hef eg lýst þeim; leingra og meira, letra mætti um bádar þær, ef menn fýstí á ad heyra, en eg hætti — þad er nær.

13. Númi undi leingi í lundi, leidir sveigir hér og þar, lítur hann sprund, hún lá í blundi, lík Skjaldmey ad búníng var.

14. Høfudid ljósa lagt hún hefur, létt á skjøldinn; vánga hjá, hjálmur drósar, hýrt er sefur, hulinn øldu stjørnum lá.

15. Hárid bjarta brynju þekur; í bylgjum gyltum nidurflaut, allt hvad hjartans undrun vekur; augun fylti brúdar skraut.

16. Spjót eitt undir hefur hendi, hún í dúni skógar lá, ljósid Þundar ljóma sendi, linda túni meyar frá.

17. Svona í drauma dái liggur, Día ljóminn, Freya ber; þángad laumast Loki hyggur, og lágt í grómi falinn er.

18. Flakir um bríngu og meyar maga, men brísínga hálsi frá, blódshræríngar léttar laga, liljur kríngum brjóstin smá.

19. Svefninn býr á augum úngum, eru þau hýr, þó felist brá, raudur vír á vánga búngum, vefur og snýr sig kríngum þá.

20. Sig innvikla í rósum rørum, raudu taumar æda blá, litir sprikla létt á vørum, og laga drauma brosin smá.

21. Andinn hlýr, sem ilminn nýta, óspart lénar vitum sinn, í lífinu býr og brjóstid hvíta, í búngur þenur og dregur inn.

22. Húdin skæra hønd og fótinn, hægt í kríngum vafin er, um sívøl lærin, lidamótin litla hríngi marka sér.

23. Dúir andinn undir nafla, en svo hvít er hørunds brá, sem hlæjandi sólin skafla, silfur spýti geislum á.

24. Loka bugar brá skínandi; bragda hugur stansa fer, hann vard fluga eda andi, og naudugur leyndi sér.

25. Øllum píkum yndislegri, svo eingin stef eg til þess finn, Freyu lík, æ lángtum fegri, í lundi sefur Skjaldmeyin.

26. I huga hverfur Núma núna, næsta þad og trúlegt var: ad hann Mínervu hlífum búna, hátignada sjái þar.

27. Krýpur hann á kné sín bædi, kraptar þrotna líkamans, best sem kann af bæna frædi, baud med lotníng túngan hans.

28. Vaknar núna af svefni svanni, sýndar fljót og skøruglig, lýsti brúna báli ad manni, og bregdur fótum undir sig.

29. Allt var senn, ad hjálmur hylur, høfud, og brandinn þrífur mund, rædu hennar halur skilur, hnéfallandi á þessa lund:

30. Hvør ert þú, hinn heimski reckur, hér sem vogar leyna þér? djørfúng sú þér hvørgi hreckur, høggva og ad spilla mér.

31. Væri eigi vansi fljódi, vopnlausan ad myrda svein, skyldi þveginn brandur blódi, bana kanna láta mein.

32. Númi segir: gydjan glæsta! guddóm augad þinn nær sá, eg vard sleginn ótta næsta, innstu taugar gégnum þá.

33. Féll eg nidur, fætur eigi, feingu borid líkamann, og nú bid eg forláts feginn, flýta sporum hédan kann.

34. Návist há þín hjartad sýkti, hverf eg frá og þig tilbid; svarar þá og málid mýkti, mærin smá og brosti vid:

35. Heidur veita himin-Día, hladinn ótta ei þarftu mér, vit: eg heiti Hersilía, heppin dóttir Rómuls er.

36. Sverdi nú á skjøld hún skéllir, skari sveina kémur þá, med fagurbúinn fák á velli, frúin hrein þar stígur á.

37. Líkt og tinda sal frá sendur, svipu vindur jórinn rann, nærri blindur Númi stendur, næm ímyndun fjøtrar hann.

38. Hann ófridar þánkar þreyta, þola vid svo hvørgi má, blódid idar ofurheita, æda nidur um læki smá.

39. Til hlaupa tekur hetjan móda, hvatast kémur inn í Róm, feril rekur fáksins góda, fljóda sem ad rídur blóm.

40. Til hann vendir Tasa sjóla, titrar andi, føl er brá, og þar stendur sjóar sóla, Sjøfn skínandi kóngi hjá.

41. Hún til kynna kóngi géfur, komu snara Rómúlar, sigurinn því høndlad́ hefur, hetjan þar sem randir skar.

42. Ad allt til reidu sé, hún semur, Sigtýr kjóla vidur þá, þegar heidur krýndur kémur, Capítólíum gramur á.

43. Núma sér hún, þennann þeckir, þeingil spyr hvad manna var, hilmir ver þess hana ecki, hugar kyrr og géfur svar:

44. Sveininn góda (svona tér hann) til sonar valid hef eg mér, af kónga blódi ockru er hann, og erfa skal mitt sæti hér.

45. Númi stendur farfa følur, fæstu gat ad veita ans, en nú sendi sjónar vølur, silkifata jørd til hans.

46. Farfa snaudum hitnar heldur, hrínga Audar móti brá, litur raudur líkt og eldur, logadi og saud um kinnar þá.

47. Skjøldúng sá hans skipti lita, en skilur eigi hvad til ber, því ellin gráa ástar hita, eingannveginn leingur sér.

48. Alinn heima (hilmir tjáir,) hinn ágæti sæmdar mann, enn er feiminn, sem þér sjáid, sú mun bætast fávitskan.

49. Nærgætnari seima sunna, sá hvad úngum manni leid, lofdúngs svari létst þó kunna, lyndis slúngin bauga heid.

50. Hún ad vana hugann stilti, en horfdi á mann er fegurd ber, eins og hana einu gilti, ástir hann þó festi á sér.

51. Býst nú snúdug burtu sæta, brjóstid leynir fegurd manns, en í því brúdar augun mæta, edalsteinum brúna hans.

52. Hvarmbragd eitt (þad undrum veldur) innstu svífur gégnum taug, þad var heitt— ó þad var eldur! þadan líf og kraptur flaug.

53. Núma hjartans von þad vekur, vænstu hreifir gledi því; en mærin bjarta med sér tekur, mynd hans reifum kærleiks í.

54. Burt er frúin; bestur dreingur, bænir qvaka í leynum má, sá er ei nú hinn sami leingur, sefur og vakir brúdi hjá.

55. I ástar flasi fremd þó bresti, á fljódi nærir sál og géd, gleymir Tasa og Túlli Presti, og týnir værum dygdum med.

56. Daud eru rád og dofin hyggja, dugur tekinn líkams þver, girnd áfjád vill brjóstid byggja, burt hún hrekur allt frá sér.

57. Þánkar hreinir hjartans flýa, hvørgi í meinum því er rótt, hugsun ein er Hersilía, hans í leynum dag og nótt.

58. O þú þeingils ástvin kæri! sem øllu geingi týnir hér, skulu eingin undanfæri, einum leingur duga þér?

59. Hvar eru nú þíns fóstra frædi, føst sem þú í huga barst? og Himinbúa heitin gædi, helst sem trúa ljúfur varst?

60. Og því mundi ei til líknar, ódfær skunda Seres frú! og kýngi undan fýsna-fíknar, fá þér hrundid breiskum nú.

61. Skal þá eldur einnar girndar, ofurseldum granda hér? æ! hún veldur fári firndar, og forløg géldur verstu þér!

62. Þú vilt deya í fýsna funa, falin megin eru skjól, og sérd þó eigi óluckuna, sem í þér fleygir heljar ból.

63. Ad því víkjum: víga sekur, vídfrægur um lønd og geim, kémur ríkja rádur frekur, Rómúlur úr strídi heim.

64. Honum fylgir hraustur skari, í hópa talinn, búinn geir; líkt og bylgjur lá um fari, leiti og dali bruna þeir.

65. Lystugt klíngja ljósblá stálin, ljómar hríngjur gyltar á, hornin sýngja sigur-málin, síns foríngja raddar-há.

66. Móti tiggja trúr ad vonum, Tasi og hyggin þjódin fer; eldar byggja á ølturonum: offur þiggja gudirner.

67. Rómul þar má þeckja snjalla, þegnar fara um hérødenn, høfud bar og herdar allar, hilmir snar yfir adra menn.

68. I kérru fór um foldar haga, fylkir stór, sá veldur geir, hana fjórir hestar draga, hvítir vóru litum þeir.

69. Styrjar kjóli er hulinn hamur, Herjans fól þeim geisla ber, á Capítólíum kémur gramur, krýndur hóli og sigri er.

70. Af vagni tredur vøll til grunna, vikna rédi jørdin þá, krónu med hins yfirunna, ad altari vedur Jóvis sá.

71. Hana í salinn heingdi, og breiddi,hendur gladur út frá sér, þannig talar þá og beiddi: „þrátignadur Júpíter!

72. Medtak fyrstu fórn þér veitta, fleiri listir skaltu sjá; svo skal eg hrista sverdid beitta, sigur-þyrstur hédan í frá.

73. Auk þú veldi vort og hreysti, veraldar seldu løndin mér, þackir géld eg þér og treysti, þessi feldur kóngur er.

74. Ver ei þinnar gædsku gleyminn, géf ei linni bardagar, uns ad vinna allan heiminn, ættstofn minn og Rómverjar.“

75. Naut hid mesta vørdur valda, í vala fjøllin hremmir grá, tuttugu prestar hræddir halda, horna trølli velli á.

76. Vødva gróinn krapta kéndi, klæddur brynju sjóli var, uxann dró í einni hendi, ad altarinu og feldi þar.

77. Barkann snídur bola felda, benja grídur Rómúlar, klerka lýdur offur elda, ad honum sídan kyndir þar.

78. Þegar eldir offur-báli, ødlíng skundar ranni frá; kallar heldur hvellu máli, hers þúsundir sínar á.

79. Eitt þó land vid vinnum, vinir, (vekur hann beimum þannig svar) ótal fjandar ockar hinir, eignir geyma veraldar.

80. Mørg eru enn í Italíu, ósigrud hin føgru lønd, sverdin spennum svo ad nýu, signi gudinn vora hønd.

81. Hvíld þó finni fólkid blída, fyrr en búist menn í slag, børn og qvinnur fadma frídar, fáid þér nú í allan dag.

82. Marts á velli ad morgni allir, mætumst vér í hildar kjól, horna gélli hljómar snjallir, úr hafinu ber þá stígur sól.

83. Móti þjód, sem Marsar heita, munum strída verda enn,vid ógóda er þar ad þreyta, þeir eru grídar hraustir menn.

84. Heima sinnum setum valla; sóknar reynum vedur brád, þar til vinnum verøld alla, og vøldum einir høfum nád.

85. Mæti því á mældum velli, máttugt lid ad reyna kíf, þar í týgjum fyrst á felli, foríngi ydar veldur hlíf.

86. Þjód óveila þekji brynja, þegar fald á degi sér! látum heila heiminn skynja, ad hvíldir aldrei þurfum vér.

Source Text — Fimta Ríma

Fimta Ríma.
Vandi er þeim, sem vøldin á, vel á tignarstóli drottna; mikils verd er maktin há, ef manndygd lætur eigi þrotna.
2. Margir kóngar mjøg ad dád, málum øllum vilja snúa; en ef þeir hafa íllgjørn rád, undir þeim er neyd ad búa.
3. Sá med eigin augum sér, ecki nema slots hræsnara, undirsáta ørløg hér, ecki kann frá meinum vara.
4. Slíkur múgur vísir ver, ad vant ad stjórnar háttum gæti; fólkid kúgast, fantarner, flyckjast upp í valda sæti.
5. Til ad sedja fysna feikn, flesta kosti þá er vøl um: brjósta-krossa, titla og teikn, tekst ad fá med ríkisdølum.
6˙ Einn ef hyggur ødrum tjón, eitrudum hreifir laga skjølum, og kaupir margan þarfa þjón; þad fæst allt med ríkisdølum.
7. Allt skal vinna aptan til, og í læstum rádasølum; svo er vænt, ad vinnist spil, ef vafinn midlar ríkisdølum.
8. Eitt mér vanta þykir þó, um þetta efni fyrst vid tølum: hamíngja sønn og hjartans ró, hún fæst ei med ríkisdølum.
9. Vøldin eins og vorsins blóm, visna þegar haustid kémur; þá skal undir ædri dóm, øllum málum skjóta fremur.
10. Heill á vorum høgum er, (heims forsmáum tírannana), gæfan oss því vanda ver, valdi undir Fødurs Dana!
11. Lofdúng, eptir lesinn dóm, lætur farid heim ad sølum; mikinn gjørdu Rómar róm, Rómúlar ad fyrirtølum.
12. Númi þoldi valla vid, (vaka ástar sárin) leingur, Tasa kóngs vid hægri hlid, hugsandi og lotinn geingur.
13. Rennur honum í þánka þá, þúngu hlífar trøllin hvetja, vífi fylgja valþíng á, og verda øllum frægri hetja.
14. Ad verja brúdar væna líf, og vera hennar brjósti skjøldur; vada svo med hildar hníf, heitar gegnum dreyra øldur.
15. Þetta metur þánkinn skást: því er hann fús til hrydju verka, mætti vinna meyar ást, máské um sídir høndin sterka.
16. Eins og barn í fata fald, fálátt sinnar módur togar, fúst á hennar fadma vald, en fúla ad taka sig ei vogar;
17. Þannig Númi þeingli hjá, þrammar yfir vega buga, minnast þorir ecki á, umbrotin í sínum huga.
18. Loksins byrjar budlúng mál: besti vinur! þú munt greina, mér, hvad þína þjáir sál; þad ad bæta mun eg reyna.
19. Númi létti nockud ønd, nádi þannig ordum haga: lángar mig med hjør í hønd, hernum med í stríd ad draga.
20. Fadir minn vann og vardi lønd, verkastór um Skøglar haga; þú hefur líka vígavønd, vaskur reynt í fyrri daga.
21. Eins og þid vid geira grønd, ef gæfan vildi svo til haga, lángar mig ad rista rønd og reyna upp í hina ad slaga.
22. Gamall brosti gilfi þá, glædur í hetju brjósti lifna: „þú skalt, son minn, fara fá; fýsi þína met eg þrifna.
23. Hildar skaltu flíkur fá, fara med þér gamlan tídir, mig, þó ami ellin grá, og þér kenna Spjóta hrídir.
24. Enn þá mínar hærur hjálm, held eg kunni þúngan bera, enn mun þessi armur Skálm, usla kunna med ad gera.
25. Gaman er, í gøndlar þey, gráum járnum hlífar stínga; kætir mig, ad kólnar ei, kónga blódid Sabínínga.
26. Fadmar gramur svinnan svein, sem ad nockru leiti kætist; þegir hann um sitt ástar mein, ecki þad ad sinni bætist.
27. Herklæda í herbergid, hérnæst bádir frændur gánga; Númi tekur vopnum vid, og valinreyndum ættartánga.
28. Gyltan hjálm og hvítan skjøld, hetjan fær, sem trautt mun rofinn, og silfurbrynju, sem tvøføld, saman var í hríngjum ofin.
29. Brynjan steypist búkinn á, bjørtu þrístir hjálmur enni; eins er honum, og allar þá, ædar gégnum logi brenni.
30. Þegar spennir høndin hjør, hjøltin Ránar sólir mála, en augun hvøss og yrmilsnør, eldíngum um bladid strjála.
31. Eldaskídi Odins beitt, í ósjálfrædi høndin skekur, til og frá; en hjartad heitt, hetju brjóstid valla tekur.
32. Svo hamóda hefur Þór, haldist vid í brúdar klædum, Mjølner þegar mundum fór, máttar heittist blód í ædum.
33. Tasi gengur heim í høll, hans og frændi tíguglegur, herklædi sín aldinn øll, á sig þar hin fornu dregur.
34. Dóttir hans hin dýra sá, drengi búna rønd og sverdum; henni vid í brúnum brá, bjóst hún ei vid þessum ferdum.
35. Silfur beltis Þrúdi þá, þúngt í hugar gjørdist leynum; hetjan velti henni frá, hálf-naudugur sjónar steinum.
36. Fødur sínum féll um háls, fljód, og qvad med trega sárum: „viltu nú í vinnu stáls, vopna þig á grafar árum?
37. „Hvør á ad vernda land og lýd, líkna snaudum, hugga þjáda, ef þú dregur út í stríd, sem allir qvedja fyrst til ráda?“
38. Gamall kóngur grét og hló, gódri dóttur kossum tærdi; hjálminn yfir hærur þó, hrædilega þúngan færdi.
39. Númi út um hallar hlid, hljóp, en kóngur fetar eptir; úngur þolir ecki vid, en ellin gamlar fætur heptir.
40. Númi hérød yfir øll, ædir líkt og hvirfilbylur, út er hann kominn einn á vøll, ádur enn Sól vid rúmíd skilur;
41. Leid nú hún svo létt úr mar, á ljósa brúnir steypti glódum; fagurbúnar fylkíngar, flyckjast núna á vøllinn ódum.
42. I Kérru rída reckar sjá, Rómúl prýdi skrúda þakinn; vid hans sídu lángur lá, laus vid hýdi brandur nakinn.
43. Hersilía blómann bar, búin týgjum gulli føldum; sýndist því hjá sveitum þar, sem sól í skýa fljóti øldum.
44. Vagni situr vífid á, vafur loga búin flóa: deili lita mangi má, meta, þar sem týgin glóa.
45. Tasi rædir ríkur vid, Rómúl þá, og Núma leidir: „ebli gædin guda lid, Gøndlar láin þar sem freydir.
46. „Eg med mínum frænda fer, fellirs brýna eggjar gladnr; hér eg sýni sveininn þér, sørfa týnir verdur madur!
47. „Kémpan fríd er kóngborinn, krónu mína skal hann bera; hann vill prýda herinn þinn, og hjá þér fyrst í skóla vera.“
48. Þannig rædir Rómulur: Rétt velkominn sveinninn dýri! hann á svædi sidlátur, Sabínínga Fylkíng stýri.
49. En ad hlífa øldnum þér, ættir þú fyrir hrídum sverda, ef orustu ýfir mátt med mér, margt um ríkid kann ad verda.
50. Þegar standa þessi rád, og þarf um bót ad tala fremur, tárfellandi tvinna lád, Tasía móti sjólum kémur.
51. Fram um svædi fylgdu þar, fljódi, er gæda rádum unni, eckjur bædi og øldúngar, ángurs qvædi hafa í munni.
52. Kríngum Tasa qviknar mál, konur og smáu børnin veina: Þér ørvasa hid þúnga stál, þeigi tjáir fremur reyna.
53. Þú, sem fadir allra ert, yfirgéfa mátt ei þína; ockur, þad er opinbert, øll þá vefur neyd og pína.
54. Hnéfallandi hrópar þjód: hjá oss bú þú, fadir kjæri! Nú þegjandi stillir stód, steini eins og lostinn væri.
55. Tasía herdir tárin á, teingir um sjóla arma bjarta; linast verdur lofdúng þá, til líknar viknar kémpu hjarta.
56. Núma qvedur kossi med, kappann bidur heilan fara; sídan tredur bjarnar bed, til Borgar heim med sínum skara.
57. Rómúls klíngir røddin klár, rídur hann fyrir lidi framan; í fylkíngar þyrpir þrjár, þúsundunum øllum saman.
58. Fyrst skulu rída Rómverjar, ræsir sjálfur þessum stýrir; aungvum hlýda ødrum par, ódins bjálfa gautar dýrir.
59. Sabínínga fylkíng fer, fram því næst á víga svædi; þann óríngan halda her, Hersílía og Númi bædi.
60. Fyllir drjúgan fylkis her, flockur sá er járnid vefur, Latsíu búar lýd-skylder, af løndum þeim hann unnid hefur.
61. Metsíus rædur mønnum þeim, mesti kappi Sabínínga; fyrr á svædi fylgdi beim, fødur Núma sverds til þínga.
62. Númi hvítum hesti reid, hetjan bar sig vel í sæti; klárinn nýtur kunni skeid, qvikari var enn ljón á fæti.
63. Létt, sem flýgi lausa mjøll, lék skevadur sødulboga; reydar týgin eru øll, Udar hladin vafurloga.
64. Hersilíu vagninn vid, vód hinn stinni Jór á beinum; Númi því á þessa hlid, þeyta kynni brúna steinum.
65. Blása menn til burt-ferdar, byrja hætta reisu þora; grundu renna glófaxar, gøtur og stræti járnum spora.
66. Eins og møckur myrkur, sá, úr meginhafi fram sig dregur, færir røckur frónid á, fer ákafa hryllilegur;
67. Bólginn sá af illsku er: eldi, snjá og fellibiljum, nidur stráir, fram þar fer; føll í bláum tryllir hyljum.
68. Svipir vinda svartir þá, sólar blinda augad skæra, flestar kindir fæla og þjá, frónid, lind og himin æra.
69. Honum líkur herinn er, hvar sem strýkur foldu yfir, undan víkur ódum sér, ógnum slíkum hvad sem lifir.
70. Þar sem voda lid um lád, ljóns í ædi tryltu geingur, undir trodid akra sád, einga fædu gefur leingur.
71. Skógar brotna, skadast jørd, skjólin þrotna flestu vidur, mordvopn drottna hollri hjørd, húsin gotna fellast nidur.
72. Landa búar verda vid, vinnu sína og eignir skilja, því þeir flúa hid leida lid, og lífinu einu bjarga vilja.
73. Sakalausum leingur þá, løg né skyldur ecki hlífa; hvad sem kaus og hirda fá, hjartadaudir menn aflífa.
74. Þannig geingur þvílík ferd, þar sem styrjar flockar sveima; hún er engrar æru verd, eydileggíng vorra heima.
75. Lída vegir léttfetans; lofdúng Rómaborgar kémur, vestanmegin Marsalands, vid módu eina stadar nemur.
76. Tjøldin reisa þjódir þá, þétt med veggjum stofu ála; Gjálpar eisa glóir á, gyltum húnum dúka-skála.
77. Um dægramótin sveitir sjá, sína ferd á báti géra, yfir fljótid ýta þrjá, sem Ør í vinstri høndum bera.
78. Skál af tré í hægri hønd, hafa þeir, og Rómul finna, falla á kné og vekja vønd, vina málin landa sinna.
79. „Marsar bjóda þannig þér, þýda qvediu, drottinn Róma! allt hid góda, er eigum vér, ødlast skaltu, tign og sóma.
80. „Ef menn vanda vina mál, vid oss, þeim vér hollir erum, og þeim til handa þessa skál, af þørfum kosti fulla berum.
81. „En ef mein oss ætlid þér (ei vér munum huga týna), pílu eina eigum vér, óvinonum til ad sýna.
82. „Vort er smátt og vesælt bú, vafid fjalla þraungri skýlu; velja áttu, Vísir, nú, vidar-skál eda þessa pilu.“
83. I bragdi grílu budlúng qvad: „bygd og landid skal eg vinna, fá mér pílu, og fardu á stad, frá oss heim til nauta þinna.“
84. Aptur svarar sendi-mann: „sjái gudir til vor beggja! segi eg hara sekadan, saklaust fólk til stríds ad eggja.
85. „Vér skulum þroka og verja best, veslíngs eignir heima-kynna, en þú, sem hroka hreifir mest, hrædstu reidi guda þinna.“
86. Rómul tekur reidin þá, rædu lætur þannig duna: „hvør mig frekur hrædast sá? heimar aldrei til þess muna.“
87. Sídan fara sendi menn, sína leid á ormi fjalar. Rómular var reidinn enn, runnin ei: hann svona talar:
88. „A morgun, þegar sólin sést, og sverd minn sterki armur skekur, yfir dregur fólkid flest, fljótid þá, og orustu vekur.
89. „Nú í dag ef þurfid þid, þjádir nýrrar fædu vidur, byrjid slag vid bónda lid, og britjid þeirra fénad nidur.“
90. Þadan skundar her óhýr, hyggur nú til mikils vinna; fólkid bundid, fé og kýr, færdu þeir til tjalda sinna.
91. Skiptu ráni sínu senn, sveitir, eins og þókti bera; konur smána, en myrda menn, til matar naut og saudi skera.
92. Númi þá til þengils geck, þessu fólki vægdar beiddi; þridjúng sá af flocknum féck, og fram á skóginn þessa leiddi.
93. Farid, segir hann, heilir heim, hérmed látum ockur sætta; gull óvegid gaf hann þeim, svo gripi sína feingi bætta.
94. Byrja fer svo bæna hljód, besti qvistur mána Rínar: „láttu, Seres, saklaust blód, saurga aldrei hendur mínar;“
95. Gudina bidur sín til sjá, svo med fleirum ordum høldur; lídur nidur úr lopti þá , logandi í gulli skjøldur.
96. Þar á standa þessi ord, þad í gyltum Rúnum sjer hann: „Aldrei grandar manni mord, medan Guda skjøldinn ber hann.“
97. Númi kætist, skygdann skjøld, skilur hann sér gefinn vera; hérnæst lætur heim í tjøld, hestinn sig á spretti bera.

Source Text — Sjötta Ríma

Sjøtta Ríma.
Nádugt er þeim nauda frí, í náttúrunnar skauti byggir, þar sem eckert ama ský, yndis sólar ljósin styggir.
2. Fedur vorir vøldu sér, vist í dala skjóli græna; sinnar gætti hjardar hver, og happa rækti búid væna.
3. Aldinn feita akra fløt, øldúngana gømlu fæddi; þá í heit og hreinleg føt, hjørd af sínum skrúda klæddi.
4. Margt ágæti um grundu þá, gróa þeir med idni sáu; dryckinn mæta máttu fá, af módur sinnar ædum bláu.
5. Voru hraustir, hæglindir, hyggju gæddir nógri frædi, vinum traustir, vandlátir, verkum ad og sidum bædi.
6. Lifdu rótt og leingi þar, (leingstu til þess aldir muna), fríir ótta ánaudar, elskudu Gud og náttúruna.
7. Ef ad gerdust upp á þá, ærufíknar þrælar háir, beittu sverdi brugdu þá, bændurnir til varnar knáir.
8. En, því midur, opt og þrátt, af náttúru frjálsum sonum, rændu frid og flæmdu sátt, flockar lids med tírønnonum.
9. Hér til dæmin høfum vér, heims af Søgum fleiri' enn viljum; þau eru slæm, og því er ver, ad þau ei ennú vid oss skiljum.
10. Nær skal hressa hamíngan, hrelda menn og naudum þjáda? nær skal blessud náttúran, nockurnvegin fá ad ráda?
11. Minnumst nú á Marsalands, menn, sem von á strídi eiga, eptir søgu sendimanns, sig til varnar búa meiga.
12. Kónglaus þjódin þessi var, þjónadi sér og náttúrunni; einginn vald yfir bródur bar, sem befalíngar géfa kunni.
13. Fóru því vid fregn um stríd, foríngja sér ad velja ýtar; margir voru lands af lýd, listamenn og kémpur nýtar.
14. Þegnar géra þad uppskátt, þrjá ad velja kappa dýra; hvur sem hefur mestan mátt, megin hernum á ad stýra.
15. Einn af þessum Alor hét; afli sínu mikid treysti, kémpan ønnur Líger lét, lítid buga sína hreysti.
16. Hektor var hinn þridji þá; þessir fram á skóginn gánga, hríngju festa uppi á, eikar topp med festi lánga.
17. Festin jørdu fellur á, firna þúng af járni gráu; nú skal reyna, mest hvur má, meidar svegja krónu háu.
18. Hektor fær á festi hönd, fellur í, sem mest hann gétur; eikin hrærir hríslu vønd, honum tekst nú ecki betur.
19. Líger kémur og leitast vid, leggjadigur og herda-þrekinn, sígur hann á handfángid, hyggur síst ad verda rekinn.
20. Ofan bognar eikin þá, einga krapta hetjan spardi; en þar ecki meira má, madur slepti festi hardi.
21. Alor kémur út á vøll, ofur hár og firna digur; þángad mæna augu øll, ætla víst hann fái sigur.
22. Fer hann undir fastan stein, festi yfir um bakid tekur, hart vid spyrna hraustleg bein, háan vidar toppinn skékur.
23. Sígur hann á festi fast; forkurinn mikli dregst í boga, en afreks madurinn ørmagnast, eikar stofninn vid ad toga.
24. Eikin fær sinn edlis mátt, upp á lopt hún manninn þrífur; í festinni hann hángir hátt, en hvatast nidur á foldu svífur.
25. Kalla tekur herinn hátt: „hann skal ockar lidi stýra; enginn hefur meiri mátt, mun hann féndur gjøra rýra."
26. Þegar sigur-hljódin há, herdir þjód med gledi-sladur, vedur fram á vøllinn þá, vígalegur og gildur madur.
27. Hár og digur undrum er, ytst hann klædir húd af ljóni; kallmannlegur kylfu ber, í krapta skædu hauka fróni.
28. Ljónsins eru kræktar klær, í kross á hetju brjósti framan; til hann fer og festi nær, vid fólkid slær svo upp á gaman.
29. „Fyrst ad eikin undra há, ecki hefur lidid bana, eg ad leiki líka má, leitast vid ad beygja hana.
30. Þannig segi' eg lokid leik, lánga festi kémpan þrífur, hristir, sveigir, hrekur eik, hana upp med stofni rífur.
31. Þetta undrar alla þjód, Alor sjálfum bløskrar næsta; innan stundar heyrast hljód: „hann skal stýra flocknum glæsta.
32. „Hann oss meinum hvurjum ver, hreysti madur á styrjar þíngi, honum einum hlýdum vér, hann er Marsa lidsforíngi."
33. Hetjan segir: „ósk mín er, ein, ad fylgja hraustu meingi, en fýsir ei ad fylkja her, fram um Skøglar rauda eingi.
34. „Hreysti er gód, en vitska er vænst; víga þegar trodum stíginn; veit eg þjódin velur kænst, vitran mann og aldur-hníginn."
35. Gamall svarar Saffanor, sá var Marsa rádgjafari: „þú skalt fara Foríngi vor, en fyrir þig vil eg midla svari.
36. „Hernum mæti høfdínginn, heitid segi, en leyni valla." Andsvør lætur lagast hinn: Leó megid þér mig kalla.
37. Fæddur er eg á fróni hér, flestar tídir bý á skógi, fátæklega, sem þú sjer, og safna lítid aura plógi.
38. En fyrst ad snara fýsir drótt, til foríngja mig í stríd ad hylla, vil eg fara nú í nótt, nádum Róma grams ad spilla.
39. Hundrud átta eg hafa skal, hrausta vera af ydar sonum, og í nátt med eld og fal, usla géra í herbúdonum.
40. Rómar varast valla þad, værdar medan tíminn stendur, nú skal fara strax af stad, stálin skrýdi menn og rendur.
41. Þessu sinnir Saffanor; sídan rádast menn til ferda, sem hafa inni afl og þor, ad ánni svo þeir gaungu herda.
42. Sínu lidi leynir hljótt, Leó þar med kænsku rara, þar til mid er metin nótt, móduna þeir yfir fara.
43. Undan gengnr foríngi fús, firna kylfu um axlir reidir; elda dreingur hittir hús, herinn þar sem krásir seydir.
44. Tekur hann skídi eimi á, og eldum hýdir skálann nauma, vekur lýd ad víga þrá, vid ófrída nætur drauma.
45. Harnar víga hrídin þar, heljar sígur blód úr ædum, verda ad hníga vardíngjar, vals í stíga raudu flædum.
46. Tjøldum braka eldar á, ása þakid mylur nidur, med harma qvaki hørdu þá, Hildur vaka alla bidur.
47. Kémur þar frá Niflheims nid, nedan skrimslid bláa Helja; er hamfara óvættid, offur sitt ad fánga og telja.
48. Bølvud gríla bløck ad sjá, bana vinnur lidi hrønnum; eitur-pílum fíngrum frá, fleygdi inn í hjørtu mønnum.
49. Hún um becki æda ód, áfram skreid á fjórum hrømmum, saug og dreckur daudablód, drjúgt af neydar skálum rømmum.
50. Vard því digur versta trøll, vid þann brunn, úr ædum lekur; ógurligur allan vøll, ófreskjunnar búkur þekur.
51. Skrimslid annad, nidsvørt Nótt, um náinn slædir døckvum klædum; fer med bann og blindar drótt, blóds í hrædilegu flædum.
52. Hrønnum dóu halir þar, um heljar vega blóds í ginum; svartar hlóu systurnar, ad svadaligum járna hrinum.
53. Hins má géta, hardlyndur, harla fimur sverda verinn, rís úr fleti Rómulur, rødd hans þrymur gégnum herinn.
54. Stillir dregur vígs á vøll, voda reidir ættartánga;: hrillileg því feingu føll, frídir meidar gullinspánga.
55. Allra hrædir hugar ró, holar blæda undir taka, kóngurinn æda øslar sjó, elda glædur þar sem vaka.
56. Hvar sem fer hann, fellur her; fáir géra móti standa. Leó sjer hann ad hann er, ódur og ber med kylfu fjanda.
57. Þángad brauzt med þúnga raust, þeingill hraustur til hans kémur, høggid traust var hlífdar lauft, í hluti flaustur Ullar lemur.
58. Brandurinn stóri brjósti nær, bilar megingjørdin ríta, en ljóns þar vóru læstar klær, sem laufinn egi mátti bíta.
59. Leó módi magna í, móti honum rédi gánga, vedur blódug víga dý, vørn Hákonar reidir lánga.
60. Ræsir æri Róma lands, reidir glika Brandinn stránga, kylfu slær úr hendi hans, hún svo fýkur vegu lánga.
61. Lofdúng vedur óvin ad, og hann kaus ad selja grandi; hinn ei tredur hót úr stad, hlífarlaus fyrir nøktum brandi.
62. Fángbrøgd ramur festi á, fylkir strída vígs um elfur, gánga saman og glíma þá, grundin qvídir vid og skelfur.
63. Niflúng fleygja nadi má; nú skal hreysti reyna leggja, svo af megin-þrótti þá, í þrimla kreistist holdid beggja.
64. Vífid bifast Valgautar, verda rifin hennar klædi, af til - þrifa ógnum hvar, øklar hrifu nakid svædi.
65. Frábært manna ædid er, eldur brann af hvarma tinnum, milli tanna froda fer, flói rann af sveittum kinnum.
66. Leó stífur verka var, vígs ad gífurlegu ædi, brynju rífur Rómular, svo ræsir svífur á kné sín bædi.
67. Stein í hendur hrífur þá, hinn, sem stendur eigi smáan, hilmirs sendir herdar á, hann, svo enda-fallinn lá hann.
68. Blódid svart af vitum vall, vísis hjarta aungvit þrífur, eptir hart svo fengid fall, filkir snart vid náinn blífur.
69. Mildíng daudan metur þjód, med hann þá til búdar fara, þvo hid rauda af búknum blód, og budlúng sjá á lífi hjara.
70. Leó minnumst aptur á, ecki linnir þróttur halnum; kífs í vinnu - kófi sá, kylfu finnur sína í valnum.
71. Skaptid kreisti høndum hann, henni treysti best ad voga, kapp og hreysti í brjósti brann, brúna neistar fóru ad loga.
72. Hamarinn fordum þannig Þór, Þryms hjá bordum féck í hendi, trøllum mord og meidsli stór, Mjølnir ordalaust þá sendi.
73. Øndótt hvesti augu þá, eldi sló af tinnum brúna, trøllin vestu forløg fá, flockar dóu þeirra núna.
74. Líkur honum Leó þar, lid um grundir feldi nidur, í nidmyrkronum ná-hrídar, nøtradi undir jardar qvidur.
75. Kylfan molar allt og eitt, øld má þola helju krappa, blódid skolar harla heitt, hendur á svolalegum kappa.
76. Búinn daudi øllu er, ef þar nockra stødu tekur, eins og saudi undan sér, allann flockinn Leó rekur.
77. Þrumur branda fældu frid, fjalla buldi þakid dofid, girdíng landa glumdi vid, gat ei Huldufólkid sofid.
78. Kolsvørt Gríma þrasir þar, þrumur af brotum skýa hrína, stjørnur híma huglausar, hvurgi ad notum birtu sýna.
79. Lítid veit um ljósin há, loptid skýa drúngi kéfur, mikilleitur Máni þá, møcknum í sig kaldur vefur.
80. Vølt í heimi er veran þá, voda sætir þjódin sløgum, stormar sveima svalir á, svørtum nætur vængjadrøgum
81. Vid svartálfa myrkur mest, manna blód og daudra hauga, hjørtu skjálfa af fælu flest, fyrir ógódu sjónum drauga.
82. Hvad sem skédur mest til meins, af myrkra sendur ófreskjonum, Leó vedur áfram eins, eckért stendur á móti honum.

Source Text — Sjöunda Ríma

Sjøunda Ríma

Sjøunda Ríma.
(Ný Lánghendíng)
Líkt og fljótid, læst i klaka, leysíng skjóta snjóa vidur, af sér brjóti bláa jaka, og belji ad mótum sjóar nidur;
2. Og sem fífu úr farveg réttum, frá sér rífur jørd og steina, og med lífi á økrum sléttum, áfram drífur vatnid hreina;
3. Isum rydur, eins og fjødrum, af sér nidur í þúngum spaungum; gnaudar ida á grundar jødrum, glymur klidur strauma laungum:
4. Þannig hrædi harpan ljóda, hugarmædi
lángt af vegi! hjartad fædi gledin góda, svo gaman qvædin fljóta megi!
5. Þannig feyki andar ama, edla marar ljóss frá Týri, eg, sem leik minn ódinn tama, Idunnar á hørpu - víri.
6. O mín qvinna, Idun skæra, ein sem minn nú huga gledur, virdstu innan hjørtun hræra, hita þinnar ástar medur!
7. Fordum var ad fleirum gaman, fljóda skara í æsku minni, en er nú svarin allur saman, Idun rara, blídu þinni.
8. Fjølga taka børnin beggja, best er ad vaka því og ydja, frá sér slaka leti leggja, og ljúfann maka um adstod bidja.
9. Vil eg dregin af sé efi, øllum segja frá því þorum: í hórdóm ei eg aflad hefi, únga-greyum kærum vorum.
10. Hvørt þau føgur eru’ eda eigi, øll skilfenginn megum telja, þó þau møgur og merglaus deyi, mér þarf enginn skuld á selja.
11. Sídan þreyda þig til vinar, þádi; hér af landsins konum, sverja eid fyrir allar hinar, ætla eg mér á Hreppskilonum.
12. Eins og fjalla efst frá tindum, ógurlegur klettur ridar, sem í falli, frárri vindum, foldar vega sundur nidar.
13. Med sér skridu djúpa dregur, dynur í sløgum þýngsla megnum, høggur nidur og holund vegur, hlídar føgur brjóstin gégnum;
14. Ur hans brotum eldur støckur, aungvu notast kyrdar stadur; smalinn rotast, hjørdin hrøckur, hrædist lotinn ferdamadur.
15. Jørdin grætur, hristist heimur, hrynur um stræti bjargid þétta, uns þad mætir eikum tveimur, sem allar rætur saman flétta;
16. Þessir stansa steininn firna, stydur adra hvur sem gétur, fótum hans vid falli spyrna, ferdir þadra bjargid letur.
17. Leó þannig stødvar stinnur, stáls í dýum ferda ædi, þegar hann í hernum finnur, Hersilíu og Núma bædi.
18. Skjaldmey móti kappa kémur, qvedur hann ljótum ordum þanninn; oss þú hóta ei skalt fremur, allra þrjóta verstur glanninn.
19. Þú skalt, færdur fyrir skjóma, falla brátt med stædstu qvølum; ad hafa særdann Næsir Róma, raupa máttu í heljar sølum.
20. Nú tvíhendir hrottann beitta, hjarna strendur mærin yfir; brosti ad qvendi kémpan sveitta, kyr hann stendur þó og lifir:
21. Bítur eigi á bardann harda, brand af meyu kappinn tekur, sama dregin sára qvarda, svo ad freyu bauga skékur.
22. Eins og snjáljós ódast glædir, eldíng hráa; hinn máttar gildi, Númi þá fyrir oddinn ædir, og vid brá þeim góda skildi.
23. Høggid kémur á skjøldinn skæra, skada fremur unnid gétur, bríngu nemur Núma ad særa, nadurinn sem hinn sterki hvetur.
24. Besta hrundi blódid nidur, um brjóst er sprundi hlífdi sínu, en hjørfa lund’ er lánid stydur, lítil und ei veldur pínu.
25. Sprundi fær hann skjøldinn skæra, skal sig mærin honum verjast; enn fleininn hrærir, fólk ad færa, og fer nú ærilega ad berjast.
26. Eptir leitar Leó fremur, lítt má heita brædin vinnast, mikil sveit á milli kémur, meidar skeyta ei ná ad finnast.
27. Númi hardan Hektor lítur, høggi vard ei gott ad forda, fjallid svardar fleinninn bítur, féll til jardar reynir korda.
28. Þetta Líger lítur brádur, lángan vígabrandinn hristi, en vard ad hníga hjørvi fládur, á heljar stíga’, og øndu misti.
29. Hetjan trú sem hrífur rendur, harla freka braut sér rydur, brytjar nú á bádar hendur, blódid lekur af ørmum nidur.
30. Hersilía hans vid sídu, hélt sér nær og vo ad seggjum, Marsar flýa máttar strídu, manns og kæru fyrir eggjum.
31. Svedjur stínga, skeytin skjalla, skolast híngad dreyra elfur, brennan þvíngar Odins alla, umgirdíngin jardar skélfur.
32. Helja ógøfug heimtir recka, hennar krøfum mangi fagnar, í andkøfum daudann drecka, af dreyra høfum fallnir bragnar.
33. Ørvar hellast, ógnir hrella, idur vella raudlitadar, sverdin skélla fólk og fella, feigd um velli køstum radar.
34. Skatna tryllist skap óveila, skjómar snilli og ró þó spilli, reykur ílli hafid heila, himins milli og jardar fyllir.
35. I helbláum Blindar logum, blódugir náir manna stikna, skolast fá ad víga vogum, vøllurinn má um sídir kikna.
36. En þar sem slagur eydir ýtum, andlits fagur í réttan tíma, kémur Dagur á hesti hvítum; hédan vagar blódfull Gríma.
37. Sólin gyllir, sveipud rósum, sæl med snilli jardar móinn; heimur fyllist himna ljósum, húmid villist nidur í sjóinn.
38. Enn þó viltu, sjálig Sunna! salinn stiltan vinda mála, og yfir trylta blódsins brunna, blessud gyltum ljóma strjála?
39. Asýnd þína umvef skýum, ei hún skíni á þessum degi, svo lík ófrýn í dreyra dýum, dyljast sýnum allra megi.
40. Jørd og hædir himna skjálfa, hér þar flæda dreyra pittir; æ, eg hrædist ef þig sjálfa, einhvør skæda pílan hittir!
41. Nú er hnígid Marsa meingi; múgurinn lá á heljar dýnum; stódu tíu á orustu eingi, eptir þá hjá foríngja sínum.
42. Alor sterki enn þá lifir; undan snýr med bragna fáa, styrjar verki; ána yfir, ødla Týrar fíngra snjáa.
43. Leó einn þar eptir stendur, usla trølli veifar þúngu; brakar fleinn, en brotna rendur; brúna fjøllin sundur sprúngu.
44. Vedur idu dreyra dýa, dreingi feldi kappinn stinni; þikir midur mál ad flýja, medan hann veldur kylfu sinni.
45. Þegninn knái þokast gétur, þó ei nái fetum hrada, þar sem áin odda setur, idunni hjá hann nemur stadar.
46. Eptir sækir sveitin Róma, seggnum stæku høggin telja; kylfan flækir flugin skjóma, fyrda sækir þángad helja.
47. Þegar í færi kylfu kémur, og korda hrærir einhvør seggja, kémpan mær þá kappa lemur, af krøptum slær til hlida beggja.
48. Númi lýdi vék úr vegi; víga idur gégnum fer hann; fram sér rydur, og eirir eigi, eikarvid í hendi ber hann.
49. Eik med þjósti efldur seggur, ærid lánga af stofni brýtur, fyrir brjóst á Leó leggur, linast stránga kémpan hlýtur.
50. Iduna sér hann út á hendir, undir sveimar strauma veginn; í kafinu er hann, uns ad lendir, afreks beimur hinumegin.
51. Hérnæst snéri heim á vega, hetju maki fjærri ótta, en ecki fer hann ærilega, eins og hrakinn væri á flótta.
52. Eins og svángur úlfur sleginn, einn er sauda haga smaug um, seint og lángan lappar veginn, og lygnir dauda - bólgnum augum.
53. Leó þannig fótinn frána, flytja vann um elfu-backa; Númi bannar yfir ána, ad elta manninn lyndis fracka.
54. Undir hvíta hjúpi dagsins, hvíldar nýtur Róma þjódin; Númi lítur á leifar slagsins, ljót þar spýtast dreyra flódin.
55. Hesta og manna limir liggja, líkt sem hrannir blóds vid díki; hvør á annars hlýtur byggja, hnígin granni køldu líki.
56. Storkid blód á stíflum búka, stillir þjód, sem heldur lífi; heit nam móda í himin rjúka, hátt frá sódalegu kífi.
57. Þeir valføllnu blóds hjá bíngjum, bísnum øllum fram úr skara, eins og fjøll í ógna dýngjum, orustu vøllinn klæddu bara.
58. Dagsins vidur komu klára, kúgadur og máttar linur, raknar vid í rúmi sára, Rómúlur og þúngann stynur.
59. Lætur kalla kóngur híngad, kífs frá bylgjum dóttur ríka, hér med alla hersforíngja, hvørjum fylgir Númi lika.
60. Kóngur þjádi þannig tjáir: því eg vildi ydur finna, géfid rád, sem gódu spáir, gráann hildar leik ad vinna.
61. Leó vefur lidid grandi, líkari trølli er, enn mønnum; mátt hann hefur meir en fjandi, meidsla føllum veldur hrønnum.
62. Eingin særa sverd á skrocki, segg, er gæru ljóna klædist; hvør veit, nær med nýjum flocki, nætur ær hann híngad lædist.
63. Eg án fridar minna meina, megnid sára fæ ad bera; nú er ydar rád ad reyna, rømmu fári úr ad skéra.
64. Heldur stansa høfdingjarnir; helst þeir kalla rádin slíngu, ad byggja skans, sem veiti varnir, vøllinn allann þar í kríngum,
65. Hersilía hóf þar greinum: hildar gnýinn reynum snjalla, best ad nýu beitum fleinum, bansett þýin skulu falla.
66. Kóngur segir: ecki er eg, elid skjóma fær ad heya, en aungvanveginn flýa fer eg, fyrr skulu Rómar allir deya.
67. Númi grundar málid manna, metur sida úngur frædi; því næst lundur lófa fanna, lofdúng vidur þetta rædir:
68. Ef þú leyfir, ødlíng svinni! úngur madur og reyndur sídur, vil eg hreifa meiníng minni, um málid þad oss vanda býdur.
69. Sjóli talar þjádur þúnga: þína met eg hreysti dáda, hlýda skal eg, hetjan únga, hvad þú gétur freistad ráda.
70. Allskamt hédan (úngur spjallar) eg hefi séda dali þraungva, hníga nedar hyrnum fjalla, vid háa qveda storma saungva.
71. Þar einstígur er af klettum, inn sem má í dalinn lalla; því næst víga vøllnr sléttur, vafinn háu brúnum fjalla.
72. Þridjúng vil eg þjódar ráda, þessir fái gaungu hrada, þángad til vid brúnir bádar, bjarga háu nemum stada.
73. Vér skulum grjót í dýngjur draga, og dyljast hér; en kóngur Róma, vildi móti Mørsum slaga, med sinn her og beita skjóma.
74. Þegar hildi herdir nýa, og hrottar stinnir lífi sóa, lofdúng skyldi látast flýa, og leita inn í dalinn mjóa.
75. Þángad milli þraungra fjalla, þeir áfjádir munu snúa; herinn illi varast valla, véla rád er þeim skal búa.
76. Þar á móti þeingill tekur; þorri hinna stansar vidur, þegar grjót í hrúgum hrekur, herinn minn af tindum nidur.
77. Þeir munu sundrast fyrir fleinum, og finna smáa leid ad gridum, fyrir undra stórum steinum, er støckva þá ad bádum hlidum.
78. Þetta veit eg vænst ad rádum, virdar sláist inni kreptir; en vísir breyti, vafinn dádum, visdóm háum sínum eptir.“
79. Rís af bedi Róma gramur, rakna gédi þókti fridur; hann med gledi sómasamur, sveininn tédi þetta vidur:
80. Þú sem Gudir virda ad veita, vitsku slínga utan maka, tólf hundrud af solli sveita, Sabínínga fær ad taka.
81. Far til háu fjalla tinda, fólkid rádum þínum hlýdi; eg mun fláa syni synda, sjálfur brádum vekja ad strídi.
82. Þegar í raunum hildar hrída, hjørinn pínir þræla maka, þig ad launum læt eg sídan, lofada mína dóttur taka.

Source Colophon

Rímur af Núma kóngi Pompilssyni. Sigurður Breiðfjörð. Copenhagen: Steingrímur Thorsteinsson, 1835. Transcribed by volunteers on Icelandic Wikisource (is.wikisource.org) from the 1835 first edition.

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