The Rímur of Pontus

A thirteen-ríma chivalric romance by Magnús Jónsson prúði, based on the French romance Pontus et Sidoine. The cycle tells the story of Prince Pontus of Galicia, whose father King Tíbúrtíus is killed when the Sultan of Orient sends his sons to conquer Christian lands. The young prince is captured, escapes, finds refuge in England, and rises from exile to reclaim his kingdom — a tale of loss, loyalty, and the workings of providence.

Magnús Jónsson prúði ("the Handsome") composed the rímur from an Icelandic prose saga version of the French original. The cycle survives in numerous manuscripts and was among the most widely copied rímur in Iceland. This is the first known English translation.

Translated from the Icelandic by the New Tianmu Anglican Church. Source text from Icelandic Wikisource (is.wikisource.org), based on the Rímnafélagið critical edition (Grímur M. Helgason, ed., 1961).

Fyrsta Ríma — First Ríma

Ferskeytt (ABAB)

The poet's prologue; King Tíbúrtíus of Galicia and the birth of Pontus; the Sultan of Orient divides the world among his sons; Pródus invades Galicia by merchant-treachery; the fall of the city; the king is killed; the queen flees; Pontus and the children are captured.

I hold it always the highest counsel,
whatever end a man may seek,
to ask of God some needful grace
and beg Him send it down.

Otherwise no people's plans
succeed by any road;
what I have in hand today,
to Him I offer it up.

If any useful spark is found
within these verses of mine,
give thanks to God alone for that —
He grants such gifts to His own.

I have applied but little craft
in shaping this my poem,
to fashion its altered metre well,
as the matter rightly stands.

No praise at all do I expect
to gain from any of this,
but rather joy for other folk,
if God does not forbid.

From me these rímur grow up small —
I have one here prepared —
unless the people like it better
than to rot beneath their sloth.

Men receive uneven praise;
I think it fools the many.
The blame of wicked folk shall not
discourage me from this.

Yet above all I ask the world
to grant me honest speech;
I have not bound the tongue of those
who know the art far better.

And also I ask everyone
who writes and studies the tale
not to shift my verses' worth
from their proper shape.

I will make it clear to each
who copies as he pleases
that I myself will answer for
every word that's mine.

And so I ask that none account
it malice on my part,
though I speak the truth about
the hard affairs of this world.

Let no man draw himself to wrath
from my verses' offence;
this is made for the discerning folk
for joy, and not for grief.

I shall set forth a tale of wonder
here within my verses —
how the precious Lord forever
grants courage to His own.

Those who love and fear Him,
to all He promises reward;
He never abandons any soul
in its perils and its trials.

Therefore I have laid to memory
this one tale above the many —
a history of the greatest weight
to render in my verses.

Whoever wishes to conduct himself
with courtesy in word and deed,
let him set just such a looking-glass
before both of his eyes.

Therefore it is a kind of sin —
one may rightly call it so —
to let this bright and living image
fall from memory.

We have been asked, in truth,
to render a work of verse;
therefore I shall begin at once
a story for the ladies.

One noble king ruled over
Galicia in that time —
Tíbúrtíus, a lord most pure,
was the name they gave him.

He kept the peace and holy law,
put heathen peoples to death,
upheld both shelter and the noble estate,
and rooted out the worship of false gods.

His royal grace was wed;
he trusted in Christ, God's son.
From Aragon's fair land
he took his highborn bride.

She surpassed all others in learning and might,
the precious queen the king possessed;
she knew every courtesy and wisdom
that could adorn a woman.

Both were good and upright,
living a godly life;
no fairer report was ever heard —
they practised every virtue.

Between them they begat
one precious, noble son;
Pontus was that bright boy's name,
whose sword the wolves would eat.

Fair among them in the courtly hall
he shone like gold beside copper;
of him more shall be told hereafter —
others enter the story.

In this time — I shall declare it
to those who wish to listen —
a sultan ruled the Orient
who cannot be parted from this tale.

In power and dominion he was so rich,
in worldly goods the greatest,
that no other like him could be found —
his faith was of the worst.

He dealt coldly with all Christians,
tormented and robbed whole peoples,
and killed and slaughtered everything
like beasts or ravening wolves.

The sultan had four sons
in that time of his own,
with weapons and a mustered host,
eager to rush to war.

The king speaks to his sons
so that all of them may hear:
"I will make known my plan
before my people's ears.

"My eldest son alone shall have
the lands and the kingdom;
the three have no hope of that,
though it may displease them.

"Thirty thousand men apiece
each shall receive, war-ready,
with all provisions and other means,
and wagons turned with gold.

"Ships and goods as payment, men,
fine weapons and horses —
for the space of three full years
nothing shall you lack.

"Each of you shall sail his way,
as fortune may determine;
it would be best if we could reach
the lands of Christian men.

"Preach the faith of Machúmet —
that name is the more noble.
I set this trial before my sons,
and him I count the greatest of my brothers."

The brothers agree to this at once,
prepare themselves to leave;
they had the painted burdens
of green shields carried aboard.

Thirty thousand men apiece
each one led from that land;
weapons and armour went along
and all that need demanded.

The women wept, but the wolf rejoiced,
howling in every wood;
the horn sang out as many a proud
knight sailed from the harbours.

Away from harbour the jetty's end
broke, and the sea-planks with it;
these men wished to make their landing
in the northern lands.

They spread their sails upon the mast-tree;
the wind sang then in fury;
the breeze blew with its rushing mouth
upon the elk-of-waves at speed.

The sky weeps, the sun wraps herself
in sorrow's dark-browed veil;
the danger grew, and shelter failed;
the sea crashed against the hull.

Strong winds drove the wagons of the sea
across the water-roads;
at last the northward folk caught sight
of land before their prows.

Whatever the mind fixes on
and the heart's desire is goading,
until a man obtains that thing
he endures long trials.

Frost and heat and grief and wounds —
the hope of good conquers all,
be it honour, the pursuit of wealth,
or the sweet love of women.

All the mast-tree's sail-wings fall;
the storm-fury calms to mercy;
the horses' sweating flanks grow dry;
the winds drive weariness away.

To Spain there came a sultan's son,
the one named Pródus;
he drew to himself the certain hope
of conquering Christian hosts.

He marched on Galicia's land,
fierce in his shining byrnie,
with twenty thousand men in company
near the fortress of Sológia.

He inquired about four things
of the people that he found:
what the land was called, and who its lord,
and what their true religion.

They told him the honest truth
of everything he asked;
as soon as he understood all this,
he set out from that land.

He said he would go on his way,
hidden in the giantess's feathers,
bade them farewell and bowed to the Christians,
but cold designs were brewing beneath.

The treachery of the foreign host
is proven — none should hide it;
most often the heart is nothing like
the words men speak to test you.

It is common among deceivers,
though the virtuous think it shameful:
one behaves gently as a brother
while evil dwells within his heart.

He concealed the ships in a hidden inlet,
took counsel with his men;
they held a council and with that
chose out some as fine merchants.

He bids that proud company
not to delay too long;
he says that they should pretend to sell
fine cloth and scarlet.

Along with sugar and fair silks
they were to offer for sale,
velvet and fine-weave, bright and gentle —
they fulfilled their lord's command.

That crafty plan they managed well:
at evening they would take
lodgings in that great city
which the strong garrison held.

In the morning, those heathen men
should go upon the walls,
so that the king's fierce fighting force
might lie in ambush nearby.

They would prepare strong ladders
at every street and gate;
if they get all this done,
something is to be caught.

When this plan was set in place,
everything turns to sorrow;
twelve shiploads of scoundrels
hurry swiftly home to the fortress.

They did just as their lord commanded,
fulfilling his counsel;
they pretended to have all manner of goods
that various folk might wish to buy.

They said they were men of Cyprus
sent abroad to trade;
whoever gave them payment,
they struck many a bargain.

All of them wore shining byrnies
beneath their merchant's clothes;
the warriors, as night grew deeper,
drank in sundry ways.

Night wraps the heavens in her cloak,
the light is put to flight;
a great shadow is drawn across the deep —
the darkness hunts the day.

No need to lengthen this tale further —
the trick succeeded thus;
everything went the one way,
just as Pródus had said.

When the watch upon the walls
had surely gone its way,
the heathen people took their chance;
then no one feared a thing.

A thousand of those heathen warriors
had by then assembled
together in a broad ring of spear-points
inside the fortress walls.

The day came, and the sun rose red,
glaring with angry eyes;
the earth exults as the fair dawn bade
the creatures of darkness to their lairs.

The horn was blown, the drums were beaten;
the hearts of cowards faltered;
all the earth shook as the fierce assault
shortened the lives of the doomed.

When the war-host may begin to hack,
the spirit quails in courage;
they wished no more to spare the folk
than wolves spare the blood of sheep.

They killed and slew alike
both young men and old;
the Christians are overwhelmed,
unless God Himself will halt it.

A dark rain of arrows falls;
precious maidens weep;
wolves in eager packs pursued
their warm and living food.

The king and queen hear swiftly
that all joy is spent;
in one hall they dress themselves in haste —
the heathens cut down most.

Tíbúrt defends himself, but will not
be taken alive by any hand;
and very well that worthy man fights,
brave in dire peril.

It came to pass at last: the king fell,
a Christian dead upon the field;
the heathens let him lie in rest —
they spared the old no more than the young.

Death is the way and road to life,
delivers from all true sin,
the beginning of good, the ending of strife
for every Christian soul.

The weary's rest, the sorrowful's strength —
so I count the body's death;
joy's reward and life's true voice,
it is release from every need.

So may one see: Fortune's favour
makes a fool of man;
when he least expects it, into deepest shame
he is forever falling.

Therefore it is best for all men
to hold themselves in honour,
not to anger the one who brings the storm,
but live in honest courage.

No one here can buy away
any portion of their fate,
nor make their fortune's course
run aside from what must come.

The substance of all things has been fixed
upon the wheel of nature;
though one may sing out boldly,
every man sits crookedly in his seat.

The queen escaped out through the door,
weary with great exhaustion;
she flung one cloak across herself
and no other garment.

Out into a desolate wood
she turned with a single handmaid;
of the story there remains enough —
more of the tale is coming.

Pontus the prince escaped as well,
and his merry chaplain;
a noble servant followed the boy,
Damptenus by name.

With him there went in company
forty noble children;
this man with gentle words would try
to keep them all from death.

They sheltered in a cave upon the mountain,
having no food at all
for three full days; the precious boy
spoke thus to Damptenus:

"It does not suit us to starve to death
inside this cave forever;
another portion of fortune's goods
may yet turn upon the wheel.

"Kind God will rescue us still
out of our bitter need,
so that we ourselves are not the men
guilty of our own death."

The priest forbids the children then
to leave that place and go,
saying that if they flee the cave,
the heathens will seize them all.

The priest released the boys at last;
Pontus chose the counsel;
they then fled from the cave —
and were taken by the heathens.

My untrained spirit fades,
I send my verses mostly to the priests;
your song, O fair and gentle lady,
teaches best how all things end.

The craft of verses calls for measure —
I shall quickly cease;
the learning passes, and I confess
there is little improvement here.

Önnur Ríma — Second Ríma

Samhent (AAAA monorhyme)

The poet on the outer and inner man; Pontus among the heathens; Pródus commands the children to convert or die; Pontus refuses; the secret Christian knight Patríces takes custody of the children and arranges their escape by sea.

Again I take another stroke
and rise to begin this day,
to set the fallen metre on its feet
and find new verse-craft's way.

Here I come with a cheerful poem
to introduce you to a new manner,
so that you yourselves might quickly
practise the true virtues.

Look with your inner eyes upon it
and hear with your ears what I relate;
while art still teaches, then
the long message may be grasped.

Though I speak my piece,
I wish that all would let it pass;
be not angry if the trial hits home —
let folk discuss their own opinion.

I do not think that man a courtier
who struts about in finery,
nor he who goes with wealth in hand
and all the glory the world can lend.

Two men dwell in every one —
so Holy Scripture tells me —
the outer and the inner both;
keep that, without doubt, in memory.

Clothe your outer and your inner man
in every virtue, as I truly say;
then he will count himself blessed,
whoever has the wit to praise you.

Let each man learn to conquer himself.
My son, will you hear me?
The best counsel is: know yourself —
that is a noble art.

Your own gentleness can deceive you;
brother, consider that trick well.
Hypocrisy never won honour;
God knows every living man.

Often in the light that coin appears
which lay hidden under snow;
it comes to little for the eye to see
and build a house upon the wind.

The spirit gave all virtues;
the world cannot account for them;
keep those same virtues in your treasury,
lest hypocrisy drag them under.

That man I count the greatest now
who has learned to endure the world's resistance,
whom bitter lusts do not conquer,
who in sorrow and joy alike governs himself.

He who is glad however things turn,
who takes with measure all that comes,
who first learns to conquer himself —
the world's sorrows never weary him.

And wise besides, to shun deceit,
and forethought knows the heart's design,
bearing every shame with skill —
that I call the truest strength.

Hidden he stands — the poor man is rich,
the fair and the ugly are reckoned alike;
tortured, yet blessed and the equal of kings,
clad in rags, though he might bear fine cloth.

Captive yet free; he lives though slain;
blamed yet praised; rich yet stripped;
worldly self all spent —
he overcomes, pressed by every torment.

When the body fell and froze,
the soul found herself a warmer house;
when the outer man is captive, the inner is free
and has chosen the very best liberty.

When the flesh is strong and the soul is sick,
the body must be obeyed;
then that thralldom is not gentle —
you may endure his power and use.

Then the soul may be called blessed
when she sees she has the body for a slave
and commands him, bold and mild,
back along the road of virtue.

I think it better for every man
to consider, late and early, each day,
that everywhere you walk and go,
a grave stands before your feet.

The turning world seems so to me —
only he who has tested it knows it well.
Let us love God above all else;
nothing is more certain than death.

Another game I now reveal to all,
though I know but little of it;
they will rather wish me
to turn back to the story.

When the sun had driven grief away,
sorrow fell from all God's creatures,
the living beasts played merrily,
and the leaf burst forth in bloom.

So stands the story here;
I shall tell the state of things:
how Pontus conducts himself
among the heathen peoples, as befits him.

He surpassed all the other children,
gentle though set amid distress;
forced by heathen hands to stand,
he gave the king a courteous answer.

The king commands the children then
to declare their lineage,
and what occupation they had held
when they served among the lords.

"We are of a poor family,"
Pontus tells the king at once.
"Tíbúrt raised us all up here
for the one true God, as you can see.

"We fed his hounds and hawks,
lord king, and other things
after the custom of this land,
and the governor's command as well."

"By your clothing and your bearing
another cut," said the king, "is plain to see;
I think the truth, which I shall yet declare,
is that you descend from mighty lords.

"I will bid the children now
straightaway to leave their faith;
if that counsel does not serve,
another way shall be devised.

"Accept the faith of Machúmet —
that will be best, I think.
This command I set upon you children."
He let them stand gently before him.

"You shall receive honour from me
if you choose this happiness;
otherwise I swear you death —
the worse bargain by far.

"The other road has grown hard;
he is a fool who brings that on himself.
Choose which you would rather;
your equal shall surely pay the price."

Pontus answered once again:
"Never shall we abandon our faith;
it is in your power, as it may be,
to lay death upon us."

"It will go badly, on my honour,
for the wrong religion," he said.
"You shall receive full well that lot
which fewest can long to have."

One knight was dear to the king,
who walked beside him evening and morning;
Patríces — this we know —
was his name; that man finds fortune.

He had come to trust in holy Christ
secretly, with all his art,
forced by heathens to a hard life;
he had lost his lands for it.

He went before the king and asked a favour,
arranging his words thus:
"Gracious lord, hear this:
what I propose is something else.

"If your supreme grace would think
on this counsel as I do,
I have considered it carefully;
hear me — the need is pressing.

"I will take the gentle children
straight with me at this time
and instruct them early and late,
in case your faith seems fair to them.

"If that succeeds by no means,
I shall see to another plan;
if they persist in their refusal,
then I will remove all doubt.

"They shall do us no more harm,
nor walk alive in any land;
I shall avenge them with a hard hand —
this I swear by bonds of loyalty.

"I shall see to them one way or another;
never shall they reach their lives' end."
Pródus answered with a warm assent;
they then departed from the king.

Pontus and all the little children
thought it looked ill indeed;
they expected nothing else
than that they would be killed.

There is one almighty God
who through all ages lends His mercy,
helps those who go in sorrow,
and sees their bondage from the heavens.

The knight led the children quickly
straight with him into the small house,
and kept pretending to threaten harshly,
lest they forget their captive manner.

The children all answered back:
"We do not fear such threats;
we do not accept weak power as our master —
the faith of Machúmet is far too ugly."

The knight found them full of virtue,
firm in faith without any shame;
from this he took a fair delight
and greeted them without displeasure.

Gently he asked the children then
whether they had eaten alongside anyone;
they told him the honest truth:
they had suffered hunger for three days.

He gave them drink and food at once;
God's children lack for nothing;
now they are provided with everything
that may hereafter be required.

The children discuss among themselves
whether to take the food to eat:
"We are all to be killed at once."
But Pontus bade them be silent.

He comforts them and speaks:
"Dear friends of my heart, look here."
He said it stood in the Lord's hands
to deliver them from torment and from death.

"We know that there is one God
whom we must call almighty;
He sees our need and weakness.
Let us be glad, whatever cuts us!"

Then with a loud voice they cry
from heart and mouth, without any doubt,
and prayed to God with gentle voice
to grant His children shelter.

The knight is pleased — and rightly so —
by Pontus's speech, exceedingly well;
he then prayed with gentle warmth
that the children not be slain.

He hurries from them in great haste,
goes down to the sea with no one else;
and if more be granted him,
he cheaply bought himself a ship.

He readied a ship and had them bring
beer and wine that very night;
he kept himself rather quiet —
his mind was not at all at ease.

The wind was strong; the yard did not fail;
he outfitted the ship as fast as he could
with food and drink for three full months —
that store will have to last them.

In his keeping he had
a rather old Christian man
who thought upon death daily
and could praise the Lord at proper hours.

Into his hands the gentle children
he quickly gave at that same time,
urging him early and late
not to delay for long.

He bade them put out into a hidden inlet,
placed everything in their hands;
God has then granted them good fortune —
they sailed out upon the wide open sea.

The skipper seized himself an oar
and steered before those children;
he is now glad, and not afraid —
the matter stands at a good point.

Young Pontus speaks then
a second time, as you may hear:
"Good friend, let us give thanks
to God that you are with us.

"Let us praise His divine grace —
He has shown us good providence;
let us ask Him to protect our every counsel;
the need for that will soon be pressing.

"Bring us rightly into Flanders,
or else turn to the realm of the Franks;
that would be a godly fortune now,
if that good plan might succeed."

The skipper assents to this at once,
commands them all to take heart quickly:
"We have food and provisions in plenty;
our plan shall go forward swiftly."

Pontus's nature he now heard —
what the young man had to say;
his heart found joy and gladness;
for that grace he thanks the Lord.

He bids them fall upon both knees
and give thanks to blessed God;
may honour be His through all ages,
and praise from every human tongue.

Each child with gentle spirit
prayed in that way for itself —
if it were God's will
to save them, may that grace be shown.

After that, all set their trust
upon the true Lord without doubt,
sang praise with a sweet voice,
and from all their sorrows grew strong.

Pontus sailed from that harbour;
he let the sight-raven fly;
none is his equal in honour —
his name endures forever.

The wind bent the land away from them;
the weather stood in the tall sails;
the blue swell had to carry them
away from land, out upon the sea.

Their fathers' doors grow distant now;
hardship and all turmoil multiply;
the places and lands lie mostly still
as the wind drove them from the shore.

Let us let them sail across the sea —
they sat and minded the steering;
the grey spray wets the cheerful company;
each man bailed as best he could.

All judge my work;
they curb my word-wealth and praise their own.
I shall not trouble myself about that lot —
I seek no burden far and wide.

If self-love is along for the ride,
I get no choice in the judgement;
each man pursues his own prejudice —
so are most pairs of brothers.

Glory brings no honour at all;
the world repays with ingratitude.
Guard yourself most carefully;
God of the heavens sees everything.

Night wears on, and the lily's gate
gives to slumber quickly now;
I close this passage in this manner —
receive the gift and be merry.

Þriðja Ríma — Third Ríma

Gagaraljóð (ABAB)

The poet's mansöngur addresses the state of Iceland — lawlessness, poverty, indifference — and at thirty-two years of age, doubts the land will stand. Then the narrative: Patríces deceives the king, claiming he drowned the children; the king's dream of a lion-boy; Patríces counsels mercy for Christians to keep the land productive; he finds the Count of Estor, the dead king's brother, reveals his secret faith, and they swear an oath; Patríces deceives the Saracen king; twelve years of oppression.

No spring is so small
that nothing floats upon it;
a clear verse has risen
that earlier sank beneath the surface.

If a man binds a burden on himself,
he must carry it on his shoulders;
this goes no differently for me,
if anyone would care to notice.

Most all of us are eager
to begin the start of things,
but what middle or end each gets —
that is not so well attended.

So many have urged me
to tell something of Pontus;
this will not come easily,
since I must attend to other things.

Therefore I shall deliver the third chapter
to them straightaway as truth;
and though oars be few,
one reaches land in time.

Before the matter is begun,
I will first make clear another thing —
what chiefly weighs on my mind:
how things stand in this land.

It concerns the welfare of all;
discord is the cause of it;
no one cares how the state
of this land fares.

When a man comes ashore from the sea,
he himself thinks he is fortunate,
and does not think how it goes
for his countrymen thereafter.

Therefore many injustices increase
and evil custom upon the land;
no one works remedy or aid;
each admits ruin as he may.

Under king and church
our goods have come, yet things grow stiff;
out of the land they fly and go;
poverty takes their place.

All may see this with their eyes —
those who are indeed wise men —
our land will not stand long;
I sense its bloom has passed.

I am now thirty-two years old
and trust I can judge truly,
and doubt whether Iceland will stand
if another such period comes as this.

Therefore each one should think
that he was made by God
surely in his father's land, with the will
to be of use, seeing the need.

Not to strive for one's own gain,
but to look upon another's need,
as one has strength and might;
then the land might gain its resurrection.

May God who can help shield us
and bear noble-heartedness thereunto;
let a man lay out life and goods,
so we may enjoy law and justice.

No one knows how much
a man can accomplish if the will is there —
to help the land from ruin;
the example is close at hand.

Let us turn to where truly
the knight parted from the children;
it came easily to him
to give them the best aid.

He went before the king and greeted him
courteously that morning:
"Gracious lord, hear in truth —
I took vengeance for you on the children at once.

They would not believe in Muhammad;
I was duty-bound to avenge it;
for that I let the wretches die —
it cost us no trouble."

"How did it go for you?
Tell us, Patríces, about it;
we wished this indeed —
that they be drowned in the sea."

"Gracious lord, listen to me —
you shall hear and never see again:
these children we revealed
were swiftly drowned from us.

I had them pushed out to sea
in a broken ship;
thereby I know for certain
that death came home to them."

"I dreamed a dream last night —
I bear a gloomy voice for it.
I seemed to be in this manner:
these children standing in a wood.

And the fairest young lad —
he spoke much to me,
like a lion to look upon,
with bearing most fierce.

He crushed me fast in his claws
and pulled me down beneath him;
I found no pleasure in that sport —
I thought he would slay me.

Therefore I am grieved and full of dread
that things will go fiercely thus;
report makes me anxious as prophecy —
let me find wise counsel."

The knight answers the dear king:
"Do not fear such things;
in dreams many a man is wild;
this is melancholy."

"I wish that were so,"
the king said truly then.
The knight turned his words thus
a second time, as one may hear:

"Gracious lord, have you considered
how things stand in the land?
I am duty-bound to your grace
to make clear all matters here.

You have won indeed the fairest land
by your weapons now,
and wish to slay with harsh hand
each one who will not change his faith.

The land is then all ruined,
and yields no good;
it is not well apportioned then;
that policy holds little ground.

All are given to saying
that a land empty of people is like
an oven without heat, or a mill
that never turns in any way.

Rather let each man live
in the land as seems fit,
pay you taxes and duties;
and thus they shall obey, on my word.

This will increase strength and might;
you may thereby reap profit;
you shall never lack supply
to win all places and castles."

The king swore by Muhammad:
"Masterful counsel you give;
I appoint you alone
to ride throughout this land.

Bring us all those prisoners
who desire our noble faith;
each shall receive that honour;
tell them the truth now."

He gave him letter and commission,
as befits the noble still,
and let him ride throughout the land
to lay tribute on all men.

The knight now considers the plan —
in truth he gave life to Christians,
so that they for their faith
would not themselves suffer death.

Then he rides through lands and regions,
taxing the gentle folk,
easing the afflicted from grievous dread,
collecting, taking coin away.

He found the Count of Estor, noble —
the fallen king's brother he was;
he was an old man of worth,
who bore greatest victory in youth.

He led him into a house alone
and shaped his words thus:
"I know, lord, well enough
from which lineage you descend.

You will strive to strengthen men
and support your land now,
which the heathens still hold
in harsh need for the Christian faith,

until God will look
upon their torment with gentle mercy
and help them with His hand,
away from all affliction.

I will tell you in trust
and conceal it no longer:
with your counsel I will now
set all things in good order."

When the count heard the Lord Christ
named highest there,
his heart gladdened from grief with a start;
he gave this answer back:

"I know not, lord, whether you
now think to test me;
if this is your earnest,
I would be freed from grief and pain.

If the heart matches the mouth's sound,
as you have just declared,
then I will thank God for such,
this and all His other grace."

He told him all — how matters stood
concerning his affairs —
and what he intends:
to help all from death.

Next, how the gentle children
received remedy from death,
and lastly that they sailed, fair,
together on a ship out to sea.

And how the king commanded
Christians to be taken prisoner,
and also how it grieves him
that the land is still ill beset.

The knight's speech came to a pause;
the count took it all in;
gentle, he falls at once to his knees
and thanks Christ for His grace.

The knight raised the count then;
each embraced the other tenderly;
they called upon God's name
and wept often for the land's afflictions.

The knight turned his words thus:
"I know the Lord God will
show mercy to this land in time;
I have a bright inkling of it.

We may not talk long together —
think rather of the land's welfare;
let us give it the best aid
that we have in strength and might.

You must show yourself
as though you held the heathen custom,
so that our two selves be not distinguished
by their ways and cut of clothing.

This will please the king best;
I will tell him this;
therefore let us waste no time
but set about helping the land.

So our souls may find peace —
let us pray for His fair grace;
most all of the Christian people
within this land will need it.

My heart tells me
the land will gain its resurrection
through those children we set free
who sailed away from the land."

He told the count the king's dream —
said it would scarcely come true:
"He thought himself pressed by them,
sorely trodden underfoot."

The count said then that certain hope
awakened joy in his heart:
"That is surely my brother's son;
may gentle God free him from pain.

My own son is there beside him;
I pray the Lord help them,
shield them from all evil,
surely, wherever they go in the world."

Then the two lords made
an oath between them,
that each with the other, in joy and sorrow,
both should abide.

Then the wise men parted;
it is told clearly of this event:
he met the king in a great place —
the stern knight greeted him:

"You are duty-bound to thank Muhammad
the generous for his grace;
the noble lord most high has let
your power and dominion rise.

I have brought to your faith
a man who was the king's brother,
the Count of Estor, worthy now,
who bore great honour in youth.

Together we shall spread your custom,
all the tribute upon the land;
he gives me sure aid
to banish all trouble."

"We shall ride through town and dwelling,
proclaim your will to them,
then tax both thrall and bondsman
and bring the stubborn home in chains."

The king is glad and grows merry;
dread fell from his breast;
sorrow and pain broke asunder;
he thanks his Muhammad well.

He readies thirty thousand men —
then was the greatest game played —
intends to ride throughout the land
and force all to obedience.

Then misery and all manner of torment
lay upon the Christian folk untold;
they had no choice of good;
he made all the people suffer.

No one can with exaggeration
tell of the Christians' need;
twelve years it lay upon them;
the age might be reckoned dead.

If what I fear cuts true,
may God lay such bonds upon us —
let each one think upon himself
to have good care for this land.

I think most are grown weary,
the folk, of giving the ríma ear;
few words are adorned with glory —
I call these verses "gagara."

The metre breaks its bridge for me;
the poem here fails;
you must quickly, lady,
bear fair fortune with you.

Fjórða Ríma — Fourth Ríma

Braghent (three-line stanzas)

The poet's mansöngur teaches that earthly wealth is leased, not owned — true goods are learning and faith. Then the narrative: the children's ship founders near Britannia; they climb a skerry; Sir Herlant, the king's huntsman, finds them while chasing a stag; King Árgils of England takes them in; Pontus is fostered for three years; his virtues, piety, beauty, and courtesy are described at length; Sídónía hears of him and her heart is pierced.

Love for this matter bade me hasten again;
so am I eager for the meeting of rímur,
if the ladies would attend thereto.

One thing I have noticed in my life:
all gather wealth for their own,
never thinking it should diminish.

They think therefore all will go as they wish;
into danger for it they leap at every chance
and care not who gets the goods.

Then least they remember — grim death judges the doomed;
then they enjoy least what they own;
in truth earthly goods are but a lease.

I recall this has often happened in my life;
I will not count them up this time;
I trust no need compels it.

Foolish is he who makes this fixed in his mind;
I reckon this the worst counsel;
indeed it shall not hold.

I will teach children to gather the best goods;
if they will spurn the rest,
they shall share in equal fortune.

These can never go unjustly from them;
no one may take them by their own judgment
or by crooked lies.

To gracious God bequeath your bodily goods;
He will serve in their needs;
in trials He helps the bold in faith.

Take Abraham as your example
and learn the noble lesson from David:
how the Lord dealt with their offspring.

Next, teach your children all manner of learning;
that which is lent to wise folk
is best suited to praise and advancement.

On their shoulders it is no burden to bear;
it steals no coin from the purse;
so it trains the young one rightly.

These goods are free of rent and ferry-tolls;
they run with them through every peril;
there is no risk of great losses.

No one can count up all their virtues;
you have the choice to buy and sell —
choose which you would rather have.

The children stood in bitter sorrow and great distress,
their food nearly spent;
they would reach land, if they could.

From Mólógrant fortune sent these people;
near Britannia they came to shore;
long had been the hardship at their hands.

Wind and sea were so great they would not cease;
at last they broke the vessel
upon a steep skerry and were forced to climb.

Up onto the skerry they all came — their pain was spent;
then their trial began to fade
and they thanked God for His mercy.

Then they prayed blessed God to grant them shelter;
all call on Him from the heart;
He will never deny them help.

That good God would not turn His fatherly eyes from them;
comfort He will send to His own;
to Him be praise without end.

A good cloister stood near, where hardships ease;
the land was grown thick with forest;
the children's tale must wait.

Britannia was ruled by a king, the equal of the proud;
Árgils was his name;
freely he fed the raven with the slain.

He was pious, wise, faithful, and bent with age;
this king, clad in fine cloth,
was wont to lay heathens on the field.

He was used to fleeing from hard battle never;
his queen was named Lía —
a duke's sister from Normandy.

She lay ill with great affliction, unable to stir,
could not move herself from bed;
they had between them a dear daughter.

Sídónía, wisest, could fend off sorrows,
drive away the gloom that vexed women's spirits
and chase off the anguish of joy.

Of virtues, beauty, manners, and honour — thus it may be told:
her like, among women of worth,
could not at that time be found in the world.

All her grace I need not adorn with words;
every maiden should seek honour
and learn to follow her example.

A counsellor was held, one called Herlant;
he arranged great hunts
and made an end of brigands.

This knight rode into the forest as was his custom;
Herlant sees a stag standing;
he wishes to wound it with his spear.

The stag ran toward the shore, and Herlant after;
the bold one does not check his course
until at last the quarry escapes him.

Then he sees children sitting on the sea-cliffs;
he is most eager for tidings
and questions them in proper manner.

He called out in a clear voice, asking who they were;
then rides nearer to the shore;
they answer him in a brighter voice:

"We are children, all born of other peoples,
exceedingly burdened with weary hardships;
you have come to us at a good time."

"The king of Galicia, a mighty ruler, governed here;
here you may see his noble son" —
so Únítas explained to Herlant.

"Pólídas, his kinsman, must also learn his fate."
They told him all the truth:
"We are sons of lords."

The knight showed Pontus and Pólídas honour;
the weather began to improve;
well he cheered them with his words.

Out onto the skerry the stern knight made them ride;
in his arms he carried them away —
forty children, though the going was hard.

Then he came into the king's hall, where greetings fall;
he began to tell the whole affair;
most called it a hardship.

When Árgils learns of the king's death and the ruin of peace,
Christian men in heathen hands —
tormented, tortured, bound in chains —

The king weeps, for he grieves the dead one;
with fury he hates the wretched ones
who brought such trouble upon Christians.

"Tíbúrt, I, and the King of France were long companions;
in Spain we had the fortune
to break the ranks of heathen peoples.

Thanks I will give to good God as is proper —
His son He lets stand beside me,
along with the lords' sons of the Spanish lands."

The king calls out in a loud voice to this Herlant:
"You shall teach the prince his manners —
as best you can, for three winters."

Then he commanded counts and lords, each one,
to teach the arts and deeds of fame
and find every worldly entertainment.

Pontus learned to shoot and swim and wield the sword,
to run upon rocks, to cast the stone,
to leap, to joust, to play at chess.

In wisdom, beauty, stature, and humility he surpassed all;
many called him "the Handsome"
who knew the language within the halls.

It was the byword of all men in the land:
"In courtesy, grace, and courtly manner
none shall stand in his footsteps."

He feared God and heeded His words wherever he could;
honour he sought with heart and mouth;
he loved every man in the land.

Pious, his first act was to dress in his clothing;
he washed his face and sang his prayers;
at sermon I hear he stood in church.

Never did he eat or drink before services ended;
he heard every sermon himself;
then at last he went to table.

From his table he gave to the poor and always sent provisions
before he himself ate and was fed —
never was the portion too small.

No one heard young Pontus swear oaths;
he defended himself with truth alone
if boys attacked him with lies.

He was equally glad in games, whether he lost or won;
whatever fortune's portion he received,
he held it no disgrace.

If men did him wrong a single time,
he bade them gently within
that these warriors not do it again.

Never did he go to play where vice or anger was practised;
on that he felt only loathing;
beside evil I trust he always turned.

No one gained sorrow from any of his words;
he never ceased from cheerful ways,
good to all worthy men.

Worthless folk who dragged others into rumours —
of them he had a surfeit,
though most stood in truth.

If they slandered ladies and nobles in words,
diminished the honour of maidens or priests,
it displeased him most of all.

Often he said it was wrong to believe everything,
said men should turn a lady's fate
to the best before them.

Humility, meekness, and all grace —
known to the people of the court for honour —
hatred and vice he always fled.

If he met a nobleman upon the street,
he doffed his cap with humility;
he gave his seat to the aged.

In manner he bore virtue and valour above all men;
most might call him "the Handsome";
his like can scarcely be found.

His arms and all his frame none could fault;
like snow his skin was white;
he was like an angel to behold.

Ruddy-faced and well-eyed in every way;
each confessed to the other
that he must be called the fairest.

Sídónía asked after all the truth of him;
his virtue she heard the finest news of;
at once she fixed it in her mind.

Often she prayed God that she might see him with her eyes —
his courtesy, virtue, and white skin;
the maiden's heart began to be pierced.

She surpassed every fame and glory in the realm of France;
nowhere was her like to be found;
praise is best when it comes to its end.

Fimmta Ríma — Fifth Ríma

Stafhent (ABAB)

The poet's mansöngur is a treatise on choosing a wife — the three goods of women: heart (faith, love, wisdom), body (beauty, health, manners), and fortune (wealth, lineage, kinsmen). He mourns his own dead wife. Then the narrative: after three years, King Árgils holds a feast; Sídónía sends for Herlant, requesting to meet Pontus; Herlant mistakenly brings Pólídas; the maiden is vexed; Sídónía and Elóis spy Pontus from a window; at last Pontus is brought to her hall; he refuses her seat in humility; their first conversation.

Now I am eager to set out,
though I know little of verse-craft;
the broken fourth I'll mend up high —
many have waited long for that.

Those who love joy and mirth,
take care to hold the reins of manners;
without virtue and honour
no amusement can long stand.

If everything goes beyond the measure,
the aftermath brings punishment;
now one must establish steadfast counsel
which is sometimes poorly heeded.

Come here and hear me,
whoever intends to marry;
what qualities that one should have
whom you would chiefly choose as wife.

Heed my words well —
they shall not fail you;
the goods of women are threefold;
let all men know this.

The goods of the heart are held the greatest;
the body's goods come next;
wealth also belongs thereto,
with other things I will explain.

The fear of God is steadfast faith,
true love from the heart now,
prudent foresight early and late,
pious and just at all times.

Where love of God is forgotten,
such misery never heals;
contempt of all His words
breaks every crown of virtues.

Whether she is meek or fierce,
open or dim in temper —
a man sees this at once with his eyes:
it is shown whether calm or wind prevails.

From their words one may judge —
whoever wishes to take heed —
from the heart's fullness the mouth
most often speaks.

All inquire after reputation;
mostly it proves true;
their dress and other manner —
whether they greatly pursue finery.

A loose sign it seems to me,
and a great fault for fine folk,
to heap on silver and gold
as though they were born for that alone.

The best clothes a man wears
are those the sheep first bore upon its back;
it is not fitting for a person
to measure himself by his garments.

I may tell men
that I think it ill befitting
to wear another skin without
than suits the person within.

See to this, I say to you:
mark what company each keeps;
you should choose friends for yourself
who have wit and good judgment.

It is fitting to have discernment of
which household she was raised in,
and what gentle conduct
the bride has kept at all times.

Whether she gets illness or wounds,
sorrow or other bodily affliction —
the proud one gains you enmity,
bristles when she comes near you.

The meek one is always ready
in ill and good to follow you;
whether it seems pleasant or harsh,
she lets nothing hinder her.

An old man should never marry
a young woman;
they do not share the same ways
nor keep peace between them.

Always each wants the other's opposite;
their dealings are always ugly;
one wants sour, the other sweet;
worthless what tastes best.

When hot wants cold or quick wants dead,
feast wants famine, the rich wants destitution,
broken wants whole as bent wants straight,
bound wants loose as knotty wants smooth.

The body's goods I shall tell quickly;
old words prove true often;
monsters are often in fair form —
therefore that appearance is blind.

Fair figure and beauty too,
though granted to ladies,
if they behave as rightly as may be,
it is always better to than from.

Good manners, precious daily conduct,
abundance of virtues and clear speech,
well-taught in tongue and hand,
able to untangle knotty matters.

Good youth and health pure —
these guide the couple on the right path;
able to watch over their household well,
being obedient as I reckon.

Thus I make my judgment on this;
this belongs to the body;
the third good I will tell of,
on which much of the power lies.

Riches, honour, a noble line,
and wealth that is well earned,
noble kinsmen — as I may add —
who stand by in times of need.

Each should consider this
who may have such things:
upon the heart's goods the weight
lies always best for people.

The rest may be gained by all,
even if something is lacking;
seldom is so much heaped on one
that no fault follows.

I have had one such —
she lacked nothing at all;
to her was granted, and I shall declare,
what may adorn a woman.

Now the Lord has led
her away from this world,
given her rest and peace
in the glory of heaven's midst.

For this young wife
I must now bear sorrows
until good God will soon
make amends in some way.

May the Lord not quench my light
nor mock me, though I bear grief;
I must speak of her here
as long as I am in the world.

I have glossed now more than much
on how maidens should be guided;
now I will tell of the story
if there be any who listen.

After three years had passed,
King Árgils, leader of heroes,
summons all men to the feast;
most will rejoice at it.

Herlant had with him then
the young Pontus we are told of;
all the people see him with their eyes;
each wished him good fortune.

The Count of Lénal had
his bright kinsman in this gathering —
Pólídas, praised highest,
who walks closest to Pontus himself.

The king calls upon Pontus
and greeted him as I relate;
they prayed God to give him grace
and joy for all his plans.

Then with kindness he bade him
stand before the tables in his place,
pour the king the clearest wine,
and show his skills before the company.

King Árgils holds the feast
with lords, counts, and the praise of knights;
Sídónía, it is told,
held another in her hall.

Ladies and maidens welcome them;
that company is fair to see;
as joy was made, play and splendour —
none looked away.

Sídónía, the fair, hears
fame of Pontus at all times —
both his stature and his beauty,
that none was like him in the land.

Then the graceful one considers
how she might see him with her eyes;
she devises plans day and night
so the lady may soon behold him.

She sent for Herlant,
Sídónía, the proud maiden;
gave him falcons and a fine horse
and welcomes him as best she could.

Herlant thinks to himself
that the lady must want something of him
that is not openly apparent
before all those in the hall.

The fair maiden speaks:
"Our errand was, Herlant,
to see your virtue and honour,
as is always told to us.

I mean Pontus's grace and might,
the praise and fame I hear spoken of —
him whom men still declare
you have fostered for three years.

Bring us the fair lad
and accompany him in that matter;
we long to see the one
the people of the land love from their hearts."

"Gracious lady, it shall now be done
in God's name, rendered to you."
When her grace acknowledged this,
he received leave to go.

Herlant began to think much;
into his heart flew the swift notion
that this honour and this fee
had been given for Pontus's sake.

Indeed the knight was pious,
proved in virtue and swift in wisdom;
he himself felt this suspicion:
harm from such things may grow.

Pólídas in Pontus's place —
the handsome one considers this plan —
he shall bring him to the lady
with honour into her fine hall.

Sídónía, eager for renown,
went into a little secret chamber,
and with her, nobly inclined,
one called Elóis by name.

The noble lady trusted her
and told her this matter now —
what desire she has to see
the young Pontus spoken of.

In the chamber a window was made;
the good maiden looks out through it;
the bride awaits Pontus fair;
at last both came.

From this we may quickly understand
what happens both day and night:
that a maiden's mind is with men,
though each shows it differently.

The mind speaks of the long road,
though time passes for a while;
it is hard to break the desire
that stands upon both their hearts.

Sídónía, wisest, went
back to her seat among the women;
they welcome her with grace and courtesy;
few of them had heard of Pontus.

Pólídas turns, most handsome;
grandly he bade her sit
and offered her his own seat;
she refuses it entirely.

"In your chair I intend now
not to sit, gracious lady;
this I will not accept;
it belongs to me in no way."

Sídónía answered then:
"You may sit beside us;
in courtesy and lineage
you are no less a king's child than we."

The lad answered her:
"I am Pólídas, his kinsman,
come here upon your grace
to behold the highest grace and valour."

"I thought Pontus would be here
in my hall, where you stand."
She treats him with grace and fame;
that visit brought her vexation.

Herlant she calls back again,
courteous maiden;
she seemed to him hardly gentle,
that maiden, at that time.

"I asked you with kindness" —
the bride answers Herlant brightly —
"to bring Pontus here first,
so the lady's desire might be filled."

"Why have you acted so?"
the gentlest spoke, adorned with gold;
"your intention is exceedingly ugly
and directly against my honour."

The knight perceived the angry spirit
rightly from the maiden where she stood;
he had all humility then,
so her pleasure might be reached.

"Gracious lady, forgive me
for that God who is in heaven;
no ill intent led me to this —
your command I will fulfil.

He was not free at that time —
Pontus was serving in the hall;
now I shall go another way
and lead the worthy one to your presence."

Sídónía answers here:
"You yourselves might have remained
and not brought another to me
in his place, as you did.

Herlant, you shall not fear;
let none say no to this;
I know how to guard my honour in time —
I will not make you doubt that."

"Indeed I cannot doubt this,
O maiden," he then said;
"your father I fear most —
I owe him my best service.

Besides, I also fear
if others learn of it by any road,
they will envy Pontus all the more
if they see your favour."

"The tongue's ready malice
may do harm in many ways;
each looks toward the worst fault —
that is ever the way of the world."

Sídónía speaks here:
"Have no doubt of me;
I would rather be slain
than our honour be stripped of glory."

"Indeed, maiden, I wish
it were so," Herlant said;
"now I shall lead him hither
and hasten the journey as best I can."

"I bid you not delay it,"
the bride speaks in turn;
"do not linger long indeed —
I wish to mend the earlier fashion."

An ugly custom goes through the world:
I am inclined to curse those
who hinder those who have rightly
joined themselves hand in hand in marriage.

It brews the bitter torment,
the worst pain for both of them,
where each thinks upon the other
but cares for no other joy.

Herlant went from her hall,
gracefully ending their talk,
to lead Pontus to the bright one;
the earlier game does not end.

Sídónía goes gladly,
cheerful and merry, into a chamber,
to see if she might glimpse Pontus, wise;
they sat now at the window.

Elóis looks ever outward,
freed from anguish, trouble, and grief;
then leaps from her place
to the maiden Sídónía.

"Here goes the fairest in the world —
why should I conceal it?"
Sídónía trembles all over;
joy was the chief cause.

Next the lady goes to the window;
now she can behold them both;
she saw Pontus, bright, there —
his grace far surpassed all others.

Amazed, when she saw him with her eyes,
she calls upon Elóis:
"He is fair indeed by every measure —
does he not seem so to you, maiden?"

Elóis says he is no man
but rather an angel:
"With His own hand God has made
him good," said the bright maiden.

"On my oath," said she,
Sídónía, the proud maiden —
"this maiden confirms the tale."
Back into the hall they went.

Pontus comes, and Herlant home;
fair maidens welcome them;
they greet them with courtesy and valour;
the lady's spirits begin to rise.

Sídónía went out to meet
the noble one with a show of love;
the bright, eager one leads him
nobly into her royal house.

She bids him sit in her own seat,
but he refuses it:
"This is not possible for me —
to accept such honour as you offer.

I am young and far too small,
unworthy of it, bright maiden."
Humility appears most excellent;
in all things he lowers himself.

Sídónía answers then:
"You show us great longing."
"You are by birth," says the noble one,
"no less a king's child than I."

Pontus says that peoples and lands
bow under the maiden's hand.
"But I am poor and own nothing
save what the king has granted me."

Most handsomely the jewel of gowns replies:
"Dear one, do not speak these words;
God created you in no manner
to be forsaken at any time."

Pontus tells the wise one then
that all things stand in God's hands —
his own condition and noble plan
have all come upon His grace.

Thus their talk may wait;
of that I shall tell later;
I let the ríma end here;
the words' exhaustion is at hand.

Sjötta Ríma — Sixth Ríma

Ferskeytt (ABCB half-rhyme)

The poet's mansöngur laments his own sorrows and counsels that love's fire be concealed with honour. Then the narrative: Pontus enters Sídónía's bower; she offers her seat, he declines; she asks him about ladies and whom he would serve as knight; she makes him pledge to serve her above all others; she gives him a gold ring; they dance; the ladies all praise him; the feast lasts nine days; Sídónía conceals her love.

I delivered a chapter to the people;
exhaustion of verses blazes;
now I shall raise the fallen former metre
and set the speech upon its feet.

The melody stiffens, and my tongue's
governance goes haltingly;
therefore my state of mind
weighs heavy on my sense.

Whoever wishes to fashion
a mansöngur about fair ladies,
with skill he must push from his mind
all hindrance and strife.

No one composes anything worthy
who is burdened with troubled thoughts;
the harried mind goes here and there
like a sea-ship tossed on waves.

Yet though my verse-craft be stiff
to offer to young maidens,
I ask that this be excused
by the honour of all peoples.

Though I am not always quick
to polish words or verse,
some seat of distress has borne
a turmoil into my hands.

In my youth I have
come to know the paths of anguish;
moreover, fate's harsh trials
have banished all joy.

These past years
I have met some adversity —
mostly lies, deceit, and enmity;
little has gone as I wished.

Therefore most people
shall not pity me in sorrow;
he copes best with grief
who has none to keep.

It is in no man's power
to turn God's design;
I commit my counsel into His hands,
wherever it may land.

Therefore I shall stop grieving
and weeping for sorrow's own sake,
if it so happens that my anguish
no maiden will ease.

I think it best to smother grief,
let the masters' merriment stand,
bear the hidden bitterness through
and confess the drought as well,

rather tell others
how a swallowed passion hardens,
how the fire of love may
with honour remain concealed,

hate all that opposes honour,
restrain a harsh desire;
you shall shun ugly faults
and seek the fair way of life.

A brief pleasure brings long grief
that afflicts people;
whoever affords the cost of virtue,
may judgment serve him well.

Let us turn to where the prince comes,
handsome, to the maiden's bower;
he plays and performs every courtesy;
the bright maidens welcome him.

The royal maiden offers
the prince her own seat,
but he will not on any account —
often he refused it.

He sat somewhat lower down
and thus made short the time;
Sídónía most gently asks
the maidens to pass the hours,

to find whether he had forgotten
dance and sweet song,
to shorten the ladies' long days
with precious things while he lingered.

Pontus answers the bride at once
straight from his gentle mouth:
"I cannot recall that art —
one I never learned."

Then the prince grew merry;
the long hours shorten;
the ladies' hearts, full with longing —
the arrow of Venus stings.

Sídónía gained fair delight
from Pontus's words,
then confirms all the virtue
she had been told of before.

The maiden takes the noble one
to her side, whom men praise;
she says she intends still
to speak further with him.

"Long have you," says the cunning lady,
"dwelt in this land,
but never before now
have our paths crossed."

Pontus says he does not
rule his own journey,
and all his affairs as well
are subject to other men.

"I will ask you in turn,
before the speech fades:
how do I seem to you, sir,
and my fair maidens?"

"Your beauty and bright countenance,"
Pontus answers the lady,
"your fair colour and noble adornment,
and the figure of your person."

"Such honour," he said,
"as I have now found,
can surely gladden the heart
that is bound hard in sorrow."

"Have you won favour from ladies?"
the king's daughter asked,
"since you practise valour
and precious arts of learning.

If a brave knight you may become,
a true breaker of swords,
which lady in the world would you
most wish to earn?"

Pontus answers with his words then
after the long speech:
"My thought is too small for that —
to win their favour."

The maiden says his lineage
is all of the noblest men.
"You are worthy of this land's
highest lady's service."

Such fair speeches at first
passed between them;
from them the lady gained desire
and delights in the young prince.

She speaks again a second time
to the tested swordsman:
"You shall become, my precious knight,
heir to the prince's estate.

If I hear any fair fame,
noble, of your deeds,
that will make goodness easy
and gladden my heart."

"Gracious lady," the prince said,
"I call it my duty
to thank your grace for that
and show all my service,

if my God would grant and reveal
the deeds of a keen knight —
those that serve
you and all ladies."

The prince's daughter spoke then,
the equal of most maidens:
"Though you have not yet
become a knight in name,

I reckon you my knight —
to defend kingdoms and lands;
you shall now in this instance
swear it with an oath:

to serve me above all other ladies
with honour and virtue;
then the heart's true will
shall never flee from mine."

Pontus thanks the maiden for it
then in the best manner;
then prayed God that He would gently
grant the strength for it.

"If you wish," says the noble maiden,
"to think dishonour of us,
then we ourselves shall
sever our friendship."

The prince answers, not reluctant,
and reveals his humility:
"I would rather be dead
than strip your honour."

The maiden bids him gently
bind this in a troth-pledge,
so it hold a strong place,
propped by no deceit.

Then the breaker of green shields
vowed to the bright lady
upon his honour and his faith
to hold it in word and deed.

The maiden gives a gold ring,
the prince, from her hand;
in bright metal a stone is set;
the ruler's son received it.

She bids the prince
wear the ring for her sake,
and says this is a certain token
that will serve well later.

Pontus thanks the lady quickly
for the splendour without fault;
he drew the ring on his finger swiftly
and went with her to dance.

Then toward the fair lady
the prince's heart kindled with love's bond;
in both their breasts stood
a tenderness freed from harm.

The hardest heart can love bind
exceedingly soft
and blind those eyes most keen of sight
in clearest heads.

Pontus then sang a lay;
the maidens' hearts quicken;
all praised it equally
and so the hours passed.

Thereupon each lady thought
throughout the long life
that happiest would be the maiden
who won such a man.

When they had each finished singing
their own lay to its end,
the bright maiden has wine
sent to the prince's heir.

Then they would quickly take
their leave from the bride,
and go in another fashion
before the mighty lord.

The maiden grants them this
and thanks them for their coming;
then they went home to the hall —
those pious lords.

Before the dear prince parted
from the circle of eagle's bearers,
the noble maiden bade him
visit there as often as he could.

When they had gone away,
the rosy lady asks:
"How seems the honour and courtesy
of the prince's company of ladies?"

All the ladies and maidens said
one thing of him in truth:
they knew he lacked nothing;
they bestowed honour upon him.

The wise ones said fortunate
would be she who could win him,
for he was the fairest
in the world wherever he stood.

All praised the prince
and ended their speeches;
this pleases the fair lady;
grief in her breast diminishes.

The maiden did not let it show —
the mighty one rejects sorrow —
that within her heart was dear
the prince's fair son.

She would not have them praise
one who might later be faulted;
she says Pontus may still
change his ways.

Then tenderness was concealed
in the pure bride's breast;
love of Pontus caused this,
as the later verse will tell.

The fine feast lasted nine days;
some games were performed —
the splendid, generous company —
he enacted knightly sport.

Then the highest feast ends;
more follows herewith,
but from my words comes
no more at this time.

My tongue is dull of speech
to repay the maidens' entertainment;
it is a challenge to keep the right balance
within a single word.

One has made a wound with pain
bite within my heart;
who will be the maiden
to tear away my grief and anguish?

Though I may, gentlest maiden,
be granted to win from among the maidens,
I doubt whether that wound will heal
in my long life.

It is fated without doubt
that I will marry again;
in one I have full trust
that she will free me from anguish.

She among maidens has added
the wisest to my sorrows;
therefore I must here in the north
feed my warm grief.

All anguish and longing
I shall lock outside my heart;
seldom does fortune linger beside
those who always grieve.

I think it best to cease the talk,
turn from the story here,
for the ríma's course
has come to its end.

A light spirit rewards the talk;
it joins the woven bands;
the true custom truly shall
stand for the sixth ríma.

Sjöunda Ríma — Seventh Ríma

Skáhent

The poet's mansöngur on fortune's wheel, worldly corruption, and the fear of God; a messenger announces a hundred thousand heathens at the gates; the Sultan's son Códrus demands that King Henry renounce Christ and pay tribute to Machúmet; Pontus challenges the pagan champion to single combat; the king knights Pontus; Sidoine sends him a token; the duel on the field; Pontus slays the champion and sends his head to the heathens with a proclamation of God's power.

It is time for the seed of Song
to show itself a seventh time,
to find a tune and stretch the verse;
at last the ríma begins.

The answer that once was
easy enough to give has faded;
it forbids me now to muster here
strength, or joy, or dancing.

Yet grief shall from the heart's dwelling
be driven with all my force,
so the scorn of those who mocked me
may step far aside.

No harm at all shall be dealt them
by any deed of mine;
who knows but that mockery
will land upon themselves.

When fortune smiles, one may expect
that sorrow will bind us next;
what today is mine, tomorrow is yours —
mischief lies near at hand.

When one thinks surely his joy
shall never be checked,
most often the leaf turns there
where one least expects it.

Fortune here is so fickle
toward each man's good;
a bright beginning most often breeds
a sorrowful end.

I counsel him who thinks of the world
to know himself well,
that he may look on happiness so
as not to fall at last.

The wheel is unsteady; it upends all,
topples down to the depths;
the low is often raised on high,
if fortune wills to grant it.

Whether it goes against or with us,
unevenly things may run —
let one hold all one's life long
to a single manner.

There is nothing else for me —
and so it fades from memory;
now I will relate
what dwells upon my mind.

This is most so in the western world:
if one man craves another's goods,
no man dares in all truth
to speak a word against him.

He fears the powerful, that he
will pay for his own candour;
men prize friendship more
than bribes that torment some.

In judgments certainly it turns
on the will of certain men;
it shows itself soon, if one looks closely;
the faults conceal the truth.

Men let their ranks, law, and right
go unconcerned by wrongdoing;
the realm's loss and religion
stand unattended.

God is forgotten and all His commands
which He gave us to keep;
none will accept evil consequence
or answer for their words.

What do you think we shall receive
when the Lord calls us to death?
The harshest of all distress
draws near to hand.

Fear God, and from all wrong need
forever flee the crooked,
that we may go with joy
before God into the stern judgment.

Goods and life, lands and wives —
let us yield them for the right;
God will best in kindness
repay all this.

A countless many examples
came to pass in days of old —
fortune came to those few
who showed defense before God.

Here now is one that has moved me
to tell the company of men,
to compose a high poem about
this single tale of example.

While the feast stood with good cheer
and mirth at every turn,
a man came into the fine hall
and told the king a message.

"There has come here, as I will clearly
report with truthful words,
a heathen host, as all men know,
with a hundred thousand men."

The joy ran out, and noble men
went forth from the hall;
sorrow in its place came upon them
and conquered them entirely.

At midday, when trouble lessens,
now sorrow wills most strongly;
a knight was seen riding forthwith
with bold strength toward the castle.

Two noble men in trust
attend the worthy thane;
he then quickly, with his best strength,
speaks the message with full force:

"From Babylon the Sultan's son,
he who is called Códrus,
challenges you with an armed host,
companies strengthened with spears,

unless you think now to forsake
your faith and leave it;
the gods shall be diminished and their mighty commands —
to Machúmet you shall yield.

Therewith tribute and duties quickly
you shall pay the king;
if you choose otherwise, then you
have cold misery at hand.

Britain shall burn then
straight in blazing fire;
he will kill, I believe,
all men in your domain."

When he who knew Christ best
had called on Him at length,
fear and silence still fell
at once upon the king's company.

That knight was very tall,
strong and mighty as could be;
no one in the world, he thought,
could match him.

Pontus saw that the company of men
was struck with anguish;
none at all gave ready answer
to the long threatening speech.

He went quickly with valiant bearing
before the mighty king,
said it grieved him, and for wrath's reward,
to hear such a speech.

He fell on his knee, that bold one
covered by his fame's stone,
begged leave to speak and gained it —
to give answer in return.

Pontus went to the worthy warrior
and so turned his words:
"Your faith, as you have declared,
shall come to an evil end.

In my faith, it seems to me
you are scarcely cut from a man;
deceived is he who counts you
a tongueless being.

Yet God will from all distress
save all His own;
your lord, my heathen,
shall have wolves for his feast.

Tribute and enforced dominion
you shall never obtain;
honour and renown, by certain fortune,
shall slip from your hands."

The knight bids him try himself against
two strong men, if he would:
"Then let us find now whose faith is holier
and counted of greater worth."

Pontus gave a proud answer there,
eager as always for battle:
"There is no trouble for two to bridle a horse
to ride out against you.

My noble man, your arrogance
has no measure and thrives;
I think quickly, in this way,
your match shall be found.

Young as I am in every way,
I shall wage battle against you;
without doubt, from our parley
one of us two shall die.

Here I shall now for the holy faith
risk my life,
and let it be seen who has greater power;
my God, I trust, shall shield me."

He casts down his gauntlet by his lance:
"It is my desire, and no idle boast,
to test your valour."

He answers then, as I related,
the fair prince's attendant:
"I will especially choose another
to ride out with you."

"I want to go alone," said the young lad,
"to be first to test your strength;
I need not in the work of war
the strength of other men."

The king got grief and great dismay
at once from these heard words;
the whole court on the wide field
wants to prevent his riding forth.

"It grieves me," so the king said,
"if you shall offer courtesy
of a riding-out to him who bears
the best praise of all peoples."

Pontus bade him not to flinch
but think straightway
of David — that great man
who felled Goliath very well.

"Rather make me, worthy lord,
wise by your kindness,
a knight forthwith in the best fashion,
and do not alter my purpose."

The king dubs, as we are told,
the famous knight so handsome,
and places in both his hands
the bright trappings of war.

He gave him a sword with gilded hilt —
no fairer treasure could be found —
and with it a horse that here on the green earth
could run the best of all.

His fame grew, and the gentle prince
began to arm himself;
he set a helm upon his head with gauntlet's steel
and held a gilded shield.

The war-gear that the lord wore
was covered in precious stones;
its gleam shone from afar
like flame from a clean fire.

The harness that he had
was veiled in sea-gold's gleam;
then the brave prince's heir
sprang into the saddle of Gang.

Then the wondrous-fair one was glad,
eager to seek valour;
all the wise people praised
the cheerful prince's son.

Many wept when the gentle one vowed
to fight the heathen man;
they pitied him, seeing one so young
ride out alone.

The noble king and the fair queen
looked sorrowfully upon him;
they wished him long luck from the deeds
of the white prince's heir.

He rides away in pomp and splendour,
the prince clad in fine cloth;
then, as I relate,
the two lords meet upon the field.

An arrow of sorrow
pierced the heart of the king's daughter;
with her women she stood by the battlement,
hardly able to watch the prince.

She who wept and grieved, the wisest one,
sent Pontus a token;
he was gladdened when the strong prince's son
saw that favour.

He quickly thanked the fair bride
in the finest manner for her gift,
shook his spear and charged toward
the other, who rides out to meet him.

The two meet on horseback;
the heathen, I heard, spoke thus:
"Your intention is not fine;
your youth will trick you.

Choose yourself, fair lad, one stout man
to go with you —
you are a child to fight now
and carve the she-wolf's meal."

Pontus gave a proud answer there,
not accustomed to long speech:
"You shall from me, for your pride here,
receive fitting payment.

Other work is needed in this task
than wetting Odin's planks —
rather than threatening you, or thinking
to cut me down with words.

You now need your faith,
that Machúmet may save you;
hear me — I think you
shall have wolves for your meal."

He drove his horse as hard as he could,
the stern prince's son,
and charged as swiftly as possible;
neither spared the other.

Through the neck on the stump of steel
the spear drove hard;
Pontus, by the best path,
got his long lance broken off.

The heathen man struck him
with the sharp war-point;
the shaft sprang back, but the shield cracked —
neither was cut by the point.

Pontus drew, as I have told,
the bright shield's bane;
the helm's gleam suffered treachery;
the other's trouble grows.

Yet the prince's son struck from him
his face with the sword;
those wounds he gives the man
shall never be healed.

The heathen, when he had to see
his shield stained with blood,
was angered most and now drives
his horse straight at Pontus.

A fierce blow he dealt then swiftly —
the ríma records this —
the one is praised, but the proud
Pontus nearly swooned.

The heathen quickly loses strength;
greatly bleed his wounds;
he can scarcely on his horse
move himself about the field.

Pontus quickly strikes hard —
the head from the worthy body;
their meeting in this manner
I trust is ended thus.

Then there was joy, when that was done,
among the prince's precious company;
they gave thanks rightly, as I have heard,
to the Lord for long.

Here one may see how fortune then
drives from their seat those many
who look on others here as small
and make themselves the greater.

Pontus, bold and firm, thrust
the sword straight into the head
upon the point and bears the spike
with such a prize.

He places in the heathens' hands
the head of their fine knight,
bids them swiftly, in kindness,
to carry it to their lord.

"Tell plainly what God has wrought,
clearly through me at work:
that one child has slain and killed
the king's strong man.

Your gods can give no aid
to any of their own;
he does not prosper — I shall declare it —
who puts his trust in them.

Our God alone is not slow
to save all His people;
He helps when He is called upon,
and checks the bondage of many."

The two ride now in trust
to find the noble king;
they told of what had then taken place —
the course of their journey.

Anguish and grief, as I told before,
he received in plenty from such,
and the wrathful prince, taming his fury,
with all his mighty company.

That grief bears so and cuts the heart
that the heathen's joy diminishes;
I end this section now —
may the fairest maiden prosper.

In another round the young and wise one
shall expect something better,
the Redeemer willing, if my life
endures yet more winters.

Since you are held here
the foremost of all women,
it is my will still
that you receive this poem.

Wherever she is who bears honour
above all maidens,
let her claim yet a poem from me;
the ending of the ríma calls.

Áttunda Ríma — Eighth Ríma

Ferskeytt (ABAB)

The poet's mansöngur invoking the mead of poetry; Pontus gives thanks to God in the church; he returns to the king; the council of war where fear grips the lords and Pontus counsels writing to all lands for aid; the mustering of England's army; four divisions formed; the march to war with cosmic portents; arrival of three hundred reinforcements; the king's battle-speech; Pontus's exhortation to trust God and strike without mercy; the onset of battle.

I find now that none has cared
for the poem I composed,
therefore shall Bölverk's bellows
blow hard at the dead fire.

Should that spark wish to quicken
and warm some maiden,
let it drive longing from the heart
and fill the mind with gladness.

Whatever it is that topples or upholds,
groans bitterly or delights,
builds up or tears down,
blesses or speaks ill —

I ask my maiden to hear my words;
I let the love-song rain;
would that a heart hard as steel
might soften in the fire of praise.

A time of famine passes now;
I wish for better in what follows —
my love-song's craft
pleases no maiden at all.

In my poem there is no hind,
yet one may still be content;
hate and love are both blind
when judging anything straight.

It always seems to me —
for thus am I bound here —
that none would find fault,
though such a one will never be found.

Though learning may fail me now
and eloquence falter here,
take the will for the work, my lady,
and judge it for the best.

A maiden may bear with a man
though error deceives,
where surely no ill intent
can be found.

Though in verses I stray from
the true path of poets,
a good will is esteemed
well among all men.

It pleases me at last
to run a longer course,
that I may find the former path
and extend this poem.

In the former ríma I told
how the fierce encounter ended,
where the famous prince
filled the hungry wolf.

Pontus says his victory is
God's own to claim;
he came eagerly into the church
and knelt for this honour.

He gave thanks to God in that place
as gently as he knew how;
for greater strength he kindly prayed
with both heart and mouth.

First the fair warrior offers
all his sacrifices,
then mounts and rides away
to summon the host to the hall.

Pontus at once goes readily
to the noble queller of battle;
he received dear greetings
from the king, as befits him.

The king says with glad heart
to the champion of gilded shields
that he will defend the wise people
and drive the heathens away.

While murmuring grows among the champions
about which harsh courses to choose,
the prince's son met
the bright linden of Drúpnir's tears.

At once the kindler of Fýri's seeds came
among the women's company;
the weavers of silk threads
greeted the fair prince.

All wished that his life
should prosper as he desired;
they said no such light of the land existed
as the breaker of hard bucklers.

"Glory and honour, beauty and courtesy,
food to give the raven —
wherever we have asked in the world,
his equal cannot be found."

We shall let the lilies of gold
praise the grove of swords,
while we tell fully
of the fierce battle to come.

The king bids every lord
come to his council;
all who heard it bore their ring-mail
and heeded the king's summons.

To the king's hall a multitude goes
swiftly at the given leave;
then he led the wise army
to a council of plans.

He bids them give their best counsel
quickly in such peril:
"That we may gain peace and grace
and the freedom of our lands."

In most men's hearts fear dwelt;
they held themselves more than doomed;
all began to buckle under
the cowardice of their hearts.

Pontus was silent among the lords
when fear began to halt them;
no champion then could
answer the king at all.

The king bids the prince's son
give the best counsel,
says: "This will be needed
if the peoples are to fasten their shields."

Pontus says he perceives the distinction
between two swift choices:
"Though I am quite young
to offer counsel to others,

I am willing at the king's command
to fulfill it with all my might,
to give true support to the wise
and say what I think."

"Gracious lord, may it please you,"
said the noble king's son,
"do not count it ill of me
though I speak an unlearned counsel.

Never fear the heathen host,
though they have countless thanes;
God can shift victory swiftly —
to this all must attend.

He does not lack the will
to guard His own in peace;
He can fell their multitude
with few of our forces.

God will do good to His children
for the greater need,
give help, courage, and strength,
whatever they must do.

This concerns all Christians,
lest the faith be weakened;
it is our duty to lend them aid
and fell the heathen folk.

If it pleases your grace
and those who stand here,
my swift counsel shall be
to write to all lands.

Along with this, ask for help and support
from all lords and princes;
let the swiftest summons go forth
to call them together to the castle.

Have food carried to the fortress
that a multitude may lodge there,
so that none may lack
any provisions."

The wise wolf-feeder then
brought his speech to its end;
then nearly all the chosen thanes
wished to follow this counsel.

The king has the army quickly
summoned to this campaign;
they prepare themselves day and night
to redden swords in blood.

Warriors heard in a single hour
the summoning of the arrow-storm;
the army rushed to the king's assembly
with helmets reddened in gold.

To Vanis comes a multitude of men
who could win renown;
none within the land dared
to stay at home.

Children and mothers cried out, men —
maidens were tormented by grief;
towers fell silent, but soon they arm;
houses emptied in the towns.

The king inquired along the road
for the forces he expected;
he rode to meet the army
and managed things as best he could.

He at once accompanied them
to receive proud courtesies;
here there is more pressing at hand
than to lie in peace.

Four thousand then were sent —
counting the heathen thanes;
when this journey was done,
they intended not to linger.

Then the whole army was divided
into four companies at fewest;
there one could see the gleam, splendid,
with the host on the green fields.

The king himself wished to command
one company with a fair spear;
two earls shall follow the prince,
adorned with gilded shields.

Bold men with blue-edged blades
were to command the fortresses;
these knew not how to avoid danger
or keep sorrow from the heart.

León commanded, and Avel too,
covered in serpent-ice;
they shall help the valiant men
and the king bowed by age.

The second company Ragnar led,
and Rollant af Toll the fair;
Galle af Victor was with them,
seasoned in hard battle.

Pontus, who adorned splendour
and won praise for all his deeds —
with him Herlant himself
was given the third to command.

Vilhjálm af Roskis was near them,
who had toppled many heathens;
Andri af Lator, the bold, gives
plenty to the starving wolves.

Guðfreyr af Leysing, a man of craft,
skilled in wielding leaf-blades;
Lénarð af Meyland likewise
could bathe in Fáfnir's sweat.

None in the world then knew
these men's equal;
in battle the proud men learned
to break lances against shields.

That campaign was made from home;
they had a swift riding-out;
these men yearned to wet dry earth
with the tears of giants.

The earth shook and mountains slid,
forests trembled and fields;
the skies wept and trolls shed tears;
the cliffs rumbled beneath.

The wolf howls, the coward weeps,
the god of war's steeds stir;
the sun darkens, the dead man is dragged forth,
the dark dísir wander.

Then they ride through dusk and day,
straight through night and morning;
the horses had an evil affliction,
never drying from sweat.

One night the prince sees
many ride toward them
on the straight road with noble strength —
knights coming to their aid.

These had three hundred men,
on horseback not slow;
scarcely could fairer men be seen,
none more splendidly armed.

Reinall af Selle, a knight,
and Róðbert af Campaigni,
Hans af Pólín — none ever heard
his heart weaken in battle.

The king rejoiced when he knew them,
greeted them with kindly speech;
they will take vengeance on the heathens
and wield hard steel.

At morning the king spoke aloud;
all could hear:
"We have the finest host ready
to rouse blood from the heathen.

Our noble faith stands
with the trust of your hands;
show valour and courage now
with the manhood of our lands!

Hold your battle-line firm,
go and ply your weapons,
unless we must in haste
offer other succour."

Pontus offers wise counsel —
his own, to act upon this:
that they should fall upon every heathen
at home by surprise.

"Otherwise we will find no help
in other plans;
they will in the end win
both people and land."

This seemed counsel to all;
then they arrayed on the field;
the countrymen had little mercy,
ill content with their state.

The moon shone and the weather was fair,
the fields covered with tents;
from the horse-thunder the green ground
was most like the waves of the sea.

There stood their tents
thick across all the fields;
then was heard for holy observance
horns ringing in their ears.

The heathens wake at last, late;
the host went forth;
their hearts trembled and their bodies
struggled for so long a time.

There was disruption at their feast;
treachery they reckoned in their minds;
then the whole heathen host
hid themselves in darkness.

At last they run in Hrumning's peril;
many drums resound;
then all the wolves yearn
to rush into this summons.

The destroyer swung the serpent's cliff
alone before the bold folk;
the multitude of the army drove in companies
forward onto the green field.

Prince Pontus called for silence
from the company of champions on the field:
"I announce to you all
good tidings at this same hour.

We are here, as may be seen,
with our king and lord;
two choices shall be named then —
lose neither of them.

In God put your faith and trust,
not much in many soldiers;
unfailingly He will without doubt
save all His own.

The second thing: you shall drive
the love of riches from your hearts;
think rather — I deem it better —
of rousing blood from the heathen.

The captured people we shall free
from all kinds of sorrow and toil;
every noble here has
from them food and clothing.

We shall fight for our faith
and wager on stern danger;
that purpose shall for us all
go according to wish and will.

None can overthrow and completely smother
any whom the dear and pure Lord
purposes to raise
wonderfully on high.

In God's name let every able man
begin some act of glory;
let us give heathens blows unsparing,
that the world may hear of it.

Ride forth and steel your hearts;
each shall urge the other on;
let the multitude follow — the banners fly —
then the spear-thrusts shall begin."

Blood flows, the falcon feeds,
fair shields are cloven;
the wolf howled, and the lowest punishments
begin a feast for the heathens.

Here the poem must be broken off;
it bears on all to tend to;
caution is needed, and the failure of verses
comes pressing upon me.

Take from me and carry away
the blindest sifting of words;
in the sea of praise I am checked
by the earlier poets.

Maiden known to the turning of poems,
I cannot alter the difficulty;
now the eighth is ended and sent
to you from me by hand.

Níunda Ríma — Ninth Ríma

Samhent, framrímað (monorhyme, alliterative)

Invocations to Homer, Menander, and Euripides; the night attack on the heathen camp; carnage and carrion-beasts; Códrus rallies at dawn; the great battle; the king is wounded; the heathens push the Christians back; Pontus rallies his men; Andri slays Próílus; Herlant slays Carpadón; Códrus rages, devastating the Christians; Pontus kills Códrus; total rout of the heathens; victory.

The play of verses wakes me now;
the notable deeds I wish to show;
Homer, come and lend your aid,
so that the ríma may be understood.

Menander, serve me quickly now,
so I may tell the ninth in order;
Euripides, hear and add your little —
make the blushing maiden glad.

Now shall, maiden, the ninth appear;
to the worthier one the stiff poem turns;
I draw the maiden, Odin's honoured one;
be now freed from anguish.

A warm cargo of verse-craft
I give to the companies, Odin's brew,
to plait the right refrain-string,
sometimes bound with a verse-thong.

I shall offer the people a clear speech,
propped words with alliterative talk;
shallow is the choice of my mouth's verse;
stiff shall Skálda's telling be.

Every man shall here be free
before me at the telling;
let each choose his own praise —
that is truly the saying of men.

Let the people then amend
the blemishes that may be found;
first I shall tell of noble deeds
that caused the dead to fall.

See now — each fierce war
stood with the nations for a time;
lively seemed the hurrying host;
the pure moon shone at last.

Upon the heathens the shame fell sharply;
the harm prepared for them a fall;
high in the night the war-horn blew;
the dark heart swelled with rage.

Then they rode suddenly upon
the host — the heathen lay in tents;
they had to tread the paths of Hel;
a wave of men perished then.

They rushed to flee on every side,
bound in the frenzy of terror;
the blows dewed the earth with blood;
no shield could save a life in pairs.

Many wolves saw the battle;
the eagle cooled itself in blood;
the she-wolf followed the fallen dead;
thick-gathering eagles then.

The raven hurried swiftly to the prey
and quickly made the hunt of steeds;
bears desired in the night
to quench their greed with carrion.

The joyful eagles waded to the fallen;
the sword made an end of talk;
the crevices of Sónar's hall broke open;
they always gathered the choice of the slain.

They covered the naked dead upon the field;
the host gave the heathens their fall;
the roar of savagery frightened the weary;
all their joy was turned away.

At fair daybreak the warriors saw
a multitude of men lying dead;
then Códrus armed himself in fury
and called all the heathens to him.

High with the sun the horn blew;
the army was quickly arrayed;
then they fought with the greatest might;
few could stand against the spears.

They held a third of their fallen there;
the furious host was on horseback;
they struck and hewed and cut the shields;
swift steeds rushed forward to the sea.

The strong prince took the banner;
to many it gave heart for courage;
Códrus hewed and shook the shaft;
it shone in agony and drove men to Hel.

Próílus struck in the champions' ring
and kindled the game to a new dance;
his bold kinsman attacked;
a multitude of warriors stood still.

Let us turn by will to the work
that the wise Christians wrought so strongly;
widely the stirred host scorched;
the heathens bore wounds in their throats.

Andri shot uncounted spears;
the brave one broke all formation;
death's agony each one received
who found him — that one lost his splendour.

Guðfreyr drove his horse swiftly;
well he knew how to play the game;
many a miser tumbled into death;
blood spurted from the wounds.

Strong deeds Vilhjálm wrought;
he gave death to the hosts;
the warrior knew to strike and cut;
one could scarcely name a braver man.

Vernarð bore both hands in the fight,
reddened in blood, often renowned;
the host of warriors stood grim;
many were sent into death's agony.

The finest horse, adorned with trappings,
was struck down and lost in the struggle;
a long march he had to walk;
he bowed, he swayed, he shot his arrows.

Before Andri could see,
the quiver was at his feet;
the finest horse was given to him;
swiftly he sprang into the saddle then.

Forward the bold warriors of peace
advanced swiftly all together;
the white teeth of Tyrfingr shone;
I think many were cloven threefold.

The serpent of the form crawled forth;
it went the full path of spears;
the way to the well ran clear;
manes rode in the sweat of blood.

The guard of warriors fell
at the crash of spears upon the field;
warriors received death's caress;
death offered them its homecoming.

The cunning tongue of the eel
was not slow to speak in agony;
it drove the condemned from their necks —
straight into death's own snare.

The dogs of battle heard the clamour;
fierce battle began anew;
a hail of arrows drove like cloud —
striking, terrifying the people of the land.

Vilhjálm hewed Hrumning's planks;
the sword purchased peace for life;
the wound tore apart and the arrow flew;
the arrow-serpent penetrated through.

Guðfreyr went forward with the host;
through the ranks of warriors he stormed;
the famous one fed the birds with corpses;
swiftly the Christians' terror turned to joy.

The heathens cast their spear-talk;
they crashed into the hall of death;
the fall of blood was heard like a waterfall;
in the mountains the cry resounded.

Swift steeds swelling with fury —
the prince of warriors, as I tell;
the living pushed the king's men to Hel;
the Christians fought with skill.

The army cut many down to agony;
they struck the lord from his horse before them;
the prince lies, the road red,
traced by a host of the dead.

The heathens swing Rögnir's teeth;
the prince wishes to lose his life;
the living swiftly seized the lands;
they captured them in their hand.

Nearest stood one feared on foot —
he had received no wound at all;
a hundred years he must have had;
he was grey with age.

This the dear prince's son heard;
he came closer to the place;
swift he struck with both his hands;
he gave the heathen a quick death.

Pontus hewed the wretched host hard;
the soil was sown with dead;
he drew drifts of blood in droves;
the dragon's laughter wet the shoes.

Swiftly the lord struck with arrows;
for the doomed the savagery was not spared;
before the ring-Njörðr of battle
headless trunks fell to the earth.

The handsome one fled from Pontus;
that one earned a sure renown;
he came to where the prince lay;
weary earls stood beside.

They were two in the leaf-train
to shield the king's life best;
they sought a fine horse for him after;
the prince had suffered a wound.

His arm was broken asunder;
things went ill for the land's ruler;
they carried him quickly from the spear-ring;
the old man's strength was spent.

The heathens swung Rögnir's teeth;
they drove the Christian men from their horses;
ten attacked at once to fight;
Pontus saw this clearly still.

The contest looked poor for the lords;
armour split apart widely;
the heathens gently let it pass;
the fierce ones attacked hard with spears.

Blood gushed from the wounds in a flood;
the Christian host fell on the field;
on the battle-paths Vernarð stood
and defended himself hard with fierce courage.

Death's agony was beside the warrior;
murder stood before his eyes;
the bold prince's son called out
and urged every champion who could stand:

"It is counsel at this moment —
some distinction for the worthy warriors;
fierce is the struggle if the game stands;
let us push the heathens toward death."

The hot rage drove furiously;
the angry one tore the heathen line;
grief stirred when the people saw
the prince's dead company lying.

The formation broke apart in wonder;
swiftly the lord mounted a horse;
a multitude of men lay fallen;
the bold Christians then rejoiced.

The fall that Códrus saw
made him crawl deep in Hel's track;
the fierce vein bit into his breast;
the spirit of the king's company wavered.

Mean upon the forehead the king there
bore a great crown on his head;
of pure stones the helm was made;
he was a man swift to battle.

Laws with blows he gave the people;
splendour shone from the king;
the finery adorned his steel staff;
he plunged men from their horses deep.

Vilhjálm parted from his fair horse;
he fought now the hardest of all;
then from him the most fled;
the warriors got their final reward.

His fine kinsmen rode, those two;
quickly they increased the flight;
the outrage of truce-breaking grew the more;
they dealt blows from their spears upon the host.

Carpadón clove with his hands;
the Christians lost their lands and homeland;
shields and lives alike met ruin;
they increased Hildr's worthy onslaught.

Próílus hewed with both his hands;
whatever came near him fell;
terror seized those nations;
he cut three men in a single stroke.

He sent the arrow flying swiftly
forward to the sport of battle;
the weapons stung the Christians' courage;
the wise one sat on the seat of grief.

Andri saw the mighty one
harming the Christian host badly;
he rode against the man;
he cut the shield from the bearer's arm.

The doomed one felt the summons of Hel;
from his wheel Próílus tumbled headlong;
in the west the support broke;
the will for the clash of spears failed.

Herlant saw that Carpadón
could cleave and break the skull-house;
the famous man first prepared himself
to find and meet him willingly.

Angry, he shot his shaft at the heathen;
the shield-god found no use in it;
his life expired in the encounter;
he tumbled a long fall from the saddle.

The bold lord on his worthy steed
rode through the host's formation;
all were given swift departure
who awaited the blows of his weapon.

Códrus then hewed the Christian men;
he clove all shields at once;
all is uncertain at the end still;
life is good when it becomes double.

He stirred a storm of weapons from his strength;
in the work he was strong as a wall;
the trusty wolf of the point
drove a prince from his saddle.

His bones were broken beyond repair;
recovery against this would be slow;
the young man alone with fierce purpose
raged on to do his harm.

The giantess of battle walked
with weeping cheek beside the warrior into the rock;
the one in the city of war stood stiff;
he filled his own mouth with roaring.

Códrus died by the champion's blows;
joy was quickly restored to many;
the bright people praise the valor;
the hard arrow-dew ceases.

In floods they all fled away;
under the press they wished to escape;
most had to fall from their horses;
no one begging for peace was spared.

The green field blossomed with the fallen;
the craven fled their raging evil;
the soil reddened in blood's colouring;
no one was allowed to stir a word.

Swiftly they chased the fleeing then;
all the heathens fell away;
the guard of warriors lay across the fields;
one may praise the victory of spears.

Fair Pontus punished the heathen warrior
with sure renown from his blows;
the storm of serpents was stilled;
the wind of battle went as wished.

Enough — I regret the ugly phrasing;
I fear it offends the company;
the poems weary the poets quickly;
therefore this talk shall cease in haste.

The maiden may own the poem;
to the young one let it be sung;
come winter, a better one I shall surely compose —
maiden, if I am then still alive.

This from the news you shall receive;
keep this verse in your memory;
the mill of the praise-malt wears down;
the mill grinds all in its time.

Ill goes the cleverness of words;
the ríma's ending falls here;
the horn-spray of the praise-sea dries;
Gilling's inheritance departs from me.

Tíunda Ríma — Tenth Ríma

Ferskeytt (ABAB)

The mansöngur invokes Orpheus, Pallas, Pan, Stentorius, Apollo, and Cerberus; the aftermath of the great battle; Pontus boards Códrus's ship and claims the treasure; the Christians free captives and bury the dead; eight days of celebration; the lords honour Pontus, Guðfreyr, Andri, and Vernarð; Pontus returns to court; Sidoine summons him; their courtly exchange of love; the king falls ill and names Pontus steward of the realm; Pontus governs justly; women pursue him in vain; envy and treachery stir; fortune turns.

Eager goes forth the worthy breath,
loosed from its silent bond;
Fjölnir's verse-ship's fierce gust
blows from the land of thought.

I would cast the tenth maiden-song
in gentle words to the women,
had I a voice as fine
as Orpheus had for singing.

Let Pallas lend her help and grace
to gentle the mind of man;
the herd-god who is called Pan —
from heaviness let him wake us.

Let his swollen maw blow hard
and bellow into the cold pipe,
so that Midas with his open ears
might once more be held still.

Stentorius with his fierce voice
shall strengthen the mighty cry;
may the troll-mocking company
be made glad by the song.

Since Apollo's harp-sound
most men mock and jeer,
it must be my duty to amuse the people
with the worst prattle I can manage.

Let Cerberus sing his angry song
into the ears of those
to whom all joy and merriment are loathsome
and who can never hear delight.

No other wish have they from me,
according to my custom,
than to stand plagued and tormented worse
before the doors of Pluto.

Maiden, I mean to fashion for you
this cycle of verse,
while in words I set myself
to spin from another thread.

We told the heathens' ruin
never clearly enough from our mouths —
how swiftly peace's walls were broken
and all who could took flight.

Let us read on of those
who managed to keep their lives;
those warriors vanish from the story
who trod the pathway down to Hel.

I must tell the lords
how prey was brought to the wolves;
horses waded to their knees
through drifts of heaped-up dead.

The gentle beasts found peace;
the harmless bird cries out,
while the wolf-pack savours
the warm prey of the slain.

The heathen host falls there;
their fair renown is ruined;
not one of the heathen nations
was left alive upon the field.

The prince rode with his band of champions
to where the longships lay;
he meant to seek the vengeance
of those held captive there.

The heathens leapt from the decks in terror,
knowing where to seek their refuge —
they flung themselves into the deep
and sank down to the bottom.

The champions freed the Christian men,
tortured from pain and bondage;
they set about healing the wounded
and giving burial to the dead.

Pontus with a wrathful look
had them row to the longships;
he wished to inspect the ship of Códrus
and came upon the broad dragon-prow.

That was a ship carved with Skrímnir's might
in every sort of fashion;
he had never seen its equal
in all his living days.

Little, I think, would this sword-god
weigh against the heathen host;
then the famous prince
sprang aboard the sea-beast.

The greatest slaughter began at once;
they spared no man among them;
Pontus hewed them quickly overboard —
all those who stood to defend.

Pontus commanded a single warrior,
who was swallowed up in terror,
to show him all the wealth
that lay hidden in the ships.

Reluctant, the man did as the lord bade —
there was no use in delay;
he showed him in the place described
the silver and the greatest gold.

He found fine treasures and worthy goods,
stored in precious coffers;
such wealth he had never heard of
anywhere in the Northern lands.

He had that warrior christened —
the man knew how to speak in Latin;
then Pontus himself saw to it
that his wounds were healed.

Códrus had through war and plunder
struck down brave kings;
for twelve years that terrible wealth
had been dragged from sundry lands.

Such suffering need not have tormented
that man in waking or in sleep,
had he known who would at last
come to claim that treasure.

There goes a saying among men:
when greed follows strength,
his ill-gotten gains
never profit his heirs.

The talk between those lords
lacked neither praise nor honour;
all the wealth Lord Pontus
had carried home to the hall.

His honour grew upon the field of swords;
his like is hardly found;
no one need call
the Niflungs' kinsman poor now.

Then the great war ended;
the Christians steered their fortune;
the army came home to the hall
and drank the heathens' funeral ale.

The people grew wonderfully few;
their joy could not be dimmed;
the king thanked his lords aloud
for all their aid and service.

Then the talk among the great
was mostly spun of this:
who in the battle had performed
the boldest deeds of valour.

Fame rises first from Pontus,
glory and every kind of splendour;
to him they gave the highest honour
and praise above all other men.

Guðfreyr was named next
among the king's worthy heirs;
Andri of Lator was reckoned
no less mighty in his feats.

Vernarð the lords then declared
to be the greatest champion;
the saga tells us that lord
stood close beside the others.

None of them could gloss
their exploits with their own words;
the honours were bestowed on those lords
whom the company most wished to choose.

For eight days none among them
had cause for sorrow;
then the lords rode home,
each to his own estates.

The journey went smoothly for them all;
a great company followed Pontus;
then he turned homeward
with his bold retainers.

Pontus gladdened the king's people;
he seemed a wonder to the champions;
the king's daughter, steadfast and fair,
heard tell of the splendid victory.

She asked all she could
of the strong knight's exploits,
his glory and beauty, courtesy and grace,
and the multitude of his brilliant deeds.

This filled the noble lady's heart
with swelling joy;
the wisest woman prepared
to welcome him with gentleness.

When word reached the graceful one
of the bold knight's arrival,
she sent him the kindest summons
and bade him come to her.

Pontus was eager then
to carry out that task;
the prince came swiftly
to visit the gentle maiden.

Straightway the maiden went to meet
the worthy prince,
and from their meeting she received
all the joy and gladness of youth.

The maiden thanks God
for all the honour and dignity
that is spoken of him;
most men praise him greatly.

"My heart's warmth has received
the highest joy from this —
that all in the war has gone for you
as well as one could wish."

"Gracious lady," said the prince,
"such words deceive many;
most people praise
what is worth little or nothing.

I wish to thank your grace
with humility, bright maiden —
honour, praise, and virtue and valour,
all dear to me from the heart.

Whatever best lies within me,
and all that I can muster,
I declare to all without boast:
it is done for your sake."

"Glory and beauty, splendour and grace —
gladly do I confess it:
your dignity and noble nature
all seem fitting to me."

"My heart has been moved to manly deeds,"
said the lord of lions,
"to serve you, maiden, dearest of all,
with honour and virtue.

May God in His kindness grant me
the grace and goodness
to serve you with the highest valour,
as I would choose to do."

"Dear friend," the gracious lady
said gently to Pontus,
"I hold all faith with you,
as was laid between us.

But should I think to show you
any dishonour —
at that, you surely shall
lose my friendship."

"Your meaning is not fine,"
Pontus replied again;
"do not harbour such thoughts toward me
as befit neither our honour."

These and other such words
passed between them;
then he bade farewell to the mantle's lady
and they parted with grace.

She, the wisest, waited there behind;
the lady banished her sorrows;
courtiers followed the prince
as he departed in splendour.

When a long time had passed —
the writings tell us so —
the king fell into a sickness
and could no longer rule his realm.

Dukes, earls, and noble men
the king summoned to his side;
they hastened forthwith
on their journey to the hall.

He takes counsel with the worthy court —
things cannot stand as they are;
he tells them all of his illness,
and says what difficulty there is.

"It seems to me a hard office
that may adorn our crown;
choose one among you, surely,
whom you will gladly obey."

The lords say he will see to
the highest needs of the realm.
"We have no other beside us
who is the like of Pontus.

We shall therefore choose him
for our pressing need,
for the prince knows full well
how to govern all the land."

To this the king assents in truth,
willing and generous:
"No other within the realm
would I rather choose."

Pontus tells the lords
that they have judged amiss:
"I am young beside you all
to manage every matter."

No use was it to speak
his words of excuse;
whether it pleased him or grieved him,
he had to govern the realm.

Honour and praise Pontus won;
his good ways adorn him;
and with that, all the people of the land
both love and fear him.

Faithful was the king's people to him,
rendering obedience and respect;
and so whatever he commanded
every man was ready to uphold.

He ended discord
and strengthened it among the realms;
and no man did he suffer
to stray beyond the laws.

All who earned it received their due;
all strife was held at bay;
for this, in honest truth,
he may be called a prudent man.

He cheered the grieving, fed the hungry,
and clothed the naked himself;
he helped the wretched, righted wrongs,
and gave wealth back to the robbed.

Noble Pontus devoted himself
most of all to the service of God;
therefore most of the country's folk
sought his counsel from afar.

All the women heard of the prince
and were kindled to fierce longing;
for him a hot wind of love
she carried in her breast.

Each one prayed to God in her heart
that he might be hers,
but the worse it went for them —
he eased their sorrow less and less.

All their tokens of love
they set forth without sparing;
no love from Pontus could they win,
and often for that they wept.

Let the ladies' strife and bitterness
remain in their own keeping;
let us note instead that hatred and lies
first brought him to reckoning.

The world's fair face deceives those
who stand in the highest esteem;
from honour and lands they fall
into trouble and great peril.

Fair promises of friendship
can truly deceive many;
therefore at the meeting of the ways
it is hard to know friends from kinsmen.

Best to steer the laden ship
homeward while there is time;
may the people's path be smooth —
let the tenth ríma fall.

Ellefta Ríma — Eleventh Ríma

Ferskeytt (ABAB)

The mansöngur on envy and lies — the fire of hatred that burns from within, the slanderer's inevitable ruin, and God's vindication of truth; Gendill of Galicia, the lone survivor of Pontus's homeland, envies his renown and plots his downfall; he goes to Elóis and poisons her ear with lies about Pontus's faithlessness; Elóis carries the slander to Sidoine; the princess rejects Pontus without explanation; his night of anguish; he declares he will leave the land; farewell to Herlant; midnight flight to a hermit's cell in the forest; penance and prayer; the April birdsong.

The faded hue of earlier poems
was tinged with falsehood's burning;
now the quenched fire of glory
I kindle with Hrumning's flame.

May the embers of the learning-pyre
die less before the praise grows heavy;
the eleventh arrow of verse
would fly from Ymir's strings.

I have aimed at no small mark,
if words enough can be found —
might I fit the arrow of glory
to the keen bow of lying mouths.

The fire of envious hatred
roasts men from within,
until in their own substance
they kindle their own lies.

They envy another's welfare most
and think only of their own profit;
for this their constant purpose is
to wound his honour with a lie.

Though it harm them a thousandfold,
they think it no disgrace;
they will do anything at all
to plunge another man in ruin.

Many a man whose heart burns with hatred
strikes from beneath with lies;
I have felt it on myself —
and not the least in recent times.

Now the good God has
raised the truth to the light
and freed me from all distress
and the liars' siege.

Now I am far from their falsehood
and dwell in this fjord;
but the blazing fire of their envy
still burns them from within.

Surely it happens in every trial,
though the hour be long delayed —
the liars always receive their due
at the worst and last.

It shall be proved in this story,
if you will listen to the end,
that the lie bears evil fruit
and all that springs from it.

Gendill was his name, as I relate —
the sole surviving child of Galicia;
no trustworthy faith can be reckoned
in the loyalty of this man.

He saw that the prince's kinsman
won praise from all the nations;
therefore, like a heathen dog,
he hates good Pontus now.

He was mighty forward in speech
and could chatter on many things,
schooled in every trick and deceit
that flowed from the heart's deep well.

Gendill went to Pontus in ill humour,
laden with cunning,
and asked him to give a horse with honour —
the one the princess had given him.

The prince offers every other horse,
promises him another;
says this one he would rather keep
for the thanes outside.

"That will not serve a wise man so;
I speak from the best of intentions:
choose yourself two, if you wish,
the fairest of all my horses."

Gendill says that the Niflungs' grace
has now come to its turning;
he said the prince would not show a warrior's deed
in greater need.

"Friends, I reckon, are hard to find,
though they chatter well enough;
they will stand but poorly in a trial —
in need they never served."

Then he went with fury and wrath
from the prince's gentle company;
hatred and rage stood in his mind,
to be avenged at a later hour.

He did not let that silent affront
content him there;
now against the lord's fair maiden
he plots to slander the prince.

When a little time had passed
and daylight had returned,
he goes to Elóis
and flatters her with gentle words:

"If you will swear an oath to me
never to tell a soul,
then I will gloss for you most sweetly
one needful tale."

And she promised him in turn
never to tell a man;
the fair lady declared
she knew full well how to keep silence.

Gendill began to speak gently
and turned his words just so,
saying it ill befitted him
to betray the lord the king.

"As for his daughter and his queen —
conceal my words from them;
I am duty-bound within this land
to prevent all evil.

My lord Pontus declares
that he loves the king's daughter;
I know this has no ground
from the wellspring of his heart.

I have grown truly certain
he longs for another bride;
therefore she earns no honour
who trusted such a man.

He is skilled at luring ladies,
schooled in youthful vice;
I know he is true to no one —
not to you in this land.

It seems to me surely best
that the bright maiden learn
to guard herself with all her heart
against that worst of traitors."

Elóis answers in return:
"I thought him another man;
until now he has held true faith
with the gentle lady, as befits.

He has shown no failing of honour
nor wished dishonour on the young;
those are slandered most
who are called most praiseworthy."

"Not all that glitters is gold,"
Gendill answered so;
"fair words, cold at the core,
can deceive many a man."

The maiden then believed the tinsel
and trusted Gendill's words;
she wished at once to go from him
home to the castle.

She told her lady
all she had heard,
and so she laid out everything
that this matter demanded.

Sorrow and bitterness settled
in Sidoine's stiff breast,
but she let the lady's virtue
hide the deepest wound.

Then the young prince came,
bright in the land of thought,
to play and entertain the ladies
as was his custom.

So did perilous grief and anguish
stop the gentle maiden's mouth
that she could not answer
one single word to the prince.

Pontus saw on the leek-field's ground
the clearest sign of sorrow;
he goes to find Elóis
and asks what has befallen.

"I do not know what causes it,"
the woman answers the lord;
"I think her heart's grief
will lessen in time."

Again he went, as I was told,
to find the young maiden.
"Who has brewed this evil for you?
I beg you, tell me.

For the sake of my God's grace,
tell me the truth —
has the maiden on this earth been wronged
by me or any other man?"

Sidoine answered with bitterness,
and her voice was hoarse:
"Fickle is the world's faith for many;
tinsel becomes a mocking tale."

Then the bright one walked away,
clad in the dragon's garment;
from her Pontus received
not one word more.

Now the Niflungs' fair heir
stood silent and downcast,
gripped by sorrow, burning red —
he was like a beetroot.

He went away in wretched state;
his breast swelled with grief;
the whole day he spent in dullness,
and heavily it darkened.

Bitterly he bore the sting of sorrow,
wounded by grief's arrow;
Pontus neither ate nor drank,
and so he lay down to rest.

Then he speaks to himself,
thinking of the fair lady:
"Who would murder me
and steal away my joy?

It shall be clear this time,
though the world should know it:
I know of no deed of mine
done by an evil man.

Long nights and dreary days
they set before me like death;
sorrow worsens my bitter state,
slow to ease from my breast."

Thus the prince lamented long,
robbed of gentle sleep;
he lay there through the long night,
little content with his lot.

Sidoine swells with bitter strife,
with sorrow and great sobbing;
the dear one will not eat
nor drink for any length of time.

The noble maiden blamed herself;
the cup-bearer answered:
"Now shall no mortal man
ever have me for his own.

A man of rank has deceived me
and betrayed the trust between us,
and I had thought to love him
most of all mankind.

His courtesy and virtue have grown cold;
his good ways are failing,
though he seemed to bear fame and glory
above all other nations.

Nature is so niggardly
in every respect;
it is a shame if she must split
a single man in two.

No one has ever brewed me
harm or sorrow before;
and so I fear this strong grief
will hold me for a long time."

Often do lies sow contention
between good people;
and so I believe that scorn and hatred
corrupt the purest friendship.

In the morning the bright prince wakes
and went to church to pray,
and after, very troubled, goes
to find the fair Elóis.

"Elóis, I am greatly troubled
by the words the maiden spoke;
for that great hatred and fury
I can muster no glad countenance."

Elóis says there is no ground
for any such thing before her:
"She spoke that way to test you;
I truly believe it so.

Or else some man has slandered you
to the lady;
it cannot harm you —
the truth floats up."

The prince declares then
he shall ride from the land
and not see the maiden again
until kindness is restored.

So he parted from the bower-maiden;
the talk began to lighten;
sorrow settled in silence —
and so he went home with that.

Wisely he prepared his horse and servant,
the prince for his departure;
there was no delay at all —
he took provisions and supplies.

He went to the king straightaway
and received a kind farewell;
he asked for leave — and won it —
to ride out for a time.

Late in the evening he parts from the company,
goes to the sleeping-hall,
hides his journey from most,
but goes to Herlant there.

The prince tells Herlant plainly
that he will ride away
before this night is over —
but Herlant should remain.

Herlant wisely begs him then
not to think or speak such things:
"You shall find beside us
wealth and ample fortune."

Pontus tells the wise man
that so it must be;
he bids him tell no one
that all is ready for the journey.

Swiftly he calls a scribe
and commands the letters written;
no other soul should know
of his departure.

He bade his brothers-in-arms
give the seneschal their obedience,
especially while he rules over them —
refuse no command.

At midnight the prince,
skilled in many arts,
rode away rather quietly
and galloped from there into the forest.

Through bog-paths and the long road
he lets the horses run;
his departure comes quickly;
the maidens weep for him.

He found a hermit there
who governed a lonely cloister,
where at evening the prince
came seeking grace.

It was far from all habitation,
hidden in that forest;
for that they were free from bitterness,
from peril and all contention.

There he dwelt for some time —
noble in that cloister;
he prayed often and slept late
and tormented himself with fasting.

Three days a week he chose
to fast of his own will;
every Friday that lord
wore a hair-shirt next to his skin.

He thinks not to ride further
from home out of the land,
so that he might see everything
if any trouble should arise.

One late April night
bitter sorrows stung him;
in that first hour
the birds of the air sang beautifully.

He composed fair verses then,
wishing to pass the time;
now we shall turn from glory —
the ríma rests here.

Long have I drawn the thread
of Suttungr's cup;
it is time for Thrumnir's thread
to tear silence asunder.

Tólfta Ríma — Twelfth Ríma

Úrkast

The poet asks for silence; Pontus in exile takes the name of the Black Knight, sends a challenge to all champions to meet at Lustfountain; the great tournament — Vernard rides first and is defeated; the year-long contest; Pontus's prowess fills the world with rumour.

Now I would ask all men
to hold their peace,
while the twelfth I kindle
of Kvasir's songs.

Let the noble stream of the gods
lodge in your ears,
while we of Pontus's adventures
hear something yet.

He was gone from the king's hall,
deep in the forest;
for love of the maiden he bore
the scourge of men's slander.

The prince made all his servants
swear their oaths:
no mouth should open
or speak a word of him.

To one of his noblemen
he spoke in trust,
and bade them clothe the youth
in silk and samite.

Horse and byrnie, shield and cloak
he gave to him,
and said he should serve
as courier of his letters.

The letter he writes himself
with his own hand;
all should receive it alike —
thus the prince sent word.

The Black Knight in the sword-storm
he named himself;
all champions who yet live
he summoned to one place.

All the lands' men of skill
at Lustfountain
shall come, noble, together
by the green grove.

Black they will find the warrior's tent
flecked with white;
there the roof of their shields
shall bear these names.

There they may find a fair herald
waiting in discourse;
Fortune's white wheel they may see
upon his garments.

"He will hold a sceptre of rule
in his hand,
and all the names upon your shields
he keeps in mind."

At white dawn the glory-ride
shall begin;
there no mercy
will be asked or found.

Every Monday at the hour of prime
let the bold declare themselves;
he will judge who among the fair
holds the field.

The herald will show him
the wide field;
whomever fair fortune favours
shall there be met.

There one may see the Black Knight
ride from the forest;
he will bear a shield so bright
into the sword-storm.

He will offer every lord
a riding-bout;
three shall ride in proper form
against the good knight.

That contest of glory
shall not cease
until one or the other
wins the victory.

Whoever takes the worse of it,
that good lord
shall present himself as prisoner
to the fairest lady or maid.

He shall show her obedience
in every fashion,
and with joy confess
all service to her.

To the Black Knight let him send
the wise lady's greeting,
and with it all the gladness
in which she once trusted.

If some worthy man
should conquer the Black Knight,
he may send the battle-champion
wherever he will.

At the year's end all shall meet
again together;
in that assembly, honour
shall be rendered to each.

Whoever can best boast of the riding-bout
in the wound-surf,
he shall choose a wreath and crown
of pure gold.

Whoever wins victory by the sword,
he shall receive
a golden crown and gleaming spear
as a prize of joy.

The youth went to find those
who were most famed;
he searched through lands and seas
where men were gathered.

To this contest the master of skill summoned them
at Lustfountain;
every warrior made ready
as best he could.

Men made a long journey,
those eager for renown,
all to behold the tree of arms
at that season.

A host of men flocked there
from nearly every land;
the worthy bore green garlands
with gilded rims.

Proud knights rode home
and dismounted from their steeds;
the herald welcomed them
with the greatest joy.

Strong they found the steward
who bends the steel;
he held the sceptre of rule
in his right hand.

He gave food to men in the tents,
fodder to the horses;
everything was served in truth
with the finest will.

On golden scales they poured wine
as warriors wished;
the wild game was served fine
with generous spirit.

Now shall I tell how warriors prepared
for the riding-bout;
the worthiest of ladies
shall hear the tale.

On Monday morning
men arm themselves;
many a lord and squire
thinks to prove his mettle.

They saw the winged tent, black
and set with stones;
it glowed with bright gold
and rays of pure light.

From that tent they saw the Black Knight
come forth;
this warrior bore so bright
his byrnie's rings.

He holds a cup in one hand
of pure gold;
fortune gave that to the prince
in the sword-surf.

With it he poured water on the ground
as far as he could;
darkness fell for a long time
by Lustfountain.

Wonders began to multiply
and the earth groaned;
most men thought the world
would fall asunder.

The darkness began at last to thin
and the haze to clear;
this amazed most men
when they saw the marvels.

The birds returned, most of them,
to the fair grove;
the mist's power was spent
at that fountain.

The proud knight mounts his horse
with zeal enough;
his squires hand him weapons —
fit for the fray.

His horse was strong and tall,
made for battle's course;
every hoof was shod with gold,
with gleaming harness.

That fair horse was covered
in winged silk;
no one saw any part of it bare
down to the field.

The prince's saddle was set
with precious stones;
he may be called a true courtier
in every respect.

Helm and shield shone like the sun
on the spear-shelf;
Fortune's wheel shall steady him
whom he defeats.

He holds a spear in one hand
of hard steel;
it is said the glad-fire's edge
was not made of dross.

Spurs of gold fasten the feet
of the ring-breaker;
full honour is judged to him
at glory's assembly.

The Black Knight rode forward,
turning his ring;
many a craven's breast
shook with terror.

Now he has come to the wide field
to prove his mettle;
the earth, forests, and mountains tremble
as his steed flies forth.

And now they say that Vernard first
will ride out;
he was most eager for honour
in the hard fight.

Now he makes ready in haste
and trusts his strength;
he leaps into the saddle quick,
that ring-adorned warrior.

He seizes the jousting-lance with both hands,
the spear-breaker;
it is hard to wound him
with sharp rims alone.

If he cannot find the man
who is his match,
where then shall he meet the one
whose prowess fells him?

They rush together on their steeds,
the swift knights;
from that grim encounter
no mercy flows.

It is most like the parable
of the greatest riding-bout,
as though a second charge or lightning came
from east and west.

Let these two battle on
a good long while;
now I am eager to find rest
in the people's judgment.

My speech wearies me here
to speak any longer;
the praise-sea and glory's haven
and Hrumning's catch all fade.

I let the quarrel of Lódin
fall to its end;
take up the twelfth you have —
every stanza told.

Þrettánda Ríma — Thirteenth Ríma

Stafhent

The final ríma; the combat between Pontus and Vernard — lance, then sword; Vernard falls; Pontus sends him as prisoner to Sidoine, the fairest in the land; Vernard tells the court of the Black Knight's prowess; Sidoine begins to suspect who the Black Knight truly is; the tournament continues — Monday by Monday, Gudfrey, Andri, Count Martein, and others fall to the unknown champion; Vernard praises the knight who may be Pontus himself; Sidoine weeps; the poet closes the cycle.

Here rises again the power of speech
of the knight Pontus, ill-disposed;
this game shall please
the poets, and drink to them.

One more fair and keen tale
of Pontus shall be brought forth;
they ride against each other as one may see
and drive their lances into shields.

At the second pass the riding-bout grew grim;
with force they broke the stiff spears;
the byrnie is hard, the craft holds firm;
both horses fell upon the earth.

They sprang to their feet and spoke their challenge,
fierce was their assault to see;
swords they drew and fought then;
those who watched thought it a wonder.

The prince struck with all his might
and gave Vernard no rest;
he defended stoutly with valiant strength,
yet still his power began to fail.

The prince's son in wrath
cut the visor from his helm
and wounded that wise man
so that blood ran down his face.

Vernard then raised his weapon
and would have his revenge on Pontus;
he hardens, for fresh fury burns,
and the blow lands in the shield.

He struck with fury so the guard shattered;
the sword sang fast into the byrnie;
more than a span, by the iron's tooth,
the thin shield was cleft, I trust.

The strong weapon would not come loose;
Vernard surged up with might;
the prince asked with courtesy
that they should cease the combat now.

"Yield yourself now in good faith
to the noblest lady of the land,
a prisoner before me so,
as that sign of honour bids."

He cannot heed a word,
so furious is that proud man;
he rushes then with rage and zeal
fiercely upon lord Pontus.

The clash grew louder; the fair prince
throws him down upon the field;
so he had to lie, his glory dimmed;
the champion enjoyed his victory.

"Be still and stir no fight,"
the prince bids Vernard gently,
"seek now her of whom the tale has told —
the fairest in the land.

Go as my prisoner and make haste;
bear her my greeting on my behalf;
my thought shall remain with that gracious lady,
kindly, while her life endures."

He departed with joy and courtesy;
all men hear of his goodness;
Vernard now may truly
know his virtue and speak of it.

The knight went to that worthy man;
good Vernard took his defeat.
"My master I have found, the excellent one,
who has defeated me this time.

His is the prize and the honour sure;
the highest fame rises through the lands;
he has wisdom as well as honour and might;
he is born of noble stock.

Point me now to the fairest here,
who bears worth above all others;
to her I will go
and tell her of the knight's contest."

He is told that honour and power
Sidoine has won,
above all others in all the world,
as gold outshines copper's gleam.

He mounts his horse and wastes no time
and rides now fast as he can;
the road proves smooth indeed;
from there to Vanis he rode away.

At that hour when the tournament ended,
the Black Knight took his fair horse
upon the green field,
and rode hard into the forest.

The courtly man found a cloister;
the company of clerks praised him;
he rested there by the fountain,
and the best received peace and grace.

Let us now rest here
from telling of the prince's journey;
let us say that Sidoine
was gripped by sorrow and bitter longing.

Day and night, distress unceasing
pressed the ring-guardian;
she mourns that wise man
who last rode from the land.

The fair lady now considers
this riding-bout that has arisen,
thinking she would not speak a word
to the handsome man in her drinking-hall.

The noble lady speaks to herself:
"Foolishness betrayed me,
misery and shame like fortune's theft;
he never has good luck's favour

who spoke such things and lied so well
that evil would richly repay,
and trusted truly now
that he would love another lady.

But his honour is honoured with glory,
shamefully it was driven away;
long the knight rode on and on —
I have grown weary of my own sorrow.

And what is worse, the grief within me
always stays so long."
Night and day with the scourge of need
she now reproaches her own estate.

She wept unceasingly, yet little gladness
came to the good maiden day or night;
she mourns her knight, the wise one;
sorrow dwelt in her stiff heart.

So many a bitter riddle she turned
that Pontus should find no help;
here and there she feared he stayed
so that his honour might not grow.

Vernard, that valiant man,
found the sure way to the fortress;
he came with praise to the king's court;
we need not quarrel about that.

He desired then with good will
to see the king's noble daughter,
who is said to be gracious by true judgment
and adorned with honours at everyone's acclaim.

The prisoner declared and for that purpose asked
to meet her without any haste;
upon her mercy the knight's fate
rests rightly, as was told before.

It is said then that word was sent;
Sidoine was to attend
the king's assembly with kindly spirit
and come there at that same hour.

The maiden went with a worthy escort,
noble from her women's bench,
with a host of men and a garland of ladies;
upon her journey there was no delay.

The flower of women came into the hall;
she was greeted with gentle speech;
she sat down then, as the tale has told,
nearest to her father.

Vernard went to the fair bench;
the maiden took note of it;
before her he stepped and fell upon his knee,
and begged the lady all good fortune.

He spoke aloud, so that swiftly heard
every man within the gate:
"A greeting here from himself,
the Black Knight, I bring to you.

He defeated me, mighty lady —
I will not hide it from you —
and sent me here in true faith;
I declare myself your prisoner now.

I have learned with honour and courtesy,
wherever I have ridden forth,
to seek out the fairest here,
who bears worth above the rest.

Every tongue that spoke with skill —
I believe no one knows it more clearly —
you surpass all others
just as rumour cuts the truth.

The thought of that excellent man,
I remember he pledged you in truth
all his virtue with fair devotion —
my lady, that is no lie."

The rich lady blushed
when she heard the knight's words;
what she treasured most was that most folk
praised the fair maiden best.

She answers then, as the tale has told:
"I may give thanks to all
for this courtesy and the people's praise,
though it far exceeds my desert."

"There is more," said the jewel-reed,
"they have all misjudged themselves,
those who now choose me
as the fairest lady on their oath.

They deceive themselves who speak of me,
and I believe their wandering step;
far from the truth is what folk see —
that praise should belong to me."

The gold-woman answered, her voice breaking:
"To the Black Knight I give my thanks
for the honour he has shown me here —
do you know what manner of man he is?"

"I cannot fully say;
a good knight he is to see;
no man in the world
can defeat him in hard combat.

Like Pontus he seems to me,
somewhat taller, the mighty lord —
or else, as the world has said,
he has won a place in Hungary.

He rides to battle as wide as the world
and wins the victory every time;
no one of his retinue knows a thing —
no other man, though he search far.

They talk in town, over field and market;
I think they bear little sorrow;
truly he is that valiant man —
the Black Knight he calls himself."

"Next Monday the greatest bout shall begin,"
lord Vernard spoke most grandly,
"the riding-bout shall commence then
with the finest knight in every land.

Gudfrey shall against that worthy man
make his shield run red;
and he will come here, we hope,
indeed as your prisoner too.

The third, then — Andri has him;
he will show his riding-bout and prove his mettle;
I know that a fair season
will follow in due time.

The fourth contest, before the lady fair,
he must endure with the pale-shafted spears;
I name that noble man —
Count Martein is his name.

Around the year the stern battle rages,
the bright steels test their edge;
the road is straight but surely slow —
one champion falls each week.

More there will be, by my reckoning,
who will declare, lest I be humbled,
in this same way, more worthily
a prisoner won than I."

The king is glad, swift with kindness;
every man within rejoices;
the gold-woman then with the wise one
casts her joy upon him.

"Prisoners here shall first with me,
noble knights, you dwell;
a hard trial for honour and glory
befits you before you depart."

Vernard laughed at the fair maiden:
"I would choose, slender lady,
such a prison beside the silk-goddess
as pains me now in your hall.

I endure it gladly with gentle warmth,
this time that I am staying;
not before the year, my fairest lady,
will you gain that one."

The words end, and the gold-guardian
bade farewell to all with gentle speech;
a dance begins among the garland of women —
more than a thousand came.

Though she seemed merry, that fair one,
still her inward bearing
was far from joyful, free from sorrow,
in the play of her own heart.

My tale of glory now shall rest;
here I lock the poem-hall;
the words are written, most now faded —
if one reads them right at all.

Colophon

Pontus rímur — thirteen rímur by Magnús Jónsson prúði, based on the French Pontus et Sidoine via Icelandic prose saga. The cycle survives in numerous manuscripts and was among the most widely copied rímur in Iceland.

Translated from Middle Icelandic by the New Tianmu Anglican Church (NTAC + Claude), 2026. Source text from Icelandic Wikisource (is.wikisource.org), based on the critical edition: Grímur M. Helgason (ed.), Rit Rímnafélagsins X: Pontus rímur (Reykjavík: Rímnafélagið, 1961).

All thirteen rímur translated. First complete English translation of the cycle.

Scribal credit: Rímur Tulku lineage, sub-miko of the New Tianmu Anglican Church.

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Source Text

Fyrsta Ríma — Ferskeytt

Ferskeytt

1. Jafnan held eg hæsta ráð,
   hvað sem mann vill enda,
   að biðja guð um nokkra náð
   nýta sér að senda.

2. Annars tekst á öngan veg
   áform neinna þjóða;
   það sem hefi með höndum eg,
   honum vil eg um bjóða.

3. Finnist nokkur neisti hér
   nýtur í kvæðum mínum,
   það guði einum þakki þér,
   er þetta veitir sínum.

4. Eg hefi hér við lítið lag
   lagt á þetta kvæði
   að vanda svo um breyttan brag,
   beint sem efnið stæði.

5. Hrósun öngva ætla eg mér
   að auka í þessu neina,
   heldur öðrum gamna gjör,
   ef guð vill ekki meina.

6. Af mér rímur yrkjast smár,
   eina hef eg tilbúna,
   nema lýðum lítist skárr
   letinni undir fúna.

7. Misjafnt lof af mönnum fá,
   margan trú eg blekki;
   vondra lýða lastan má
   letja mig frá ekki.

8. Sérliga bið eg samt um heim
   mér sannmælis unna;
   hef eg ei tungu heft á þeim,
   sem hálfu betur kunna.

9. Einninn bið eg alla þess,
   sem eyrindin skrifa og læra,
   að láta ekki ljóða vess
   úr laginu neinu færa.

10. Skal eg við hvörn þann skilja til,
    sem skrifar að vilja sínum,
    að eg gjöri á öllum skil
    orðunum sjálfur mínum.

11. Og svo bið eg alla þá
    til illsku mér ei virða,
    þó eg segi sannleik frá
    um sýslan heimsins stirða.

12. Dragi sér enginn manna móð
    af mínum brag til styggðar;
    þetta gjört er greindri þjóð
    til gleði, en ekki hryggðar.

13. Eg skal efna ævintýr
    eitt í kvæðum mínum,
    hvörsu jafnan drottinn dýr
    dugnað veitir sínum.

14. Þeim sem elska og óttast hann,
    öllum heitir launum,
    yfirgefur aldri þann
    í hans háska og raunum.

15. Hefi eg því mest í minni lagt
    af mörgum þessa eina
    historíu, sem mest er makt,
    í mínum kvæðum greina.

16. Hvör sem vill með hæversku sér
    hegða í orði og æði,
    setji þvílíkt sjónargler
    sér fyrir augun bæði.

17. Þar fyrir er það þeim ein synd,
    þetta má svo kalla,
    þessa ljósu, lifandi mynd
    láta úr minni falla.

18. Vér erum beðnir víst um það
    vísna smíð að greina;
    því skal byrja beint í stað
    brúðum frásögn eina.

19. Galisía gjörði einn
    göfugur kóngur stýra;
    Tíbúrtíus, herra hreinn,
    hét hans nafnið dýra.

20. Hélt hann frið og helgan rétt,
    heiðnar þjóðir deyddi,
    þar með grið og göfuga stétt,
    goðanna átrú eyddi.

21. Hans var kvonguð kónglig náð,
    á Kristum guðsson trúði;
    af Aragónía ítri láð
    ættaða fékk hann brúði.

22. Bar af hvörri mennt og mekt
    mæt, er kóngurinn átti,
    kunni alla kurt og spekt,
    sem kvinnur prýða mátti.

23. Bæði voru þau góð og gegn,
    guðligan lifnað frömdu;
    aldri spurðist fegri fregn;
    á fróma alla tömdu.

24. Sín á millum svinnust einn
    son þau dýran gátu;
    Pontus hét sá hýri sveinn,
    er hjó oft vargi átu.

25. Blíður af þeim í breyttum sal
    bar sem gull af eiri;
    af honum seinna segja skal;
    við söguna koma fleiri.

26. Í þennan tíma, það skal tjá,
    þeim sem hlýða vilja,
    Óríent stýrði soldán sá
    við söguna má ei skilja.

27. Að mekt og valdi var hann svo ríkur
    og veraldar góssi mestu,
    að enginn fannnst þar annar slíkur,
    átrú hafði vestu.

28. Lék við alla kristna kalt,
    kvaldi og rændi þjóðir,
    þar með drap og deyddi allt
    sem dýr eður vargar óðir.

29. Fjóra átti soldán sér
    syni í þennan tíma,
    þar með vopn og valdan her,
    til víga fús að stíma.

30. Kóngur talar við sonu sín,
    so þeir allir hlýða:
    „Eg vil birta ætlan mín
    fyrir eyrum minna lýða.

31. Minn skal einn hinn elzti son
    eignast lönd og ríki;
    þrír eiga öngva þar til von,
    þó þeim illa líki.

32. Þrjátigi skal hvör þúsund manns
    þiggja stríðs tilbúna,
    nauðþurft alla og annan fans
    með eyki gulli snúna.

33. Skip og góss sem gjald og menn,
    góðlig vopn og hesta,
    á meðan endast árin þrenn,
    ekki skal yður bresta.

34. Yðar hver skal sigla sér,
    so sem forlög standa;
    það væri kjör, ef kæmumst vér
    til kristinna manna landa.

35. Boðið trú á Machúmet,
    mun þess nafnið æðra;
    þraut eg slíka þegnum set,
    og þann tel eg æðstan bræðra.“;

36. Þessu játa bræður beint,
    búast þaðan að halda,
    létu bera á borðið steint
    byrðir grænna skjalda.

37. Þrjátigi þúsund þriggja hvör
    þaðan úr landi hafði;
    skeyti og hernesk fór í för
    og flest það nauðsyn krafði.

38. Kvendið grét, en kættist vargur,
    kveinar í hvörju holti;
    hornið gall, er hélt so margur
    úr höfnum riddarinn stolti.

39. Úr höfnum burt að bryggju sporður
    brast og sjávar þilja;
    lenda mitt í löndum norður
    lýðir þessir vilja.

40. Undu segl við siglu trés;
    söng þá veður í reiðum;
    þeyttum munni byrinn blés
    báru elgs á skeiðum.

41. Tárast loft, en sveipast sól
    sorgar faldi brúnum;
    hættan vóx, en skorti skjól;
    skellur sjór að húnum.

42. Sterkir vindar vögnum sjós
    um vatna brautir óku;
    um síðir norður lýður ljós
    land fyrir stöfnum tóku.

43. Á hvörju helzt sem hugurinn stár
    og hjartans girndin stangar,
    þar til maður þetta fár,
    þolir hann raunir langar.

44. Frost og hita, sorg og sár
    sigrar von þess góða,
    sé það heiður, sókn til fjár
    eður sætlig elskan fljóða.

45. Falla allir faldar trés;
    friðaðist reiðin græði;
    þornar sveitinn hesta hlés;
    hrinda vindar mæði.

46. Spanía kom að soldáns son,
    sá sem Pródus heitir,
    dró sér þá að vísu von
    að vinna kristnar sveitir.

47. Á Galisía gekk hann land,
    grimmur í brynju skærri,
    tuttugu mönnum beint í bland
    borg Sólógírem nærri.

48. Að fjórum hlutum frétti þá,
    er fann af byggðar mönnum:
    hvað landið hét og herra sá,
    hans að trúnað sönnum.

49. Þeir sögðu honum hið sanna til,
    sem að hann eftir frétti;
    þegar hann veit á þessu skil,
    þá frá landi setti.

50. Hann lézt mundi halda á braut,
    huldur gýgjar fiðri,
    kvaddi þá og kristnum laut,
    en kalt bjó undir niðri.

51. Ótrú sannast útlenzks hér,
    öngan skal því leyna;
    oftast hjartað ólíkt er
    orðum þeirra að reyna.

52. Fölsurum er það furðutítt,
    sem frómum lízt ei skarta;
    lætur einn sem bróðir blítt,
    býr þó illt í hjarta.

53. Lagði skipin leyni í,
    leitar ráðs við sína;
    fluttu stefnu þá með því
    þeir velja kaupmenn fína.

54. Biður þá öldin ekki prúð
    eigi lengi dvelja,
    segir, að þeir skyldu skrúð
    og skarlat látast selja.

55. Þar með sykur og silki frítt
    til sölu bjóða skyldu,
    flugél, guðvef, bjart og blítt
    boð síns herra fylldu.

56. Trúligt ráð þeir tempra það
    að taka svo að kveldi
    hús í þessum stóra stað,
    er sterka vörðu héldi.

57. Að morgni skyldu múra á
    menn þeir heiðnu ganga,
    so liggja mætti í leyni hjá
    liðsfólk kóngs hið stranga.

58. Stigar skulu við stræti hvört
    sterkir þá til greiða;
    ef þeir fá nú allt það gjört,
    eitthvað ber til veiða.

59. Þegar ráð er þetta statt,
    þá vill flest til sorgar;
    af skipunum tólf þeir skunda hratt
    skálkar heim til borgar.

60. Gjörðu rétt sem ríkur bauð,
    ráð síns herra fylldu,
    létust hafa allan auð,
    sem ýmsir kaupa vildu.

61. Sögðust vera Cípren af
    sendir menn til kaupa;
    hvör út þeirra gjaldið gaf,
    gjörðu margt að raupa.

62. Brynju allir bjarta þeir
    bera klæðum undir;
    drengir þess sem dimmir meir
    drekka á ýmsar lundir.

63. Nóttin sveipast himna hjúp,
    heldur ljós á flótta,
    stóran skugga dró yfir djúp,
    daginn myrkrið sótta.

64. Þarf ei lengja þetta spil,
    þanninn tókst að bragði;
    allt gekk það á einn veg til,
    eins og Pródus sagði.

65. Þegar vaktin var á braut
    víst á múrnum gengin,
    heiðin þessa þjóðin naut;
    þá uggði manna enginn.

66. Þá voru komnir þúsund manns
    þeirra heiðnu seggja
    saman í breiðan brodda krans
    borgar innan veggja.

67. Dagurinn kom, en renndi rauð
    reiðum sólin augum;
    hlakkar fold, þá fögur að bauð
    í fylsni myrkra draugum.

68. Horn var þeytt, en bumba börð,
    bilaði hjartað deigum;
    öll jörð skalf, þá aðsókn hörð
    aldur stytti feigum.

69. Þegar herlið höggva má,
    hjartað viknar móði;
    þeir vildu ei heldur vægja þá
    en vargar sauða blóði.

70. Myrtu og drápu einn veg allt
    unga menn og gamla;
    gjörist þeim kristnu geysivalt,
    ef guð vill ekki hamla.

71. Örva él að drífur dimmt;
    dýrar meyjar harma;
    vargar sóttu flokkum fimt
    fæðu sína varma.

72. Kóngur og drottning fregna fljótt
    fögnuð þrotinn mesta,
    í einum sal þau skrýðast skjótt;
    skerða heiðnir flesta.

73. Tíbúrt verst, en vill ei hann
    verða tekinn höndum;
    og mjög vel berst hinn mæti mann,
    móður í háska vöndum.

74. Kom þar loks, að kóngurinn hné
    kristinn dauður að velli;
    létu heiðnir liggja í hlé
    að leifa fleirum elli.

75. Dauði er vegur og leið til lífs,
    af löstum hjálpar sönnum,
    upphaf góðs, en ending kífs
    öllum kristnum mönnum.

76. Þreyttra hvíld og trega traust
    tel eg líkams dauða;
    gleðinnar lán og lífsins raust
    lausn er allra nauða.

77. Svo má sjá, að lukku lán
    lýði gjörir að pretta;
    þá varir minnst, í mestu smán
    menn að jafnan detta.

78. Því er hóf í heiðri bezt
    að halda öllum mönnum,
    styggja ei þá veitir vest,
    en vera með drengskap sönnum.

79. Enginn má hér ósköp nein
    af sér nokkur kaupa,
    ekki heldur gæfu grein
    gjöra á mis við hlaupa.

80. Efni valt hefur oss svo allt
    eðli fest á hjóli;
    þó syngi snjallt, þá situr þó hallt
    sérhvör maður á stóli.

81. Drottning gat um dyr út hleypt,
    döpur af stórri mæði;
    einn hefur möttul yfir sig steypt,
    en ekki fleiri klæði.

82. Út á nokkurn eyðiskóg
    með eina jungfrú vendi;
    eftir af sögunni enn er nóg
    ævintýr fyrir hendi.

83. Pontus kóngsson komst á braut
    og kapellán hans teiti
    dýrum fylgdi dreng með skraut,
    Damptenus að heiti.

84. Með honum voru í fylgd og för
    fjörutigi eðla barna;
    þessi vill með þýðlig svör
    þeim við dauða varna.

85. Héldu í fjalli hellir einn,
    höfðu öngva fæðu
    dagana þrjá; hinn dýri sveinn
    við Damptenum hóf so ræðu:

86. „Oss hæfir ekki hér til dauðs
    í hellir inni að svelta;
    vildi annað efni auðs
    uppi á hjóli velta.

87. Blíður guð mun bjarga enn
    burt úr angri nauða,
    so vér séum ei sjálfir menn
    sekir í vorum dauða.“;

88. Presturinn bannar börnum þá
    í burtu þaðan að ganga,
    segir, ef hlaupa hellir frá,
    heiðnir muni þau fanga.

89. Prestur sleppti piltum þá,
    Pontus ráðin kéru,
    hlaupa síðan hellir frá;
    af heiðnum teknir vóru.

90. Dvínar ófróðum mínum móð,
    mest vend prestum senda;
    þín mun ljóð, hið fína fljóð,
    flest kennd bezt að enda.

91. Kvæða smíði hæfir hóf,
    hætti brátt að létta;
    fræðið líður, lofa eg próf
    lítt sé bætt um þetta.

Önnur Ríma — Samhent

Samhent

1. Enn fer eg með annan slag
   upp að byrja þennan dag,
   styðja á fætur fallinn brag
   og finna nýrra óðar lag.

2. Hér fer eg með kvæði kátt
   að kynna yður á nýjan hátt,
   so þér mættuð sjálfir brátt
   sannar dygðir iðka þrátt.

3. Lít með innri augum á
   og eyrum heyr eg greini frá;
   meðan list að lærir þá
   langt eyrindi að þeim ná.

4. Þó eg segi sinni mitt,
   so vil eg allir gefi það kvitt,
   reiðist ei þó raunar hitt,
   að ræði fólk um álit sitt.

5. Það er ei hofmenn hugsast mér,
   þó hispri þeir í klæðum sér;
   og ei sá heldur með auðinn fer
   og alla dýrð, sem heimurinn lér.

6. Tveir eru menn í hvörjum hér;
   heilög skrift það greinir mér;
   ytri bæði og innri er,
   eflaust geym í minni þér.

7. Klæð þinn ytra og innra mann
   öllum dygðum á minn sann;
   þá mun þykjast heppinn hann,
   hvör sá maður þig prísa kann.

8. Læri hvör að sigra sig;
   son minn, viltú heyra mig;
   ráð er bezt þú þekkir þig;
   það er íþrótt prýðilig.

9. Sjálfs þíns blíða blekkja kann;
   bróðir, hugsa prettinn þann;
   hræsnin aldri heiður vann;
   hvörn guð þekkir lifandi mann.

10. Oft er í ljósi eyrir sá,
    sem undir snjónum fólginn lá,
    til lítils kemur á sjónum sjá
    að setja hús eður vindi á.

11. Allar dygðir andinn gaf;
    ei kann heimurinn segja af;
    þessar sömu í hirzlu haf,
    so hræsnin dragi ekki í kaf.

12. Þann eg held nú mestan mann,
    sem mótgang heimsins líða vann;
    sárar girndir ei sigra þann
    í sorg og gleði sér hegða kann.

13. Hann sem er glaður hvörninn snýst,
    með hófi tekur allt, sem býðst,
    lærir sig að sigra fyrst,
    af sorgum heimsins aldri lýst.

14. Þar með fróður að forðast vél
    og forsjá kunni hjartans þel,
    alla smán að umber vel;
    eg þann rétta styrkinn tel.

15. Falinn stendur, fátækur ríkur,
    fríður, ljótur reiknast slíkur;
    kvalinn, sæll og kóngum líkur,
    klæddur pelli, þó beri flíkur.

16. Fanginn laus, en lifir deyddur;
    lastaður prísast, ríkur sneyddur;
    veraldligur allur eyddur
    yfirvinnur píslum neyddur.

17. Líkaminn þá fallinn fraus,
    fékk sér sálin varmað hús;
    þá ytri er fanginn, innri laus,
    allra bezta frelsi kaus.

18. Þá hold er sterkt, en sálin sjúk,
    sínum verður að hlýða búk,
    þá er ekki þrælkan mjúk,
    þola má hans vald og brúk.

19. Þá má kallast sálin sæl,
    sér á hún fyrir líkam þræl,
    skipar honum djörf og dæl
    dygða veginn aftur á hæl.

20. Hugsa um það held eg skárr
    hvörn einn daginn síð og ár,
    jafnan hvar þú gengur og gár,
    gröf fyrir þínum fótum stár.

21. Valtur heimur virðist mér;
    veit það einn sá reynir gjör;
    elskum guð um allt fram vér;
    ekkert vissara en dauðinn er.

22. Annað birti eg öllum spil,
    þó á því kunni lítil skil;
    þeim mun heldur vera í vil
    eg víki aftur sögunnar til.

23. Þegar að sólin harmi hratt,
    hryggð af öllum skepnum datt,
    lifandi dýrin léku glatt,
    laufið út á blómi spratt.

24. Svo er varið sögunni hér;
    segja skal, hvör háttur er,
    hvörsu Pontus hegðar sér
    hjá heiðnum þjóðum sem honum ber.

25. Hann af öllum börnum bar,
    blíður í nauðum staddur var;
    af heiðnum neyddur höndum þar,
    hæverskt greiddi kóngi svar.

26. Kóngur býður börnum þá
    að birta sínu slekti frá,
    og hvörja iðju höfðu há,
    er herramönnum þéntu hjá.

27. „Erum fátækrar ættar vér.“
    einn þá Pontus kóngi tér,
    „ól oss Tíbúrt öll upp hér
    fyrir einn guð, so þér skiljið gjör.

28. Vér fæddum hunda og hauka hans,
    herra kóngur, og annan fans
    eftir sið hér innan lands,
    einninn boði stjórnarans.“

29. „Á yðrum klæðum og ásján má
    annað snið,“ kvað kóngur, „sjá;
    eg ætla hitt, sem enn skal tjá,
    að ættuð sé stórum herrum frá.

30. Eg vil bjóða börnum nú
    beint að láta af sinni trú;
    ef ekki dugir upptekt sú,
    á annan veg skal ráði snú.

31. Takið trú á Machúmet;
    mun það skást, eg þar til get;
    þetta boð eg börnum set.“
    Blíð þau fyrir sér standa lét.

32. „Fanga munuð fremd af mér,
    ef fögnuð þennan kjósi þér;
    annars dauðann yður eg sver;
    er þá keypt að öllu verr.

33. Annars hagur er orðinn hrelldur;
    er sá heimskur slíku veldur;
    veljið, hvort þér viljið heldur;
    að vísu yðar makinn geldur.“

34. Enn réð Pontus anza þá:
    „Aldri göngum vér trúnni frá;
    í yðar valdi er sem má
    oss að leggja dauðann á.“

35. „Illa mun ganga á minn sann
    fyrir átrú ranga,“ sagði hann;
    „þér skuluð fanga fullvel þann,
    sem fæsta langa eftir kann.“

36. Riddari einn var kóngi kær,
    kvöld og morgna gekk honum nær;
    Patríces, það vitum vær,
    var hans nafn; sá lukku fær.

37. Hann nam trúa á helgan Krist
    heimugliga, með allri list,
    af heiðnum neyddur harðri vist;
    hafði fyrir það einörð misst.

38. Gekk fyrir kóng og gæfu bað,
    gerir so haga orðum að:
    „Náðugi herra, heyrið það,
    hvað eg til legg í annan stað.

39. Ef yðar þætti æðstri náð
    eins og mér um þetta ráð,
    hef eg að því gjörla gáð;
    gjörist að heyra þörfin bráð.

40. Eg vil taka börnin blíð
    beint með mér á þessari tíð,
    undirvísa árla, síð,
    ef yðar trú þeim kennist fríð.

41. Ef það tekst á öngan veg,
    annað ráð skal sjá til eg;
    séu þau í þessu treg,
    þá tvímæli allt af dreg.

42. Þau skulu ekki gjöra oss grand
    né ganga lífs um nokkurt land;
    eg skal þeim hefna harðri hand,
    heiti eg því með tryggða band.

43. Eg skal fyrir þeim eitthvað sjá;
    aldri skulu þau lífi ná.“
    Pródus kvað við kærligt já;
    kóngi síðan gengu frá.

44. Pontus og so öll börn smá
    óvænt þótti horfast á,
    ekki meintu annað þá
    en þau mundu dauðann fá.

45. Allsvaldandi einn guð er,
    um aldir sína miskunn lér,
    hjálpar þeim í hörmung fer,
    af himnum þeirra ánauð sér.

46. Riddarinn leiddi börnin brátt
    beint með sér í húsið smátt,
    gjörði að hóta grimmu þrátt,
    ef gleymdu ei sínum tekna hátt.

47. Anza börnin öll á mót:
    „Ei vér hræðunst þvílík hót;
    vér tökum ei veika makt í mót;
    Machúmets trú er yfrið ljót.“

48. Riddarinn fann þau full með dygð,
    föst í trú fyrir utan blygð;
    þar af fékk hann fagra frygð
    og fagnar þeim án allri styggð.

49. Blíður spurði börnin þá,
    hvört borðað hefðu nokkrum hjá;
    honum hið sanna hermdu frá,
    að hungur liðu um dagana þrjá.

50. Drykk og fæðu gaf þeim greitt;
    guðsbörn ekki vantar neitt;
    er þeim nú með öllu veitt,
    sem eftir kann að verða beitt.

51. Börnin ræða beint um það,
    hvört bera skuli sig fæðu að:
    „Oss á að deyða öll í stað.“
    En þau Pontus þegja bað.

52. Hann huggar þau og hermir þá:
    „Hjartans vinir, lítið á.“
    Kvað í herrans höndum stá
    að hjálpa písl og dauða frá.

53. „Vér vitum það, að einn guð er
    almáttugan játa ber;
    hann vora neyð og vanmátt sér;
    verum glaðir, hvað sem sker!“

54. Hrópa þá með hárri raust
    af hjarta og munni efalaust,
    báðu guð með blíðri raust
    börnum sínum veita traust.

55. Riddara þóknast, rétt eg tel,
    ræða Ponto yfrið vel,
    baðst þá fyrir með blíðu þel,
    að börnin sláist ekki í hel.

56. Frá þeim víkur geysigreitt
    gengur að sjó með fólk ei neitt;
    en ef fleira verður veitt,
    vænt hann keypti skipkorn eitt.

57. Bjó til skip og bera lét fljótt
    bjór og vín á þeirri nótt,
    um sig hafði heldur hljótt,
    honum var ei með öllu rótt.

58. Byr var nógur, en bilar ei rá;
    bjó til skip sem fljótast má,
    mat og drykk um mánuði þrjá;
    mun þeim endast kostur sá.

59. Í sínu valdi hafði hann
    heldur gamlan kristinn mann
    dagliga þenkja á dauðann vann,
    drottin lofa tíðum kann.

60. Honum í hendur börnin blíð
    bráðliga fékk á þeirri tíð,
    áminnandi árla og síð
    ekki dvelja langa hríð.

61. Leggja bauð í leyni eitt,
    lét þeim allt í hendur greitt;
    hamingju guð þá hefur þeim veitt,
    á haf út komust yfrið breitt.

62. Skipmann tók sér eina ár
    og fyrir börnin þessi gár,
    er nú glaður, en ekki fár;
    efni í góðan punkt að stár.

63. Ungi Pontus anzar þá
    í annað sinn sem heyra má:
    „Góði vin, vér gjörum tjá
    guði lof þú ert oss hjá.

64. Göfgum hans guðligu náð
    góða forsjá hefur oss tjáð;
    vort allt biðjum hann vernda ráð;
    vera mun til þess þörfin bráð.

65. Fær oss rétt í Flandern þú,
    til Frakka ríkis ella snú;
    það væri gæfa guðlig nú,
    góð ef tækist ætlan sú.“

66. Þessu játar skipmann skjótt,
    skipar þeim gleðjast öllum fljótt:
    „Vér höfum mat og vista gnótt,
    vor mun ætlan ganga ótt.“

67. Eðli Pontus heyrði hann,
    hvað þar talar hinn gamli mann;
    hjartað gleði og fögnuð fann;
    fyrir þá náð hann drottni ann.

68. Biður þau falla á bæði hné,
    blessuðum guði þakkir té;
    honum um aldir heiður sé,
    af hvörs manns tungu lofið ske.

69. Barnið hvört með blíðu geð
    biðja þanninn fyrir sér réð,
    væri guðs það vilja með
    að vernda oss sá náð fær téð.

70. Síðan allt að settu traust
    á sannan drottin efalaust,
    sungu lof með sætri raust,
    af sorgum öllum gjörðust hraust.

71. Pontus sigldi af sagðri hafn,
    sjónar lét hann fljúga hrafn;
    honum er engi að heiðri jafn,
    hefur alltíð varandi nafn.

72. Vindur landi veik þeim frá,
    veðrið stóð í seglin há,
    ýta hlaut þeim aldan blá
    undan landi, fram á sjá.

73. Sinna feðra firrast dyr,
    fjölgar nauð og allan styr,
    staðir og lönd að stóru kyrr,
    steytti þau frá landi byr.

74. Látum mæta sigla um sjá,
    sátu að gæta stjórnar þá;
    káta vætir glýjan grá;
    gátu bæti hvör sem má.

75. Allir virða efnið mitt,
    orðgnótt stirða, en prísa sitt;
    ei mun eg hirða um þann kvitt,
    öngra byrða leita vítt.

76. Ef elska sjálfs að er í för,
    ei fæ eg á dómi kjör;
    sína fordild sækir hvör;
    svo eru flestra bræðra pör.

77. Vegsemd önga virðing ber;
    vanþökk heimur í staðinn tér;
    grandvarliga gæt að þér;
    guð himnanna allt að sér.

78. Líður á nátt, en lauka gátt
    lætur dátt til sængur brátt;
    lykta eg þátt á þennan hátt
    þiggja mátt og gjör þér kátt.

''Á eftir fjórðu vísu vantar punkt í útgáfunni og er það leiðrétt hér.

Þriðja Ríma — Gagaraljóð

Gagaraljóð

Fjórða Ríma — Braghent

Braghent

Fimmta Ríma — Stafhent

Stafhent

Sjötta Ríma — Ferskeytt

Ferskeytt

Þriðja Ríma — Gagaraljóð

1. Enginn brunnur er svo smár,
   að ekki fljóti nokkuð af;
   upp er kominn óður klár,
   sá áður fyrri sökk í kaf.

2. Ef byrði einn hann bindur sér,
   bera hlýtur herðum á;
   ei fer þetta ólíkt mér,
   ef að því vildi nokkur gá.

3. Upphaf flestir allir vær
   erum fúsir að byrja það,
   en hvörn miðil eður endir fær,
   ekki verður gætt svo að.

4. Mig hefur þess so margur beitt
   að mæla Ponto nokkuð frá;
   vill ei þetta veita greitt,
   því verð að stunda annað á.

5. Því skal strax hinn þriðja þátt
   þeim afhenda fyrst til sanns;
   og enn þó nú sé ára fátt,
   einhvörn tíma kemst til lands.

6. Áður en byrjað efnið er,
   annað fyrri birta vil,
   það sem helzt að hugsast mér,
   hvörninn gengur í landi til.

7. Allra gagn það undir gár;
   ósamþykkið veldur því;
   enginn hirðir, hvörninn stár
   hagur þessu landi í.

8. Þegar kemur af sundi sér,
   sjálfur þykist heppinn sá,
   hugsar ekki hvörninn fer
   hans landsmönnum eftir á.

9. Ólög þar fyrir aukast mörg
   og illur vani landi á;
   enginn vinnur bót né björg;
   bana játar hvör sem má.

10. Undir kóng og kirkju er
    komið vort góss, en stirðna hót,
    út af landi flýgur og fer;
    fátækt gén þar tekst á mót.

11. Mega það allir augum sjá,
    sem eru að vísu hyggnir menn,
    vort mun land ei lengi stá;
    liðinn þess eg blóma kenn.

12. Eg hefi nú tólf og tuttugu ár
    og trúi að gjöra á sönnu skil
    og efast, hvört að Ísland stár,
    ef önnur gár sem þessi til.

13. Því skal hugsa hvör einn til,
    að hann af guði skapaður er,
    föður síns landi víst í vil
    að vera til gagns, það þörf til sér.

14. Ekki stunda á eigið gagn,
    annars nauðsyn líta á,
    sem hann hefur til mátt og magn;
    mætti landið uppreisn fá.

15. Hlífi guð sá hjálpa kann
    og hjartaprýði þar til ber;
    líf og góss að leggi út hann,
    so laga og réttar njótum vér.

16. Enginn veit, hvað miklu má
    maðurinn orka, ef viljinn er,
    hörmung landi hjálpa frá;
    að höndum eftirdæmið fer.

17. Víkjum til þar reyndar rétt
    riddarinn skildi börnin við;
    honum veitti að vísu létt
    að veita þeim hið bezta lið.

18. Gekk fyrir kóng og kvaddi hann
    kurtisliga að morgni dags:
    „Náðugi herra, heyr fyrir sann,
    eg hefndi yðar á börnum strax.

19. Vildu ei trúa á Machúmet;
    maður að hefna eg skyldur var;
    dálig þar fyrir deyða lét;
    dró oss um þau ekki par.“

20. „Hvörninn gekk það hjá þér til?
    Herm oss, Patríces, þar af;
    var oss þetta víst í vil,
    þeim væri drekkt í sjóvar haf.“

21. „Náðugi herra, hlýðið mér,
    heyra munuð og aldri sjá;
    þessi börn, sem birtum vér,
    bráðliga voru drekkt oss frá.

22. Eg lét hrinda út á haf
    á einu skipi brotnu þeim;
    þar veit eg með öllu af,
    að þau dauðinn sótti heim.“

23. „Mig hefur dreymt einn draum í nátt,
    dapra ber eg þar fyrir rödd;
    eg þóttist vera á þennan hátt
    og þessi börn í skógi stödd.

24. Og sá vænsti ungi sveinn;
    allmargt ræddi hann við mig,
    líkur að sjá sem ljóni einn,
    læti hafði ofurlig.

25. Kreisti hann mig í klónum fast
    og kippti mér so undir sig;
    að þessum leik mér þeygi gazt,
    mér þótti hann deyða sjálfan mig.

26. Er eg því hryggur og furðufár,
    að frekt muni ganga þanninn til;
    gjörir mér uggur spurn sem spár,
    á spektar grun so fangi skil.“

27. Riddarinn svarar kóngi kær:
    „Kvíðið ekki slíku þér;
    í draumi margur maður er ær;
    melancolia þetta er.“

28. „Eg vildi gjarnan væri það,“
    að vísu kóngur mælti þá.
    Riddarinn veik svo orðum að
    í annað sinn, sem heyra má:

29. „Náðugi herra, hafið að gáð,
    hvörninn landi vart að er?
    Eg er skyldur yðar náð
    á öllu skil að kynna hér.

30. Þér hafið að vísu hið vænsta land
    með vopnum yðar unnið nú
    og viljið deyða harðri hand
    hvörn sem ekki skiptir trú.

31. Landið er þá allt ónýtt,
    og engin gæði færir það;
    ekki er þá allvel býtt;
    upptekt sú hefur lítinn stað.

32. Öllum eru þau orðtök gjörn
    eins sé landið manna fátt,
    sem ofn án hita eður sú kvörn
    aldri snýst á nokkurn hátt.

33. Látið heldur landi á
    lifa hvörn sem sýnist mann,
    yður skatta og skyldur fá;
    og skulu svo hlýða á minn sann.

34. Það mun auka megn og mátt;
    megið so hreppa þar af not;
    yður mun aldri afla fátt
    alla að vinna staði og slot.“

35. Kóngurinn sór við Machúmet:
    „Meistaraligt þér kennið ráð;
    yður eg þar til einan set
    allt að ríða um þetta láð.

36. Færið oss alla fanga þá,
    sem fríða vora girnast trú;
    hvör skal hreppa heiður sá;
    hermið þeim hið sanna nú.“

37. Gaf honum bréf og bífalning,
    sem byrja þykir tignum enn,
    lét hann ríða land um kring
    að leggja skatt á alla menn.

38. Riddarinn hugsar ráðið nú,
    reyndar lífið kristnum gaf,
    so þeir þá fyrir sína trú
    sjálfir biðu ei dauðann af.

39. Síðan ríður um lönd og láð
    lýðinn þýðan skatta þá,
    kvíðann stríðan kætti náð,
    krafði, hafði peninga frá.

40. Greifa af Estor fríðan fann,
    fallna kóngsins bróðir var;
    sá var gamall mæti mann,
    mestan sigur í æsku bar.

41. Leiddi hann í húsið eitt,
    hagar so sínum orðum þá:
    „Eg veit, herra, heldur greitt,
    hvörri ætt þér eruð frá.

42. Þér munuð stunda að styrkja menn
    og stoða yðru landi nú,
    hvörju heiðnir halda enn
    í harðri nauð fyrir kristna trú,

43. þar til guð vill þeirra pín
    með þýðri miskunn líta á
    og hjálpa þeim með hendi sín
    hörmung allri burtu frá.

44. Eg vil segja yður í trú
    og ekki dylja lengur það,
    með yðar ráði eg vil nú
    öllu koma í góðan stað.“

45. Þá greifinn heyrði herrann Krist
    hæstan vera nefndan þar,
    af harmi gladdist hjartað tvist;
    honum gaf aftur þetta svar:

46. „Eg veit ei, herra, hvört að þér
    hugsið nú að freista mín;
    ef yður þetta alvara er,
    eg væri firrtur hryggð og pín.

47. Ef hjartað munni hljóðar líkt,
    sem hafi þér nú fyrir skemmstu tjáð,
    þá mun eg guði þakka slíkt,
    þessa og aðra sína náð.“

48. Honum allt, hve háttað er
    um hagi sína, greindi þá
    og so það hann ætlar sér
    öllum hjálpa dauða frá.

49. Þar næst, hvörsu börnin blíð
    bót að fengu dauða af,
    seinast að þau sigldu fríð
    saman á skipi út á haf.

50. Og svo hvörsu kóngurinn kvað
    kristna skyldi fanga menn,
    einninn hvörninn angrar það
    illa stadda landið enn.

51. Riddarans varð á ræðu hlé;
    raunar greifinn fékk að gáð;
    þýður fellur þegar á hné
    og þakkar Kristi sína náð.

52. Riddarinn greifann reisti upp þá;
    réð hvör annan faðma blítt,
    gjörðu kalla guðs nafn á
    og grétu landsins nauðir títt.

53. Riddarinn veik so orðum að:
    „Eg veit herrann drottinn mun
    líkna þessu landi í stað;
    ljósan hef eg þar á grun.

54. Við megum ei lengi mælast við,
    minnast heldur landsins gagn,
    veitum því hið vænsta lið,
    sem vér höfum til styrk og magn.

55. Þér skuluð yður sýna svo
    sem þér hafið heiðinn sið,
    að okkur skilji ekki tvo
    athöfn þeirra og klæða snið.

56. Það mun kóngi þóknast bezt;
    þetta honum eg segja vil;
    því skulum orðu á öngan frest
    efna landi að hjálpa til.

57. Svo vorar sálir fangi frið,
    fríðrar biðjum náðar hans;
    þess mun flestöll þurfa við
    þjóðin kristna innan lands.

58. Svo vill hjartað segja mér
    sem landið muni uppreisn fá
    fyrir þau börn, sem birtum vér
    og burtu sigldu landi frá.“

59. Kynnti hann greifa kóngsins draum,
    kvað hann mundi rætast lítt:
    „Þóttist hann þeim þrengdur glaum,
    þráliga troðinn fótum strítt.“

60. Greifinn kvað þá vissa von
    vekja gleði hjarta sín:
    „Beint er það minn bróðurson;
    blíður guð hann svipti pín.

61. Annar minn son er þar hjá;
    eg bið drottin hjálpa þeim,
    vernda öllu vondu frá
    að vísu, hvar þeir fara um heim.“

62. Síðan gjörðu sverja eitt
    sín á milli herrar tveir,
    hvör með öðrum ljúft og leitt
    líða skyldu báðir þeir.

63. Síðan skildu svinnir að;
    sagt er ljóst um atburð þann;
    hitti kóng í stórum stað,
    strangur riddari kvaddi hann:

64. „Þér eruð skyldir Machúmet
    mildum þakka sína náð;
    eðla herra hæsta lét
    hefjast yðar vald og ráð.

65. Eg hefi leitt á yðar trú
    einn mann kóngsins bróðir var,
    greifa af Estor nýtan nú,
    er nóga tign í æsku bar.

66. Við skulum auka yðar sið,
    alla skatta landi á;
    hann veitir mér að vísu lið
    vanda öllum burtu frá.

67. Ríða skulum um borg og bý,
    boða yðar vilja þeim,
    síðan skatta þræl sem þý,
    þrjózka færa bundna heim.“

68. Kóngur gleðst og kættist fast;
    kvíði datt af brjósti þel;
    sorg og pín í sundur brast;
    sínum Machúmet þakkar vel.

69. Þrjátigi býr til þúsund manns,
    þá var unnið mesta spil,
    ætlar ríða innan lands
    alla neyða hlýðni til.

70. Þá lá eymd og alls kyns kvöld
    ótal lýðnum kristna á,
    áttu á góðu ekki völ;
    allt hann gjörði fólk að þjá.

71. Ofsögum að enginn má
    af þeirra kristnu segja nauð;
    árin tólf það á þeim lá;
    öldin mátti reiknast dauð.

72. Ef það sker, sem uggir mig,
    á oss slíkt guð leggi band,
    hugsi jafnan hvör um sig
    að hafa gott þel um þetta land.

73. Ætla eg flest sé orðin mædd
    öld að gefa rímu hljóð,
    orðum fám er glæstum gædd;
    gagara kalla eg þessi ljóð.

74. Þrýtur nú, en brýtur brú,
    bragurinn, hér lag fyrir mér;
    hlýtur þú með flýti, frú,
    fagran bera hag með þér.

Fjórða Ríma — Braghent

1. Elska þessa efnis bað mig aftur skunda;
   so er eg rímna fús til funda,
   ef fljóðin vildu þar til stunda.

2. Eitt er það sem eg hefi að gáð um ævi mína:
   allir safna auð fyrir sína,
   aldri meina það skuli dvína.

3. Ætla þar fyrir allt muni þeim að óskum ganga,
   í hættu þar fyrir hvörja spranga
   og hirða ei, hvörjir góssin fanga.

4. Þá minnst að varir dauðinn dapur dæmir feiga;
   síðan njóta sízt er eiga;
   að sönnu jarðneskt góss er leiga.

5. Eg man þetta oft hafa skeð á ævi minni;
   ekki tel eg þá upp að sinni;
   engin trú eg þörf til vinni.

6. Heimskur er sá hvör það gjörir í hug sér festa;
   reikna eg þetta ráð hið vesta;
   reyndar skal það ekki bresta.

7. Eg vil kenna börnum góssi beztu að safna;
   ef þau vilja hinu hafna,
   hljóta munu lukku jafna.

8. Ofan á þetta aldri kann úrættis ganga;
   enginn má það frá þeim fanga
   fyrir sinn dóm eða lygi ranga.

9. Náðugan guð þér leifið yðar líkams örfum;
   sá mun duga í þeirra þörfum,
   í þrautum hjálpar trúardjörfum.

10. Þar hafi þér hann Abraham fyrir eftirdæmi
    og af Davíð dýrligt næmi,
    hve drottinn fór með þeirra afkvæmi.

11. Þar næst kennið yðrum börnum alls kyns mennter;
    það sem vísum lýðum lént er,
    til lofs og frama bezt að hent er.

12. Öxlum þeirra er það bera enginn þungi;
    stelur ekki pening úr pungi;
    plagar so hegða rétt hinn ungi.

13. Þetta góss er frjálst af leigu og ferjutollum
    hleypur með þeim í háska öllum;
    hætt er ei við stórum föllum.

14. Enginn kann þess allar dygðir upp að telja;
    kost áttú að kaupa og selja,
    kjós hvörtú vilt heldur velja.

15. Börnin stóðu í stríðri sorg og stórri mæðu,
    að þrotum komin flestri fæðu,
    fanga mundu land, ef næðu.

16. Frá Mólógrant að lukkan þessa lýði sendi,
    við Britannía litlu lendi;
    löng var nauð fyrir þeirra hendi.

17. Vindur og sjórinn voru so stór, að vill ei þrjóta;
    loks um síðir byrðing brjóta
    í bratt eitt sker upp víkja hljóta.

18. Upp í skerið öll þau koma, eyðist pína;
    þá tók fyrir þeim þraut að dvína,
    og þakka guði miskunn sína.

19. Báðu síðan blessaðan guð sér björg að veita,
    öll á hann af hjarta heita;
    hjálpar mun þeim aldri neita.

20. Sá góði guð lét föðurlig augu ei frá þeim venda,
    huggun vill hann sínum senda;
    sé honum lof fyrir utan enda.

21. Þar var klaustur nýtum nærri, er nauðir líða,
    landið skógi vaxið víða;
    verður barna frásögn bíða.

22. Britannía stýrði kóngur stoltra jafni;
    Árgils þessi er að nafni,
    óspart bráðir veitti hrafni.

23. Hann var frómur, hoskur, trúr og hniginn elli;
    þessi kóngur prýddur pelli
    plagaði heiðna leggja að velli.

24. Hann var vanur úr hörðu stríði hvörgi flýja;
    hans drottningin heitir Lía
    hertugasystir af Normandía.

25. Hún lá sjúk af ámu mjög, so ei má hræra,
    sig kunni ei úr sæng að færa;
    sér þau áttu dóttur kæra.

26. Sídónía svinnust kann við sorgum hlífa,
    gamna styggðu geði vífa
    og gleðiangur í burtu drífa.

27. Af dygðum, fegurð, siðum og sæmd, að so má inna;
    hennar líka, heiðurs kvinna,
    í heiminum mátti ei þann tíð finna.

28. Alla hennar prýði ekki þarf eg orðum skreyta;
    jungfrú hvör skal heiðurs neyta
    og henni kunna eftir að breyta.

29. Ráðsherra var haldinn einn, sá Herlant nefndi,
    dýraveiðar stórar stefndi,
    stigamönnum grandið efndi.

30. Riddari þessi reið á skóg að réttum vanda;
    Herlant lítur hjört einn standa,
    honum vill með spjóti granda.

31. Að sjónum hleypti hjörturinn þá og Herlant eftir;
    frægur ekki ferðum heftir,
    fyrri en dýri að lyktum sleppti.

32. Síðan lítur sitja börn í sjóvar klettum;
    honum er næsta fýsn á fréttum
    og fregna þau að málum réttum.

33. Hann réð spyrja hvellu máli, hvörjir væri,
    síðan ríður sjónum nærri;
    þau svara honum röddu skærri:

34. „Vær erum börn og ættuð öll af öðrum þjóðum,
    yfrið þyngd af þrautum móðum;
    þér komuð oss á tíma góðum.“

35. „Galisía gjörði kóngur gildur stýra;
    hér má sjá hans soninn dýra,“
    so réð Únítas Herlant skýra.

36. „Pólídas hlýtur frændi hans og forlög kanna.“
    Allt þau honum sögðu hið sanna:
    „Synir erum vér herramanna.“

37. Riddarinn sýndi Pontus heiður og Pólídas meður;
    minnka tók að vísu veður;
    vel hann þau í orðum gleður.

38. Fram í skerið ríða gjörði riddarinn strangi;
    í sínu burt hann flutti fangi
    fjörutigi börn, þó erfitt gangi.

39. Síðan kom í kóngsins sal, er kveðjur falla,
    greina tók nú athöfn alla;
    ókjör náðu flestir kalla.

40. Þá Árgils fregnar fráfall kóngs og friðar gröndun,
    kristna menn í heiðinna höndum,
    hrakta, kvalda, strengda böndum.

41. Kóngurinn grætur, því að hann harmar þann hinn dauða;
    með grimmd hann hatar gæfusnauða,
    sem gjörðu kristnum afla nauða.

42. „Tíbúrt, eg og Frakka kóngur fylgdunst lengi,
    í Hispanía höfðum gengi
    heiðinna þjóða brytja drengi.

43. Þakkir vil eg gjöra góðum guði að vanda,
    hans son lætur hjá mér standa
    og herrasyni Spanía landa.“

44. Hrópar kóngur hárri röddu á Herlant þenna:
    „Þú skalt menntir kóngssyni kenna,
    sem kanntú bezt um veturna þrenna.“

45. Síðan bauð hann greifum og herrum hvörra hinna
    list og frægða verkin vinna
    og veraldarskemmtan alla finna.

46. Pontus lærði skot og sund og skylming efla,
    hamra renna, hending kefla,
    hlaupa, steðja, skák að tefla.

47. Að vizku, fegurð, vöxt og auðmýkt var yfir alla;
    margir réðu hann klénan kalla,
    sem kunnu málið innan halla.

48. Orðtak var það allra manna innan landa:
    „Að hæversku, kurt og hofmanns vanda
    honum mun engi á sporði standa.“

49. Hræddist guð og heyrði hans orðin, hvar sem kunni,
    heiðurinn sótti af hjarta og munni,
    hvörjum manni í landi unni.

50. Frómur lét sitt fyrsta verk að fara í klæði;
    sér honn þvoði og söng sín fræði;
    að sermón frá eg í kirkju stæði.

51. Aldri fyrri át né drakk en endast tíðir;
    einum sermón sjálfur hlýðir,
    so gekk hann til borðs um síðir.

52. Af borðum sínum aumum gaf og alltíð sendi,
    áður en fæðu át og kenndi,
    aldri var svo smátt fyrir hendi.

53. Enginn heyrði unga Pontus eiða sverja,
    sig gjörði með sannleik verja,
    ef sveinar á með lygi herja.

54. Líkt var glaður í leikum, hvört hann léti eða hlyti;
    af hvörju sem hann hreppti býti,
    hélt hann það fyrir engin lýti.

55. Ef menn gjörðu órétt honum einu sinni,
    bað hann þá með blíðu inni,
    að bragnar það ei oftar vinni.

56. Aldri gekk til leiks, þar framið var last eður reiði;
    á því var honum allur leiði;
    hjá illu trú eg hann jafnan sneiði.

57. Enginn hreppti angur af hans orðum neinum;
    lét hann ei af gleðigreinum,
    góður öllum dándisveinum.

58. Ónýtt fólk, sem aðra lagði í orða ræðu,
    á því hafði hann fulla fæðu,
    flestir þó á sönnu stæðu.

59. Ef þeir frúr og eðelmenn í orðum lesta,
    minnka heiður meyja eður presta,
    mislíkaði hið allra vesta.

60. Oft hann sagði ógótt væri öllu að trúa,
    kvað menn skyldu förlan frúa
    fyrir þeim til bezta snúa.

61. Lítilæti, auðmýkt og so alla prýði,
    að heiðri þekkur hofsins lýði,
    hatur og lýti alltíð flýði.

62. Ef hann mætti eðelmanni út á stræti,
    ofan tók með lítillæti;
    lét hann sitt fyrir gömlum sæti.

63. Siði bar sem dygð og dáð yfir drengi alla;
    flestir máttu hann klénan kalla;
    kann hans líkinn finnast valla.

64. Arma hans og annan vöxt má enginn víta;
    eins og snjór var hörundið hvíta;
    hann var eins og engill líta.

65. Andlitsrjóður og eygður vel í allan máta;
    einn það gjörði öðrum játa,
    að hann vænstan heita láta.

66. Sídónía af honum spurði allt hið rétta;
    dygð hans náði fríðust frétta,
    festi strax í hug sér þetta.

67. Oft bað guð þess, að hann mætti hún augum líta,
    hæversku, dygð og hörundið hvíta;
    hjartað jungfrú tók að bíta.

68. Bar hún af hvörri fremd og frægð í Frakka ríki;
    hvörgi fannst þá hennar líki;
    hróður er bezt á enda víki.

Fimmta Ríma — Stafhent

1. Nú er eg fús að fara af stað,
   þó fræðum kunni eg lítið að,
   brotinn fjórða bæta upp hátt;
   beðið hafa þess margir þrátt.

2. Þeir sem elska gleði og glaum,
   gæti að hafa siðanna taum;
   fyrir utan dygð og æru má
   engin skemmtan lengi stá.

3. Ef allt fyrir mátann yfir að gár,
   eftirköst í launin fár;
   nú skal stofna staðfast ráð,
   sem stundum verður lítt að gáð.

4. Komi hér og heyri mig,
   hvör sem ætlar að gifta sig,
   hvörja kosti hafa á sú,
   helzt sem ættir kjósa frú.

5. Gættu mínum orðum að,
   ekki skal þér bregðast það;
   kvennagóssin þau eru þrenn;
   það skulu vita allir menn.

6. Hjartans góss er haldið stærst;
   hér með fylgir líkam næst;
   auðlegð heyrir og þar til
   með öðru því eg greina vil.

7. Ótti guðs er örugg trú,
   elska sönn af hjarta nú,
   speki forsjál fyrr og síð,
   fróm og réttlát allan tíð.

8. Hvar sem elska guðs er gleymd,
   græðist aldri þvílík eymd;
   forsmán öll á orðum hans
   allan brýtur dygða krans.

9. Hvört er auðmjúk ella grimm,
   opinber eður í lyndi dimm,
   mann það strax á sjónum sér
   sýnt hvört logn eður vindur er.

10. Af þeirra orðum merkja má
    maður sá hvör, sem að vill gá,
    af hjartans nægð að munnur mest
    manna talar jafnan flest.

11. Rykti spyrja allir að,
    oftast plagar að sannast það,
    klæðnað þeirra og aðra art,
    ef þær stunda mjög á skart.

12. Lausligt mark að lízt mér slíkt
    og lýti stór fyrir hoffólk ríkt
    að hlaða sig með silfur og seim,
    sem þar til væri fætt í heim.

13. Klæði þau mann beztu ber,
    sem bar þau fyrri sauður á sér;
    ekki er þetta máti manns
    að metna sig af flíkum hans.

14. Má eg segja mönnum, að
    mér virðist ei hæfa það
    annað skinn hafa út á sér
    en innra manni sómi er.

15. Sjá þú til þess, segi eg þér,
    selskap hvörjum fylgja gjör;
    vini skalt þér velja þá,
    sem vitið hafa og skynbragð á.

16. Hæfir skyn að hafa á því,
    hvörjum garði ólst hún í
    og svo hvörja breytni blíð
    brúðurin hefur alla tíð.

17. Hvört sem hreppir sótt eður sár,
    sorg eður annað líkams fár,
    metnug til þín fjandskap fær,
    fussar, ef hún kemur þér nær.

18. Auðmjúk búin alltíð er
    í illu og góðu að fylgja þér;
    hvört sem þykir ljúft eður leitt,
    lætur sig ekki hindra neitt.

19. Ungri konu aldraður mann
    ekki skyldi giftast hann;
    þau eiga ekki saman um sið,
    sín á milli halda frið.

20. Einatt hvört vill öðru mót;
    atvik þeirra eru jafnan ljót;
    eitt vill súrt, en annað sætt;
    ónýtt það, sem heldur mætt.

21. Þá heitt vill kalt eður kviklátt dautt,
    kost eður löst, það ríka snautt,
    brotið heilt sem bogið rétt,
    bundið laust sem kvistótt slétt.

22. Líkams góss skal greina brátt;
    gömul orð að sannast þrátt;
    flögð eru oft í fagri mynd;
    fyrir það er sú ásýn blind.

23. Fagran vöxt og fríðleik með,
    frúnum þó það verði léð,
    ef þær breyta beint sem má,
    betra er jafnan til en frá.

24. Góða siði dagfar dýrt,
    dygða fjöldi og málið skýrt,
    menntar vel á munn og hönd,
    málin kunna leysa vönd.

25. Æska góð og heilsa hrein
    hjónunum stýra á rétta grein;
    bú sitt kunni að vakta vel,
    vera hlýðin sem eg tel.

26. Þanninn gjör eg á þessu skil;
    þetta heyrir líkama til;
    þriðja góssi greini eg frá,
    sem gjörir liggja maktin á.

27. Ríkdóm, virðing, ærleg ætt
    og það fé, sem vel er grætt,
    göfuga frændur, sem get eg enn,
    er gjöra að stoða í nauðum senn.

28. Þetta skyldi hugsa hvör,
    sem hafa mætti þessi gjör:
    á hjartans góssi mektin mest
    mönnum liggur jafnan bezt.

29. Annað bætast öllum má,
    enn þó bresti nokkuð á;
    sjaldan hleðst so allt á einn,
    að ekki fylgi löstur neinn.

30. Eg hefi átta eina þá
    ekki neitt að vantaði á,
    þeirri var léð, og það skal tjá,
    það sem kvinnu prýða má.

31. Nú hefur leitt frá heimi hér
    hana drottinn burt með sér,
    henni gefið hvíld og frið
    um himnaríkis dýrðar mið.

32. Eftir þessa ungu frú
    eg má bera sorgir nú,
    þar til góður guð vill brátt
    gera bót á einhvörn hátt.

33. Dróttin fyrir mér drepi ei út
    eður dári mig, þó beri sút;
    eg verð að geta hennar hér,
    hvörsu lengi í veröldu er.

34. Glósað hef eg nú nú meir en margt,
    meyjunum hvörninn skyldi vart;
    nú skal segja sögunni frá,
    ef sá er nokkur hlýðir á.

35. Eftir liðin árin þrenn,
    alla boðar til hófsins menn
    kóngur Árgils, kappa lið;
    kætast munu flestir við.

36. Herlant með sér hafði þá
    hinn unga Pontum greint er frá;
    allur lýður hann augum sér;
    æskti honum lukku hver.

37. Greifi af Lénal hafði hans
    hýran frænda í þennan krans,
    Pólídas, sem prísa hæst,
    Ponto sjálfum gengur næst.

38. Kóngurinn Pontus kallar á
    og kvaddi hann sem hermi eg frá;
    báðu guð að gefa honum náð
    og gleði fyrir allt sitt ráð.

39. Síðan hann með blíðu bað
    fyrir borðum standa rétt í stað,
    skenkja kóngi skírast vín
    og skaranum kynna listir sín.

40. Kóngurinn Árgils heldur hóf
    með herra, greifa og riddara lof;
    Sídónía, sagt er frá,
    í sínum sal hélt annað þá.

41. Frúr og jungfrúr fagna þá;
    flokkur er sá vænn að sjá;
    sem gleði er framin, gaman og skraut,
    gáði enginn þaðan á braut.

42. Sídónía fregnar fríð
    frægð af Ponto alla tíð,
    bæði vexti og vænleik hans,
    að væri ei slíkur innan lands.

43. Síðan hugsar hæversk á,
    hvörninn megi hann augum sjá,
    diktar ráð til dag og nátt,
    að drósin megi hann líta brátt.

44. Eftir Herlant sendi sú
    Sídónía, stolt jungfrú,
    gaf honum fálka og fríðan hest
    og fagnar honum sem kunni bezt.

45. Hugsar með sér Herlant nú
    honum muni eitthvað vilja frú,
    að sem ekki augljóst er
    fyrir öllum þeim í salnum hér.

46. Innir jungfrú einka björt:
    „Eyrindi var það, Herlant, vort
    yðar dygð og æru að sjá,
    sem oss er jafnan sagt í frá.

47. Eg meina Pontus prýði og makt
    prís og lof sem heyri eg sagt,
    þann sem mæla ýtar enn,
    að árin hafi þér tyftað þrenn.

48. Færið oss hinn fríða svein
    og fylgið honum í þeirri grein;
    oss langar til að líta þann
    landsins fólk af hjarta ann.“

49. „Náðuga frú, það nú skal ske
    i nafni guðs nú yður í té.“
    Hennar náð að þekkist það,
    þá fékk orðlof ganga af stað.

50. Herlant tók að hugsa margt;
    í hjartað fló sú ætlan snart
    þennan heiður og fengið fé
    fyrir hann Pontum veitt að sé.

51. Raunar frómur riddarinn var,
    reyndur dygð og vizku snar;
    sjálfur þennan gaf sér grun,
    grand af slíku vaxa mun.

52. Pólídas í Pontus stað,
    prúður hugsar ráðið það,
    færa hann til frúinnar skal
    með fremd í hennar breytta sal.

53. Sídónía frægðar fús
    fór í lítið leyndar hús
    og með henni æru vend
    Elóis að nafni kennd.

54. Trúði henni hin tigna frú
    og tjáði þetta efni nú,
    hvörja girnd hún hefur að sjá
    hinn unga Pontum sagt er frá.

55. Á húsi einn var gluggi gjör,
    góða jungfrú út um sér;
    Pontus bíður brúðurin fríð;
    báðir komu loks um síð.

56. Af þessu megum skilja skjótt,
    hvað skeður bæði dag og nótt,
    að meyjar hugur hjá mönnum er,
    þó misjafnt láti finna á sér.

57. Hugurinn segir löngum leið,
    þó líði tíminn nokkur skeið;
    bágt er girnd að brjóta þá,
    sem beggja hjörtun standa upp á.

58. Sídónía svinnust gekk
    til sætis aftur í kvenna bekk;
    fagna þær með fremd og kurt,
    fá þær komu Ponto spurt.

59. Pólídas víkur prúðust að,
    prýðilig hann sitja bað,
    skipar honum sjálfs síns sess;
    synjar hann með öllu þess.

60. „Á yðrum stóli eg ætla nú
    ekki að sitja, náðuga frú;
    þetta ei eg þiggja vil;
    það heyrir með öngu til.“

61. Sídónía svaraði þá:
    „Sitja megi þér oss í hjá,
    að kurt og ættum komnir þér
    kóngsbarn ekki síður en vér.“

62. Sveinninn gaf henni aftur anz:
    „Eg er Pólídas, frændi hans,
    er hér kominn á yðar náð
    æðsta líta prýði og dáð.“

63. „Eg meinti Pontus mundi hér
    í mínum sal, sem standi þér.“
    Höndlar hann með fremd og frægð;
    funda skeði það sinn bægð.

64. Herlant lætur kalla klén,
    kurtis jungfrú aftur í gén;
    virtist honum valla blíð
    vera mey á þeirri tíð.

65. „Bað eg yður með blíðu næst,“
    brúðurin svarar Herlant glæst,
    „Ponto hingað færa fyrst,
    svo frúnnar sína bæti lyst.“

66. „Því hafi þér svo þanninn breytt,“
    þýðust talaði gulli skreytt;
    „ætlan þín er yfrið ljót
    og æru minni þvert á mót.“

67. Riddarinn merkti reiði móð
    rétt af jungfrú, þar hún stóð,
    auðmýkt hafði alla þá,
    so yndi hennar mætti ná.

68. „Náðuga frú, það forlát mér
    fyrir þann guð á himnum er,
    gekk mér ekki ódygð til,
    yðar boð eg fylla vil.

69. Þá var ekki þann tíð frí,
    þénti Pontus salnum í;
    nú skal fara á nýja lund,
    nýtan leiða á yðar fund.“

70. Sídónía svarar hér:
    „Sjálfir máttuð dvelja fjer
    og ekki færa annan mér
    í hans stað sem gjörðu þér.

71. Herlant, skulu þér óttast ei,
    enginn segi við því nei;
    eg veit minn heiður að vakta í stað,
    vil eg þér ekki efið það.“

72. „Eigi þetta efa eg kann,
    ó, jungfrú,“ að sagði hann;
    "yðar föður eg óttast mest,
    á eg honum að reynast bezt.

73. Hér með og so óttast eg,
    ef aðrir spyrja á nokkurn veg,
    öfunda Pontum æ þess meir,
    ef yðar virðing skilja þeir.

74. Má hún skaða á marga leið
    mannsins tungan illsku greið;
    til vestra lýta virðir hvör,
    veraldar eru það jafnan pör.

75. Sídónía hermir hér:
    „Hafðu öngan efa á mér;
    vildi eg heldur vera deydd
    en vor sé tignin heiðri sneydd.“

76. „Að vísu, jungfrú, vil eg það
    væri satt,“ að Herlant kvað;
    „nú skal leiða hingað hann
    og hraða ferð sem mest eg kann.“

77. „Bið eg yður bregða ei það,“
    brúðurin talar í annan stað;
    „dvel ei lengi að vísu við,
    vil eg bætist fyrra snið.“

78. Ljótur vani líðst um heim;
    liggur mér við að blóta þeim,
    sem hindra þau, er hafa sig rétt
    handlagt saman í ektastétt.

79. Býr sú til hin beiska dvöl
    báðum þeim þá vestu kvöl,
    þar hvört að annars hugsar til,
    en hirða ei önnur gleðispil.

80. Herlant gekk úr hennar sal,
    hæverskliga endar tal,
    Pontum leiða ljósrar til;
    lyktar ekki fyrri spil.

81. Sídónía gengur greitt
    glöð og kát í húsið eitt,
    ef sæi Pontum svinna mær;
    sátu nú við gluggann þær.

82. Elóis lítur einatt út,
    angri firrð sem trega og sút,
    síðan hleypur úr sínum stað
    Sídóníu meyju að.

83. „Hér fer vænstur heimi í
    hvað skal mér að leyna því.“
    Sídonía flimtrar flest;
    fagnaður því olli mest.

84. Þar næst gengur að glugga frú;
    getur að líta báða nú;
    leit hún Pontum ljósa þar;
    langt hans prýði af öllum bar.

85. Undrast, þegar hann augum sá,
    Elóis hún kallar á:
    „Hann vænn að máta vísu er,
    virðist ei so, jungfrú, þér?“

86. Elóis segir ekki mann,
    engill heldur væri hann:
    „Eigin hendi guð hefur gjört
    góður hann,“ kvað mærin björt.

87. „Á minn eið,“ að sagði sú,
    Sídonía, stolt jungfrú,
    „söguna þessa sannar mær.“
    Í salinn aftur gengu þær.

88. Pontus kemur og Herlant heim;
    hvítar fagna meyjar þeim;
    kveðja þær með kurt og dáð;
    kætast tekur frúinnar ráð.

89. Sídónía mitt á mót
    mætum gekk með kærleiks hót;
    leiðir hann hin ljósa fús
    lofliga í sitt kóngligt hús.

90. Biður hann sínu sæti í
    sitja, en hann neitar því.
    „Þetta er ekki möguligt mér
    mekt að þiggja, sem bjóði þér.

91. Eg er ungur og yfrið smár
    óverðugur þess, jungfrú klár.“
    Auðmýkt sýnist ágætlig,
    í öllum hlutum lækkar sig.

92. Sídónía svarar þá:
    „Sýni þér oss mikla þrá.“
    „Þér eruð kyns,“ kvað kostuleg,
    „kóngsbarn ekki síður en eg.“

93. Pontus segir lýði og lönd
    lúta undir jungfrú hönd.
    „En eg er fátækur og á ei neitt,
    utan það kóngur hefur mér veitt.“

94. Klénust svarar kyrtla skorð;
    „Kæri, talið ei þessi orð;
    guð skóp yður á önga lund
    að yfirgefa neina stund.“

95. Pontus segir svinnri þá
    sjálfum guði í höndum stá,
    efni sitt og ágætt ráð
    allt sé komið hans á náð.

96. Þanninn bíði þeirra tal;
    þar af seinna greiða skal;
    rímu læt eg lykta hér;
    ljóða þrot að höndum fer.