VI. Valhalla
Brian Dritar an Conn
Francesca the Bemused
Silv'ry silent shape of hound
Across the sunlit down of green;
Relentlessly the wolf is run,
And caught, and scarlet seen.
Brother hunt with brother,
Beast claim death of beast:
Celebrate the hinge of jaws
And join the victor's feast.
Striding, calm, a pace behind,
Golden brother of the gray - -
He stops, he sees the work, he smiles:
Sunlight's child walks shadow's way.
Brother run with brother,
Time claim death of time:
See them gambol with each other
In their peaceful prime.
Sunlight, glancing, glints on armor:
Golden brother fights alone;
His foe, his friend, his brother Death
Must glorious keep him from the throne.
Brother lie with brother,
Man claim death of man:
The timeless foe is on the field
And smiles at mortal plan.
Brother hunt with brother,
Beast claim death of beast:
Celebrate the hinge of jaws
And join the victor's feast.
Douglas Longshanks
J.H.M. Simon von Wernigerode
Long legs striding onto the field,
Strong arm striking, foemen yield:
Drops of rain, drops of blood.
Swift his sword arm, storm it brings.
His voice like wind in triumph sings.
Drops of rain, drops of blood.
His eyes are hawks', bloody his hands,
Sudden thunderstrokes he lands.
Drops of rain, drops of blood.
Sunlight slicing like his sword;
Death defying, Riesling's lord.
Drops of rain, drops of blood.
Drops of blood, drops of rain,
Douglas will not fight again.
Drops of rain, drops of blood,
Now the field of honor flood;
Now he lies in oaken wood.
Drops of rain, drops of blood.
William of Hoghton
J.H.M. Simon von Wernigerode
Count William sits in Richmond toune,
Drinking the bluid-reid wine;
"O wha will take up arms this day
And say the Crown's nae mine?"
Up and strode an outland knight
Struck on Count William's shield;
And redwood Camp was reid with bluid
Or ever foe would yield.
The first fight that Count William fought
A loud laugh laughed he.
The last fight that Count William fought
A tear blinded his ee.
"O wha is this has done this deid,
This ill deid done to me?
That I should fight so fine a man,
And ane of us sall die."
O lang, lang will the ladies stand
Wi' their gold kems i' their hair,
Waiting for their ain dear lords;
For they'll see them nae mair.
O lang, lang under airth they lie,
And lang hath William stood
To see how deep his sword has stained
The airth wi' wine-dark bluid.
O golden is the forest glen
That holds the King's high seat;
And there Prince William triumphs
Wi' the West lords at his feet.
Douglas Brownbeard
Diana Listmaker
(This fragmentary lyric tells of the death of a West
Kingdom warrior in a battle which appears to have
taken place in the latter part of the year VIII.)
(The poet complains of a hard life, and praises former Kings.)
Much have I wandered in this world's kingdoms,
Known many sorrows, hardships suffered,
Because of betrayals and speakers in secret,
Slanderers weaving webs of lies.
The world worsens, when I remember 5
The noble ring-givers who ruled in peace,
Givers of gold to bards and wisemen,
Loyal in lordship and worthy of honor,
Great is my grieving that they are gone.
Knights and nobles now seek the kingship. 10
The fultures rejoice in the ceaseless slaughter.
Where is the warrior who shall lead the people
In paths of peace or glorious battle.
For Douglas of Hvitamyrr this day is fallen.
(Several lines are missing at this point; when the
MS resumes, the poet is describing the battle.)
Grey with cloud the storm-god's playground 15
On the day that brought us sorrow.
Icy winds blasted the spring tide
With the bitter breath of winter.
The white sea-gull cries out in sadness.
The waves sigh worn out with grief. 20
Swift the sword-play, long and hard the battle
That they fought upon the seastrand.
Many the foes, and fierce the fighter
Who downed at last the noble Douglas.
(The poet praises the fallen hero.)
Brave he was, the brown-bearded warrior, 25
Never fleeing from battle's fury;
Sage in speech when counselors gathered;
A mighty word-smith skillful in singing,
Of odin's mead deep had he drunk.
Now the bright-haired maiden mourns him. 30
Praising his prowess the warriors weep.
(The hero will go to Valhalla; the poet
expresses forebodings for the future.)
Hoofbeats thunder in the heavens,
And the horns of Odin's daughters
Promise glory to the hero - -
Valkyries will reward his valour. 35
In Middle Earth the sound of mourning
Fills the air. Where shall we find
Another such leader for this land?
