BALLADS. A. D. 415. OVER the camp-fires Drank I with heroes, Under the Donau bank Warm in the snow-trench: Sagamen heard I there, Men of the Longbeards, Rang out their song. Singing how Winil men, Over the ice-floes Sledging from Scanland on Came unto Scoring; Singing of Gambara. Freya's beloved, Mother of Ibor. Singing of Wendel men, How to the Winilfolk Went they with war-words, "Few are ye, strangers, And many are we; Pay us now toll and fee, Clothyarn, and rings, and beeves; Else at the raven's meal Bide the sharp bill's doom." Clutching the dwarf's work, then, Clutching the bullock's shell, Girding gray iron on, Forth fared the Winils all, Fared the Alruna's sons, Ayo and Ibor. Mad of heart stalked they : Loud wept the women all, Loud wept the Alruna wife; Sore was their need. Out of the morning land, Over the snow-drifts, Beautiful Freya came, Tripping to Scoring. White were the moorlands And frozen before her; But green were the moorlands, Out of her golden locks Around in the birches Awaking the throstles, And making chaste housewives all Long for their heroes home, Loving and love-giving, Came she to Scoring. Came unto Gambara, Wisest of Valas,— "Vala, why weepest thou? Far in the wide-blue, High up in the Elfin-home, Heard I thy weeping." "Stop not my weeping, Till one can fight seven. Sons have I, heroes tall, First in the sword-play; This day at the Wendels' hands Eagles must tear them; While their mothers, thrall-weary, Must grind for the Wendels." Wept the Alruna wife ; A window stands open Its posts are the water-spouts, Gold cloud-flakes above it Smiles out each morning thence From under the cloud-eaves Smiles out on the heroes, Smiles out on chaste, housewives all, Smiles on the brood-mares, Smiles on the smiths' work: Who first in the morning Shall meet him and greet him." Still the Alruna wept : "Who then shall greet him? Women alone are here: Far on the moorlands Behind the war-lindens, In vain for the bill's doom Watch Winil heroes all, Sweetly the Queen laughed :"Hear thou my counsel now; Take to thee cunning, Beloved of Freya. Take thou thy women-folk, Maidens and wives: Over your ankles Lace on the white war-hose; Over your bosoms Link up the hard mail-nets; Over your lips Plait long tresses with cunning; So war-beasts full-bearded King Odin shall deem you, Night's son was driving His golden-haired horses up; Over the eastern firths High flashed their manes. Smiled from the cloud-eaves out Allfather Odin, Waiting the battle-sport: Freya stood by him. |