The Irreparable Loss of Sons by Egil Skallagrimsson My mouth strains To move the tongue To weigh and wing The choice word: Not easy to breathe Odins inspiration In my hearts hinterland Little hope there. A leaden weight Lies on my tongue, I cannot sustain The measure of a song Odin has stolen My hearts treasure; I draw no succour From the stores of my soul The pride of my house Is beaten to the ground Like trees of the forest Bowed before the storm. How can a man rejoice Who has borne to the grave The bodies of his kin From their earthly seats? First I must tell Of the death of my mother, The loss of my father. Breath of my praise shall Rise from the temple Where language lives, Where words adorn The structure with leaves. Our family shield-wall Is torn wide open; Cruel waves broke My fathers firm line. How vast is the breach, How empty the place Where the sea entered And snatched away my son. Ran the fierce sea-god Has ravaged all my land, All those I loved He seized as his spoils. Broken are the bonds That held us together, The links I held firmly Between my hands. The pillaging sea Has robbed me of my riches. Hard it is to speak of The loss of my kin. He who was our shield Has left us defenseless, Lost to our sight On the distant roads of death. No shred of bad faith, No falsity ever Would have grown in my son - I know that well, If the young wood Of his shield had hardened; If he had not fallen To the barbarous armies. For him my word was law; He stood by his father Though all the people Might hold a different view. More than any other He would sustain me; He was ever A stronghold sure. What other comrade Shall I find faithful To stand at my side In my hour of need? When among traitors My friends melt away And I must flee, who then Will cover my retreat? What can make amends For the loss of a son? What compensation Pays for such a death? How could I beget Another such boy Who should be held The equal of his brother? I take no pleasure In the company of men: Though they are peacemakers, Still I avoid them. For now my son reaches The gods dark palace; Now my wifes darling Has gone to join his kin. The fire of a fever Has burned up my son, Hatefully ravished Away from our world. Wise, hes free forever From threat of shame, Never can touch him The taint of disgrace. To Odin, chief among gods And friend of Mimir, Henceforth Ill offer No willing sacrifice, Though he - I won it freely - Gave for what I suffer As recompense, a gift I hold as unequalled. He - the wolfs enemy, Veteran of battles - He gave me this matchless Gift, which is my art. And with it, a nature, Bane of my enemies That drives me to root out Their treacherous frauds. Now all goes hard for me. I see Hel, the goddess, Foe to duplicity, Waiting on the headland. Nevertheless, joyfully, With a jocund will And a heart that fears nothing, I await my death.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Oct 2013 20:07:54 +0000
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