The Binding of Fenrir
The ale of Ygg
I eagerly brewed,
and here I pour that poem.
Of Fenrir’s binding
and famous Týr,
that spell I speak to all.
Loki and Angrboða,
they lay together
and a gruesome three they begat.
A woman half-corpse,
a wolf, and a serpent:
these offspring were destined for doom.
The wolf alone
waxed in Asgard,
fed by trusty Týr.
But fast he grew
and was greatly feared;
the Aesir sought an answer.
Fenrir they chose
to fetter and bind,
to save their home from harm.
They bid him try
and test his strength
against the chains they chose.
With a mighty thrash,
he threw off Leyðing:
that fetter failed to hold!
With a mighty strain,
he struck off Drómi:
that fetter failed to hold!
Freyr’s friend,
fair Skírnir,
from dwarves he fetched a fetter.
Subtle runes,
six in all,
were blended to form that bond:
woman’s beard,
bear’s sinews,
mountain’s mighty roots,
fish’s breath,
bird’s spittle,
and cat’s noise of falling feet.
Soft and smooth
like a silken ribbon,
yet firm and fast as well:
the Aesir wished
the wolf to try
Gleipnir against his strength.
The wolf had guessed
that guile and tricks
were used to form that fetter;
a pledge as proof
to place in his mouth,
he demanded from the mighty Aesir.
And almost all
the Aesir refused
to pledge the price required,
but honorable Týr
offered his hand,
the weregild the wolf desired.
With the slender band,
they bound the wolf:
that fetter firmly held!
But the wolf’s price
was paid by Týr:
in lying he lost his hand.
On Lyngvi Isle
in Lake Amsvartnir,
Fenrir is firmly held
with Gleipnir by Gelgja
on Gjöll attached,
thrust by Thviti in ground.
A mighty sword
in his mouth is thrust;
that burden stops his bite.
Howling horribly,
Hope from his mouth
runs as a river of spit.
Fast today
that fetter holds,
and ever after still,
until that day
of terrible dark:
the time of Ragnarök.
The Brísingamen
Might with metals
is the main of dwarves,
and as good as any
are Grérr, Álfrigg,
Dvalinn, and Berling
in doing that work.
In a rock they lived
and wrought their craft.
Word of their work
had wended far,
flying to Asgard
and Freyja’s ears.
In a day of wandering,
the Dís of the Vanir
came in the cave
of these crafty dwarves.
The eyes of Freyja
then angled upon
a gleaming necklace
of gold and amber.
’Twas Brísingamen,
the best of jewels,
and Fólkvang’s lady
was flaming with lust.
The greatest treasure
of gold and silver
she offered to them
to own that jewel.
But the dwarves declined
and deemed her money
a rather poor price
for parting with it.
The craftsmen then
declared their price:
her body would be
the best exchange.
In love and lust
she’d lay with them
for one night each
to win that jewel.
For nights all four,
her nubile form
sated the lust
of salacious dwarves;
furtively then
Freyja returned,
back to her bower
with the beautiful jewel.
But Loki had witnessed
that long exchange
of carnal delights,
craving mischief.
As with Sif before,
he would seek a way
to slip inside
and seize her treasure.
Alone at night,
Loki then searched.
In form of fly
he flitted around,
hoping to find
a hole to enter.
Up by the gable
he gained his entrance.
Freyja was found
by Farbauti’s son,
soundly sleeping
inside her bower.
Above her breast
was Brísingamen;
beneath her neck
was the needed clasp.
Into form of flea
the feisty one
then changed and bit
her cheek with malice.
Startled she stirred,
then stretched and turned.
The clasp exposed,
he carried it off.
When morning came,
Mardöll awoke
and noticed now
her necklace gone.
Unbroken but open
was her bower door.
Was it Byleist’s brother
who’d been inside?
To the hall of Hár
she hastened for news,
asking if any
had answers to give.
Where was Loki
or the winsome jewel?
The gathered Aesir
together mooted.
The sly one was seen
sneaking away,
carrying something
he was keeping hidden.
Whither went he
wending quickly?
Silent Víðarr
to Singasteinn pointed.
On hearing that news,
Heimdall the white
stood and started
and stammered almost.
As warden of Bifröst
he watches the realms,
yet mischief’s maker
he’d missed completely.
The son of sisters
then sought to redeem
his failure of sight
by finding the thief.
Great Gullintanni
would regain that jewel,
his service pledged
to Sýr for honor.
Valiant Vindlér
ventured to Singasteinn,
a skerry far out
and scoured by winds.
To reach that rock,
from radiant Ull
he received a bone
to surf the waves.
A seal was swimming
in the sea nearby,
splashing around
in sparkling water.
A shape-shifter
he’d surely found,
Sýr’s servant knew,
on seeing its eyes.
The burly brute
then barked in anger
when he realized
the watchman saw him.
Under the waves
he went and vanished,
leaving Heimdall
alone on the rock.
But Heimdall was skilled
in the hidden magics
and knew the charms
to change his shape.
He rowned some runes
in a rhythmic chant;
to shape of seal
he shifted his form.
In the drink he dove,
down after the fiend,
flapping flippers
in furious pursuit.
The warrior warden
in water moved quick
and nearly caught
crafty Nálarson.
Loki evaded
and leapt on the rock
to face and fight
his furious pursuer.
The bouncing blubbers
in battle then crashed,
a serious struggle
on Singasteinn.
Heimdall with his head
then hammered Loki.
It served him well
as a sword of might,
for the top of his tree,
containing authority,
availed against Loki
for victory on the rock.
Byleist’s brother
was beat at last;
regained for Gefn
was the gleaming jewel.
Loki was bound
and led back home.
Heimdall’s honor
was healed through glory.
Now that necklace
is on noble Freyja;
it brightens her beauty,
that best of jewels,
for Mardöll is honored
by mighty treasures,
that glorious mother
of Gersemi and Hnoss.
Building Asgard’s Wall
Silence I seek
for saying my tale
of the master mason
who meant to build
for the garth of the Gods
the greatest of walls;
with Ygg’s ale now
I utter my words.
Midgard was made
and mighty Valhöll;
for proof against
the passage of etins,
the Aesir sought
a solid defense;
a builder offered
the best of walls.
The sun and moon
he sought as payment
and Freyja to wed
as fairest wife;
the Aesir allowed
only a winter —
if unfinished the fort,
then forfeit his wage.
Alone must he labor,
allowed no help;
an exception he sought
— Svaðilfari his horse —
and Loki arranged
that the right be granted.
With winter’s start
the work was begun.
The stallion’s work
startled the gods;
he steadily hauled
the heavy stones
— always at night —
and every day
the builder labored
to lay the wall.
Fast proceeded
the fort’s assembly;
by summer’s start
it would stand complete.
The Aesir assembled
on seats of judgement
to moot on their doom
and deem a response.
It was soon decided
that the son of Laufey
should bear the blame
for the blight approaching.
Thus Loki must manage
that the mason forfeit,
or Lopt would lose
his life for failing.
When evening came,
out ran a mare
who neighed to distract
the stallion from work.
Away he wended
towards the mare
with the hapless builder
hurrying after.
The chase continued,
taking all night;
the stallion’s running
had stopped the work.
With day’s dawning
deduced the mason
that for certain his fee
forfeit would be.
The mason raged
with wrath of etins
for all to see.
The Aesir summoned
Thor from the East
to thrash the etin —
with Mjöllnir’s power
he paid his wage.
But Svaðilfari had sated
himself on Loki,
and some time after,
Sleipnir was born.
Eight-footed and grey,
an awesome steed —
amongst the gods
and men the best.
The Duel
For saying my tale
of single combat
at Grjóttúnagarðar,
a gift of silence
I ask from you all.
To utter my story,
I brewed my words
into Bölverk’s wine.
On swift Sleipnir
had Sigföður rode;
Hrungnir he met
in the home of Etins.
Óðinn boasted
that best was Sleipnir;
Hrungnir disputed,
praising Gullfaxi.
In anger he galloped;
Óðinn he chased.
Fast he traveled
and before he knew,
the gates of the gods
he’d galloped through,
but Sleipnir was still
the swifter steed.
The Aesir bade
that burly Hrungnir
enter the hall
and have a drink.
The goblets of Thor
were given to him;
dead drunk he got,
draining each one.
With big words then
he boasted loudly:
that hall he would take
to the home of Etins.
Then he’d sink Asgard
and slay the gods
— except he’d filch
Sif and Freyja.
Only Freyja
would fetch him drink,
and all the ale
of the Aesir he’d have,
but bored of boasting,
the band of gods
then hailed to Thor
who thundered in.
He threatened Hrungnir
with hammer raised,
in spite of Óðinn’s
offer of safety.
Hrungnir challenged
Hlórriði to duel
at Grjóttúnagarðar
for greater honor.
Thor accepted
the summons and spared
the unarmed etin
an honorless death,
for never before
had formal duel
been offered thus
to Eindriði.
At Grjóttúnagarðar
gathered the Etins.
To serve Hrungnir
as second in battle,
they made from clay
Mökkurkálfi —
enormously high
with heart of mare.
But Hrungnir had
a heart of stone;
of hard stone also
his head was made.
His shield and weapon
were shaped from stone;
his spleen as well
was spawned of rocks.
But prior to Thor,
Thjálfi arrived.
He advised the etin
that from underground
Véurr was advancing
to avoid his shield;
on the wheel of Hild,
Hrungnir then stood.
Water was made
by Mökkurkálfi
when furious Thor
in thunder appeared.
The clay coward
was killed by Thjálfi
with little of fight
and less of fame.
Arriving in rage,
Rym then quickly
hurled his hammer
at Hrungnir’s bulk;
his whetstone-weapon
he whirled in return,
but through the hone
the hammer smashed.
The rock ruptured,
rammed by Mjöllnir;
into Hlórriði’s head
then hied a shard.
The other fragment
fell to the earth
and became the world’s
whetstone supply.
Into Hrungnir’s head
the hammer continued
and smashed asunder
his source of thoughts.
Forward he fell,
fettering Sönnung;
firmly his feet
made fast that god.
Thjálfi and the Aesir
to Thor then came;
the limbs of the troll
they tried to lift.
But the heavy bulk
of Hrungnir’s body
remained immobile
’til Magni arrived.
Though three years old,
the Ása-strength
of Jörð’s grandson
— Járnsaxa’s boy —
quickly lifted
those legs of stone;
he got Gullfaxi
as a gift from Thor.
Stuck in Thor’s head
the stone remains,
though loosened a little
by the lays of Gróa;
By news of Aurvandil’s
nearing to home
and his toe as a star,
he distracted her spells.
The stone that’s stuck
still has an effect —
thus it is ill
that over the ground
you throw a hone,
for in Thor’s head then
the stone is stirred,
distressing Ennilang.
Savor these sips
of sweetest mead,
and remember well
in mind this tale
of Vingþórr’s victory
in valiant combat
at Grjóttúnagarðar,
the greatest of duels!
Freyr and Gerð
Freyr, from Hliðskjálf,
saw the fairest of maidens:
beautiful Gerð in her garth.
He sank into sorrow,
sore with longing,
heavy with heartache for the maid.
Skírnir he sent
to score her love,
yearning for the jötunn maid.
Enticing with Draupnir,
then tempting with apples,
the messenger sought that match.
The gifts she refused,
then great was his wrath:
with self-swinging sword he menaced.
But finally with threats
of thurs-runes carved,
the maiden agreed to marriage.
Both then in tryst
at Barri were wedded;
Freyr and Gerð are together.
Our joyous Lord
has rejoined the world
with a heart that’s whole again.
Gunnlaðarljóð
Home at Hnitbjörg,
a hall in a mountain,
the daughter of Suttung dwelled.
Gorgeous Gunnlöð
was guarding his mead,
that ’gild from dwarves he gained.
Suttung savored
for himself alone
the precious and potent mead,
though that sumbel sat
unsipped by all
in a room so deep and dark.
Gunnlöð sat
on her golden stool
and dreamed of worlds all-wide.
Tales of heroes:
from travelers she heard
those stories of might and main.
She hoped that a hero
would hie for the mead
and relieve her lonely days.
Well she knew
that the wondrous brew
had a better and brighter wyrd.
By stone grinding
she was startled one day
from her bed of brooding dreams.
A hole appeared
in the hardened wall;
was it the hoped-for hero?
With bated breath,
from her bed she rose
as a serpent slithered out.
Before her eyes
its form had altered
to the Ás she knew was Óðinn!
Óðinn asked
to earn the mead
that Gunnlöð guarded there.
Her lust inflamed,
she allowed to him
her help to win that wine.
Secured it was
by crafty spells
and powerful chants and charms.
Galdor they’d need
to gain its release
and thus keep Hár from harm.
Sexual seið
and sorcery they worked,
grinding together with lust.
Nights all three
they needed to finish
the magic to ready the mead.
Their working done,
they wended then
to the cauldrons keeping the mead.
Óðinn sat
in eager suspense
on the stool of glowing gold.
Gunnlöð gave
to Gaut Óðrœrir,
then Boðn and Són to swig.
In sorrow she served
those sips of mead,
for she knew he’d not return.
Grímnir altered
to glorious eagle
and soared in searing sky,
leaving Gunnlöð
alone to grieve
for the hero she helped and loved.
Iðunn’s Abduction
For the ale of Óðinn
I eagerly quested;
I won that potion
and well I pour it.
Of Iðunn’s abduction
I aim to tell
and her return to home
and what happened after.
Hœnir and Loki
were hiking with Óðinn
across the wastelands
and wilderness paths;
the hungry gods:
from a herd they took
and in earth oven
an ox they would cook.
But uncooked the ox
in the oven remained
when once and twice
they tested the meat.
Their supper delayed,
they sought a reason
and an eagle they heard
in the oak above.
The eagle demanded
the meat of his choice
for allowing the oven
at last to cook.
The Aesir agreed,
and the greedy eagle
ate the shoulders
and also the hams.
The eagle was attacked
by angry Loki.
He struck with a stick
but it stuck in place
against the eagle
when up it flew;
he was carried away,
crying for truce.
Loki agreed,
to gain his freedom,
to lure Iðunn
with her apples alone,
outside the walls
away from Asgard;
thus Loki at last
was released by the eagle.
Then Loki lured
lovely Iðunn
just as promised
to giant’s grasp;
both old and grey
the gods became,
lacking her famous
and luscious fruit.
The Aesir accused
crafty Loki
and deemed the penalty
death or torture;
he’d search for Iðunn
to save his skin
if Freyja would share
her falcon shape.
To Thjazi’s home
hastened Loki.
Laufeyson was lucky;
its lord was away.
The falcon flew
with the form of a nut,
Iðunn bespelled,
as he sped away.
The theft was discovered
when Thjazi returned;
the issue of Ölvaldi
as eagle gave chase.
The falcon flew
fast to Asgard
and reached the safety
inside its walls.
The eagle was unable
to end its flight,
its feathers singed
by sawdust’s fire.
The eagle crashed
in the Aesir’s court,
and quickly was slain
the sire of Skaði.
Then Skaði with weapons
wended to Asgard,
thirsting for vengeance
for Thjazi her father,
but an offer of weregild
the Aesir made,
and atonements three
she took from the gods.
First for Skaði:
to find a husband,
from the Aesir she’d choose,
but only by feet.
The fairest of feet
she figured for Baldur,
but Njörð she got,
Nóatún’s lord.
Second for Skaði:
skillful Loki,
by binding his balls
to the beard of a goat,
looked to release
a laugh from her heart;
he fell in her lap
and at last it was freed.
Third for Skaði:
that in sky above
shaped into stars,
shining at night,
the eyes of Thjazi
were thrown by Óðinn —
for her fierce father,
the finest honor.
With atonements three
was Thjazi’s daughter
with the ruling Regin
reconciled and joined.
Thus Skaði we honor
for skis and snow
and wild winter’s
wondrous delights.
The Mead Quest
Honor I Óðinn
by eagerly pouring
that precious and potent Mead.
How he won
that wynnful draught —
that spell I speak in verse.
Slaves all nine
were slain with greed
in lust for a worthy whetstone.
Thus Bölverk served
Baugi a summer;
he labored long and hard.
Bölverk had bargained
with Baugi for Mead;
at Hnitbjörg his hire they sought.
But flatly Suttung
refused that draught;
to a skillful scheme they turned.
Baugi with Rati
then bored through rock
and gnawed a narrow path.
The sly snake
then slithered fast
beyond his stinging stab.
Gunnlöð he met
and gained her love;
for three of nights he knew her.
The draughts he drank
and drained were three —
that mighty Mead he stole.
The eagle flew
to Asgard fast
with Suttung swiftly chasing.
An amount of Mead
as mud of eagle
for poetry poor was spilt.
But the greatest bounty
he brought to the gods —
a gift for the favored few.
Óðinn poured
that potent brew
for skalds and scholars alike.
For Man in Midgard
the Mead is real:
seek to win it yourself.
Drink well
and deeply enjoy
the portion I poured tonight!
The Six Treasures
Bölverk’s bounty
I bear tonight
and pour a portion to share.
I tell a tale
of treasures six,
owned by our awesome gods.
The beautiful locks
of alluring Sif
were sheared by mischief’s maker;
Thor was wroth,
raged at Loki,
demanded he find a fix!
Then Loki wended
to the world of Dwarves;
their skill he schemed to hire.
The smiths began,
the sons of Ívaldi:
Goldlocks they gleamingly shaped.
The smiths continued,
the sons of Ívaldi:
Skíðblaðnir they skillfully shaped.
The smiths finished,
the sons of Ívaldi:
Gungnir they grimly shaped.
Then Loki wended
to wager with Brokk
against the greatness of treasures.
A swine’s skin
by skillful Eitri
was forged to gleaming Gullinbursti.
Glowing gold
by gifted Eitri
was forged to dearest Draupnir.
Blazing iron
by brilliant Eitri
was forged to foe of etins,
was forged to mighty Mjöllnir.
Brokk was steady,
on bellows he stayed,
the scheme of the fly he foiled!
Treasures he took
to try in Asgard,
Aesir joining in judgement.
Óðinn and Thor,
and third was Freyr,
the gods who joined in judgement.
The given verdict,
the greatest treasure:
best was bane of etins,
best was mighty Mjöllnir!
Thor’s Visit to Geirröð
A warm welcome
I wish to have
for telling the tale
of a trip by Thor
to Geirröð’s garth
and the games in the hall;
the draught of dwarves
I draw for you now.
Loki borrowed
from Lady Frigg
her falcon shape
to fly the realms;
at Geirröð’s garth
a great hall was —
Lopt then landed
and looked in the window.
Geirröð ordered
they grab the bird;
Loki delayed
to the last moment
his flight to flee
that fellow’s grasp
but found his feet
were firmly stuck.
The bird was bound
and brought to Geirröð;
on seeing the eyes,
an inkling he had
that a man it be.
He demanded the bird
speak in response;
speechless was Loki.
The unanswered etin
opened a chest
and brutally bound
the bird inside
for three of months
to thirst and starve.
Re-asked at last,
Loki then answered.
To ransom his life,
Loki gave oaths:
to Geirröð’s garth
he’d beguile Thor,
without Mjöllnir
and mighty girdle.
Released was Loki
to lure as promised.
To Gríð’s garth first
as a guest came Thor;
she gave warning
of Geirröð’s wiles.
Iron gauntlets,
a girdle of might,
and Gríðarvöl
she gave as well.
To cross Vimur
then ventured Thor;
the river raged,
rising in flood
with Gjálp astride,
Geirröð’s daughter.
Thor was struggling
but threw a stone.
He did not miss
the mark he aimed;
the stone then stemmed
and stopped the source.
He grasped a rowan
by river’s edge;
thus it is hight
the help of Thor.
Thor and Loki
at last arrived
at Geirröð’s garth
and were given lodging.
The single seat there
Sönnung did take;
toward the roof
it raised him up.
With Gríðarvöl
against the rafters
and pushing hard,
he pressed down then;
Both Gjálp and Greip
— Geirröð’s daughters —
had their backs broken
for bearing the seat.
For games in the hall,
Geirröð called Thor
and threw a measure
of molten iron
at famous Véurr,
the friend of Man.
Eindriði caught
the iron with gloves.
The etin sought shelter
from an iron pillar;
but briskly Thor
flung back the lump.
It passed through the pillar,
plunged through Geirröð,
soared through the wall,
and sank in the earth.
Here in Midgard,
remember this tale
— with precious Óðrœrir
I poured it out —
for the evil of etins
on earth is lessened
by victorious Véurr’s
valor in combat.
Valhalla
A spell of the lore
I speak to you now
by pouring Hropt’s
powerful drink.
I sing of that hall
high on the Tree;
to warriors dead
’tis a welcome sight.
’Tis roofed with shields
and raftered with spears;
grand and glorious
in Glaðsheim stands
that greatest hall
of gods and heroes
where sturdy benches
are strewn with mail.
A wolf is lurking
at the western door,
and high above
hovers an eagle.
Fish are running
in the river nearby;
mistletoe’s in the west,
a mite of a tree.
The leaves are eaten
from Lærað by Heiðrún;
mead from her udders
is the Einherjar’s drink.
The limbs are eaten
from Lærað by Eikþyrnir;
dew from his horns
drops into Hvergelmir.
The gate Valgrind
is guarding the doors:
five of hundreds
and forty more.
The Einherjar go,
eight hundred per door,
on the day of doom
for deadly battle.
In the kettle Eldhrímnir,
the cook Andhrímnir
seethes Sæhrímnir,
that succulent pork.
The Einherjar eat
that excellent fare,
but the food of Vegtam
is fed to his wolves.
The wise one lives
on wine alone;
his ravens fly,
roaming the world.
The Valkyries serve
Victory-Father
and after the battles
the Einherjar’s feasting.
Bragi relates
lore to Aegir;
swords shimmering
are the source of light.
Sigmund and Sinfjötli
receive the guests;
from fields of battle,
fresh they arrive.
Hrungnir challenged
Hlórriði to duel;
he dared to boast,
drunk in that hall.
Glasir gleaming
with golden leaf
is standing in front
of the famous stead.
That hall is sought
by heroes and skalds;
both far and wide
its fame has spread.
Standing strongest,
that stead is best:
it is Óðinn’s own,
awesome Valhalla!